Monday, August 31, 2009

The end of the month, and there is very little to say in order to make my presence known. All the fucked-up shit wasn't necessarily worth masking or glossing over for fanatical purposes. Even this right now is an act of shear self-indulgence. "Well he has to do or say something for August?" What color is it again? Maybe I should have dressed up in that color and awkwardly taken pictures of myself wearing non-typical garb. Or perhaps a fun and bright game of blog disassociation would do the body and mind good, like milk prescribed to cancer patients.
I'm not being funny, just all the same kinds of bitter and outspoken, but I think you can all trust me when I say that this month, August, was goddamn productive regardless of where everybody is, what they're doing and furthermore whether or not they're bothering anymore. I will always bother to appear disappointed when the truth of the matter is that I couldn't be happier.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Quite possibly the most literal of any of my My Idea of Fun posts. Plastic scalloped potatoes and dress up with funny hats.

Monday, August 24, 2009


JVL Vortex Countertop Touchscreen Entertainment Console
She is sipping an electric orange drink that has sweated a stain onto the white napkin where it had sat. She looks bored, aggravated by her surroundings, so she takes a few extra gulps, curls a lock of bleached hair around the corner of her finger. Her skin mirrors her drink, her lips are permanently pressed together and lacquered in a vibrant pink shade of lipstick. Her shirt is child sized and it does a good job juggling her enormous fake breasts as she adjusts herself in the barstool. She jams some quarters into the video machine and begins a game of Erotic Photohunt. She is mashing the screen, when two youthful males emerge from the darkness just as a new bass-heavy song begins to play over the loudspeakers. They reek of the mall and the gritty sand that gets stuck in your shoes after a day at the beach. ‘Dance with me, baby’ they both belt to her, booze-heavy voices. She coos, loving the attention, lathering herself in it. ‘I gotta find the differences in this guy’s dick,’ she says and looks away, smirking at the thought of the impending double-team she will face in mere hours. They put their arms up and interlock the fingers behind their heads. They start making thrusting motions, in-and-out, in-and-out, pumping their penises against the stale, bar room air…

Friday, August 21, 2009

Thursday, August 20, 2009

A comedy joke

This is a comedy joke by my good friend, Mr. Dapper Geusen:

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Friday, August 14, 2009

I I Lines:polar

Parallel:1)extending in the same direction, equidistant at all points, and never converging or diverging
2)having the same direction, course, nature, or tendency; corresponding; similar; analogous
Both definitions suffice, yet I like the 2nd definition better. I feel that's why I can't let go, no matter how much distance between us or how much I try. We are like magnets sometimes pulling towards each other, but if one of us turns the other way, or we get too close we repel each other. Never converging no matter how close we get. 5 years. 5 long weird years and you are one part of my life that is like this little hidden secret. Well I guess that's because you've never been part of my life. I don't say that to be harsh, it's simply a fact. Yet, I feel like I've carried you everywhere I've ever gone to. Every tune I've heard you've heard it to, any movie that's moved me to tears or kept me up at night I know you've seen it to. At least that's what I told myself imagining you there with me enjoying the same thing for the same reasons. Sure, there were times I forgot about you or it didn't matter as much but you were probably just as equidistant. However you always comeback like a migraine headache just something I know that I will always deal with. So the phone calls have been replaced with texts because just like tequila I know if I have too much of you I'll wake up with a hangover. You have always been my idea, my grand unfair unfathomable idea. And sometimes I treat you like an idea instead of a person. I use you but don't know you. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just wicked lonely and your the closest thing to what I think I want. Why in 5 years are you and her both in my life at the same exact fucking capacity. Was I that vulnerable and impressionable at that point in my life. Is that all this is, something I cant shake like a bad cold or a chronic disease. Is our relationship parallel to the actual relationship I'm in. A piece of nostalgia that I don't know what to do with. There have been more bad memories, frustrations, and hurt than there has been good times and laughs. So what brings us back, back to these same ever extending lines. Why do we do this strange hurtful dance. For every good move I make I step on your feet twice. Sometimes i just wish you hated me and vice a versa. But, hates too strong a word and so is love, so what is this. This sickness with no name this mutual attraction,.... apathetic love? I don't know if I'm more afraid that you could never be everything that I want and need or that you COULD be everything that I want and need. I almost told you I loved you but what good would it have done. I don't know if I would know what to do with it. How much longer can this go on. This mutual torturing. It can't last forever, or can it. I would be fine with X or \/ but I don't know how much longer I can with these haunting II lines.

Safety in 1

The emptiness surrounds me comfortably like one of my dad's old sweatshirts. It always smelled like the attic old and dusty and safe. The attic was the one place where I could go to be myself. I would sit there among the junk, the past Christmas presents, outgrown clothes, and all the books I read three times.I would sit, sweat and imagine. I would imagine how much better I would be than all the grownups I saw around me. I would do it different just the way my neighbor spoke about in her high school commencement speech. The world was mine for the taking, after all the children are our future right?(guess you were too wrapped up in the present to remember that cute little slogan.)I had so many ideas that were stewing underneath the fort I made out of a tricycle and my dad's old courdoruy jackets. I would fill that jacket and those shoes that I was told were always too big for me. I would look through my attic window dusty,old and safe and I would watch the kids playing while I pondered where I would be in 10 years. Well that was 4 years ago.That was before I realized it's not worth it too ponder the future not when you two payments late on your car note and your cable is getting cut off. What if we became everything our parents wanted us to be. What if I am everything my parents wanted me to be. I don't know and I know it doesn't help to ask questions that have no answers but i can't help it. I am in my fort made of brick and all the junk I've collected over the years. My own personal attic except it lacks character and it doesn't feel safe. Its not safe because its way too real and life has answered most of the questions I've asked. Well, maybe not answered but stopped me from looking.I look outside my window and I see myself doing all the same things they are and I fucking hate my neighbor and her lies.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Friday, August 7, 2009

I became obsessed with the idea of marriage, not necessarily to you, not necessarily to anyone it seems.
I was enveloped in the romanticism, the declaration of love, a promise to love another forever. I tried to imagine you standing before me wearing a tux, or perhaps a nice shirt and slacks, pressed. I imagined that you would wear your old beat up vans and nix the idea of dress shoes; exactly what you knew I would want. I tried to imagine you saying those words to me, self-written vows, promising to love only me when we both know it's bull-shit and an impossibility. But I couldn't imagine myself saying self-obsessed words to you, couldn't imagine promising anything to anyone, not even myself.
I tell you I love you because you said it first. You told me you loved me the most informal way I see possible: via text message. I typed those frightful words back because I was afraid you would abandon the possibility of us if I didn't.
Most days I wonder why I would tell anyone I would love them; I am a misanthrope of the most pure kind. I love no one but the demons that haunt my every movement and moment and cause me the anguish of hades.
I find no inspiration in your smile, your words do not fecundate me as those of another, yet I lie in wait of you when nights are long.
Time is a harbinger of the dead spirit of life.
I'll abandon the idea of the union of myself to another knowing the poison I carry inside.
What is so great about the idea of the mundane, and why is it packaged and sold like gold?
We're fools of the most unwitting kind.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Sunday, August 2, 2009