Dont Forget Your Toilet Brush

kids say the darndest things

2012-02-12T07:07:00.000-08:00

I was only describing a pattern I found myself in sometimes, but ok...

But yes, I believe you have told me the things that you did not like about me once or twice before. Im not sure how to respond to them at this point, or that I was even asking you to explain your feelings on our past relationship anywyay. I didnt think my physical grotesqueness was much of an ingredient in whatever friendship we may still be capable of. But Ill keep working on it, for me. Maybe there's a mix of spaghetti sauce and pancakes that I'm missing thats keeping me from the physical fitness that is appropriate for my age, height and gender.

I always thought you were the more expressive and responsible one too. Maybe I was too impulsive and abstract for our differences to complement each other. Unhealthy is an unattractive quality, physically and mentally, and I don't always pay close enough attention, or ask if my body is showing my habits when I should. Maybe I'm too much 'in the now' to care much past my stomach not growling or my eyes not being heavy. But cheeseburgers are really good, especially after 9 hours of heavy alcohol consumption, ooh, and so are tacos, and doritoreos and bongrips go together like coffee and cigarettes. And as much as i jokingly complain, I kind of like spaghettis. Take today, I just found out that ketchup and peanut butter do work together, if in a bowl of egg, rice, and onions at least. I didnt get to test out the PB on potatoes because we were out, but next time I will, and Ill be sure to let you know how it works out.

Im glad you are strong enough to remember the things you didnt like in our relationship, as opposed to the good that most find themselves thinking of after a relationship. I usually have to talk to you once or twice before it comes back to me. Nice talkin to ya babe.

By the way, self-righteousness is kind of the opposite of self-masochistic.

you forgot to listen

2012-02-12T04:01:00.000-08:00

some kind of angst ridden acceptance.
its like fuck it, fine, ok, sure, what do you mean? no, its good, its good.
in my old age ive lost some of the patience that helps my face lie for me.
so now people know what im thinking when im thinking bullshit, fuck you. Now people know that i dont like them when i dont like them. Now people know when i know that theyre lying. Now i have a tell that says when i am.
Phew!
Maybe its because i really dont care anymore. i dont care if my honesty hurts you. i dont care if youre oblivious. to anything.
weed couldnt give it to me. alcohol only gave it in small intervals. tripps dissolved the notion altogether that we needed to speak to understand each other. sober took away the concern, especially being surrounded by drunk, or drugged out, or just plain fucked up people half my age in 'real' years, for whatever is going on in the heads of people around me.
So now i really am an asshole, but not the kind that makes it so blatant. because i really dont give a shit anymore.

uhps

2012-02-11T03:25:00.000-08:00

Days later I'm on a stool at the bar reflecting on how it wasnt worth it at all.

Soap

2012-02-10T09:50:00.001-08:00

Arms heavy, eyes half opened, the slurs from the night before still chase my word. The body is set into motion out of habit, out of some instinctual game of self preservation. Consciousness drags along the ground behind it, tethered to the only home it knows. The routines of life are recognized and forgotten, feared and embraced, ruled and atheistic.

Die-Ary of a Madman (3)

2011-12-18T05:09:00.000-08:00

Time to take a step back
Reasses my consciousness

Driving a brain around is hard.
Walls of shelves and drawers of full of switches like slices of equalizers for yeses, nos, maybes, shouldves, what the fucks and never agains, all of them demanding constant attention.

I'm pretty sure I have lost my mind. Drinking heavy amounts of alcohol only covers up the fact that I am completely insane, I have lost contact with my mind. Most times I keep it wrangled and composed, but when I black out it becomes its own person, a different person than I. My body just a host, commanded by the whims of lunacy. Youve heard people saying that they felt like they stepped outside of themselves? I feel that way often, except that after stepping outside of myself I leave rather than sticking around and watching myself. I usually dont return until im shamefully hungover the next morning.

Suddenly, I find myself in the cigarette stairwell on shift at work looking through the window at the top of the stairwell, the walls waving slowly like a flag. Or are the stairs steaming causing a mirage that just makes it look like that? I pause and watch it, then almost frightened at the idea that it is quite possible I could lift off and fly straight through that window at the top of the stairs headfirst, closed or not. I take a step back to try and escape the visual and save it for another day, but my foot sinks into the wooden stoop behind me so I search for sanity in the ashtray in a way that looks kind of like im barfing into a toilet. Just in time for my boss to snap me out of it with a What the hell are you doing?

Reflecting, I can't help but to be reminded how tyrannically controlled my sense of awareness is by my own consciousness.

121111

2011-12-16T14:06:00.000-08:00

to turn to page 43 take one drink, page 88: 2 drinks

blank you you blanking blank

2011-12-16T13:45:00.000-08:00

112811
is reality a reflection of our consciousness, or consciousness a reflection of our reality?

we all walk in a shared space we call reality. A number of us can come together and establish an understanding, define it, and publish it for us all to agree on. 'this is our reality', this is our world, this is a collection of physics and facts that make it what it is, as we perceive it, and as it is self evident. We can adjust how we understand it, we can change what we call it, but its still always just 'what it is'. We can add to it, but we cannot change reality. The only choice we have is whether to conform to reality, or to let a division fall between it and our consciousness.

if we can imagine an X crossing a piece of paper from corner to corner we can see two circles joined at the intersection. The point of contact can be quite small, or it can be almost seemingly parallel, depending on the precision. Within one circle we have reality, the world we live in full of tangible facts and forces and organics and necessities. Within the other circle is a greatly overshadowed vastness we call consciousness. In it we find our impressions, we find It is unending. But is it connected?
if it is, what is it connected to? Is it an untapped collection of consciousness resembling a congregation of cells like we would find in any multi-cellular organism? Is it an extension of some great creator's consciousness? Is it just a simple mechanism, wound up and sent off on its own, driven with an energy mistakenly referred to as free will?

and now it seems i have fallen victim to the sudden and inexplicable, unavoidable, and somehow never awkward even when it should be infatuation with a girl Ill call Whitey Ford.
Wow. er Woah, erm, i mean, yeah. banging on the pool table? Sorry Yoshi! at least dreamin that all curled up on the couch in front of the tv waking up with her buried in my arms, stirring with my movement and the realization that 430 has come and its time for the roof to catch the cityscape as the rooftops of downtown penetrate the fog well before the surrounding palm trees and street light posts.
and now finally sleep finds me with a comfort i havent had in months as i hide my face back in between her shoulder blades.
---
No. Gotta get up.

rice everyday lowers your sperm count, thank god cause im too broke for condoms

2011-12-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

a bowl of rice and a broom~
For a night at the hostel

"Food is offered between 5 and 8."
His words seemed to be on repeat in my head as I vigorously scrubbed a bathroom sink.
My day started with excitement as I stepped off the bus and into a people filled street, all with fully packed backpacks, sandals, and eyes wandering around and above the horizon line. The air was moist but cool, and a refreshing breeze swept cigarette butts and solo cups down the gutter of the street as I stood waiting for the Walk sign to light.
WAIT!

"If i can do this right," i thought to myself, "i can get a bed tonight, and the next night, and the next." "I can do this, fucking up is not an option this time. But this is easy, go in, tidy up a bit for a couple hours, drink as much free coffee as I can, and enjoy the air conditioning. Ive wanted the whole time Ive lived in LA to live on the beach, in fact, as I was enroute to move to socal i thought the beach was a mere step away from downtown LA, i was sorely mistaken. I also thought all of LA was under one zip code, and that california maybe had 3 or 4 telephone area codes. WALK SIGN IS ON I thought my behind the counter work at an electronics store was going to support me and my bad habits, and that I was going to start life anew and fresh. I had no idea when i first moved to the west coast that i would be sleeping on the beach, that my friends from home would be dying off one by one, and that i would be so hungry that I would try cleaning a cafe table before the busboy could do it for the leftovers, or even pulling a george castanza for a half eaten hamburger floating at the top of a trash can. But whats a hero without a bit of hardship to overcome? And, if we're not the hero of our life story, you may as well just roll over and go back to sleep when you wake up on the sidewalk." Bonus points for being the antagonist too.
This internal dialog came and passed in the time it took to cross the street and stand at the bottom of the hostel stairs to look up with a sigh.

~

That was the end of july. We are now approaching the end of October, and my how things have changed. In 2 1/2 months, I have done what i always do: Take over, and in half the usual time mind you! I command respect from my coworkers and empoloyers alike, I work hard for it even after the shine is lost. I have proven myself to the people i work with, and now further than previous jobs ive had, for them to lose me would cause a serious imbalance. Not as much as i would like to believe, it is the slow season and people come and go here, but they would be a long time before the replaced me, and it would probably take two to do it.

So yeah, i sit smug and comfortable with my cup of tea and cigarette hanging from my mouth as i play with a lighter and stare off into the great space between me and the wall. I take advantage of people when they need to be, i save, or decide not to, people from being stupid, i bum cigarettes and drink for free. I walk in on the middle of a group conversation and they push me an ashtray, giddy with the fact that they saw me be real for once. When i leave they whisper amongst themselves how long they think ive been here, why i am now so distant, how i wasnt always this way, and how big my cock must be. The women fear me and the guys arent sure whether to offer a beer or hide how many they have, along with their girlfriend. But i wont touch her, i will drink your beer though.

~

5 months brings a new month and a new year. The fun of living and working here is waring thin. I feel more like a hotel amenity now, kinda like the soap, you dont really feel cleaner after using it, but you dont feel dirty anymore either. All relationships end the same, romantic, friendship, business and otherwise, they all just up and go. Rarely is there much debate for it, and rarely anymore is there much feeling about it. What day is today? Tuesday? Oh, hm. I feel like I ate rice last night...

Everyday i think I hate my job just a little bit more, and everyday i feel like I am myself just a little bit less.
I long for something from the past, short or far, and cant wait for anything from the future. Anything to get me past this phase of my life, which is also the phase i want least to leave. I have become truly independent again, and it feels fucking great. Sure I live like an asshole on the boardwalk, eat like a somalian kid, and smoke like a freight train, but the only name on it is Me. I have nothing to be taken away, nothing to pay with or for, no one to depress me, and always someone to drink with. Im bored as fuck, but afraid to go outside, Im also afraid to stay in here so i walk circles between the coffee pot and my bed and pretend to be sociable and give a fuck along the way.

6 months, a check falls from the sky. It couldnt have been any more surprising, and it couldnt have come at a better time. Things are getting pretty bad here. I finally pushed the wrong button with our resident black guy and he showed me just how insane he was. The fact that I didnt cower away, rather, I stood there and looked at him like he was a crazy person as he screamed and threatened to start kicking ass, only pissed him off more. My two favorite girls got kicked out and to my surprise asked me to come with. Any other time i probably would have said no, and I probably shouldve this time too, so this may be the end of the hostel. Thank fucking god and his little dog too. Nothing but bad memories, negative vibes, halfway house rejects, and mental patient relapses in this place, and im afraid if i stay here much longer Ill become one of them.
I miss my old friends.
--
Magic money from the sky?
Easy come easy go as they say. Thank god it turned out to be an installment check and that theres more to come. $500 in cheezeburgers, liquor, and a trip that i said 'please dont leave me' to as the buzz faded that first night- that i then made sure it didnt for the next week and a half, cleaned me out before the month was up. My brain is still pissed at me for that, and now, so is my stomach, alcoholism i thought i abandoned, and cigarettes i was always known for being able to offer. What I didnt expect was the overwhelming mood swings and indifference that counts as a hangover with that shit. The very friend that turned into the best friend whilst frying was lost as the two week 'hangover' ran its rampant course.
How many times can the fucking reset button be hit in this place? I am so tired of starting over. I am so tired of having to start over every time i hit a speed bump. So tired of starting over every other time someone checks out, gets fired, or gets pissed.
But is it me hitting the reset button? Is it me just saying fuck it and giving up the things i want to keep in my life? Before i can even answer that rhetorical question, I remember all the things over my life that I tried to keep as if they were mine to keep. Suicide isnt a call for help, its an alarm clock. Its a sidestep out of a viscous food chain cycle called life. It in many ways, is the only intelligent decision some of us can make.
But dont worry, i am hardly intelligent, and far from decisive.

off the cuff

2011-12-16T13:27:00.000-08:00

The sidewalks a tightrope, my home a trampoline. I spring from one to the other in hopes to make a clean dollar, an honest buck, a swindly thrift, a weaselly way away from the stomach growls and unintentional high school boners, premature ejaculations, surprise projectile vomits, and loudmouth proclamations that shed light on the crazy inside.

diabolically calm, meekishly sheik,
so she says to me she says to me,,
message me if you want to be lovers that arent in love
friends that arent involved
acquaintanced just because
But I'd really rather not-
Have you in my heart
I really thought you got
the memo

Old fashioned mischief is underrated, and misunderstood. Out my bedroom window I look down on the rooftops, then from the street I hop them like fences, looking for a perch, where I am lost to a custom made reality where I, a Lost Ninja, wait for girls to walk down the street and need help, then hop down like batman but get my ass kicked after which I am taken in like Back to the Future for a nasty concussion that leaves me with amnesia of anything before meeting her but feeling more like Castaway- when I'm back she's already moved on and Married With Children, but it still feels like yesterday when she looked at me like that, so I Need A New Empress before I can be allowed in court to plea a case for Sanity...Sanity Lost, I am Condemned to Crazy just in time for the sunrise, I'll be asleep before the sun sets, and I'll wake to find its Sunday, at which point its already friday again.

yer dumb

2011-12-16T13:20:00.000-08:00

i dont really know how to carry myself. Especially in retrospect. In efforts to overcome more recent paranoia i started smoking more to try and gain a comfortability in it. Its been a slow process.. My brand of paranoia is a kind of social and introverted paranoia.
I feel in some ways like I just checked back in. Gone are my purpose and goals i had when i first came here. I need to rebuild, from the plan up and execute quickly as there is lost time to make up for.
While im doing this I also need to restore my emotional balance and independence while getting over the loss of jackie and the original plan. A lot went into this plan, time and energy and breath, to a consuming degree. I was actually kind of proud of its supposed flawlessness and countability. But if reliability was going to be a part of it, I think i should have qualified the sale more on the relationship end and reconsidered how much a part to the plan it was. It kind of fucks up the ease of a plan working to cut the participants in half, and at the cost of reliability.

nothing more, nothing less

2011-12-16T12:44:00.001-08:00

so, when it happened,
im sitting, cross legged for comfort, on my bed. Cell phone in one hand displaying a calendar centered on today, and in the other hand, a burning cigarette, approaching the last draws of nicotine before my fingers burn.
Theres a window, blinds halfway down, that lets in the evening hours of sunlight upon the bunk bed in front of mine and lights the recesses of the floor that escape the glow from the ceiling fan.
It is not beautiful, and it is not ugly.
The television next to this window is off, and in front of it on the floor sit a dust covered vcr and dvd player, one on top of the other, with discs and cassettes strewn carelessly on and around them, also with a thin layer of dust covering them.
I do not notice them, nor the television, nor the metal frame and mattress of the bunk before me.
Still, to focus my concentration inside of me seems foolish. My understanding is that my consciousness needs to expand, not to contract. My explanation is coming to that I need to first grasp what is inside of me before i can turn it outward, before the division of skin can be truly broken.
Imagination tells me that maybe when ive achieved a reality on my own identity and of my perspective on the reality outside me, that it will be instantaneously bridged, and through recent texts, am almost fearful of its power then multiplied.
There are tales of people going mad in mental disorder, of people becoming sick when they unknowingly open a power they cannnot leash, and are taken down a road of hermitude and insanity, longing to reseal the box it once stayed in.
Been there, done that.

Peanuts

2011-12-16T12:42:00.000-08:00

and now it leaves me. steady streams of thought flow as my consciousness makes its presence known. I can become lost, almost totally absorbed in my own consciousness. I follow it sometimes like a chain of chaos theory, dancing down the line between memory and imagination. Im in a mental state the thesaurus would call 'uncountable'.
I am not distracted, i am abstracted.
This is okay when im relaxing in my bedroom in a paralyzing paranoia sitting miles away from anyone else in the room; for a person to see me from that far away they would have to use binoculars, and people with binoculars always appear to be looking specifically at me, and my eyes drift, thousands of yards away, blank- but traversing wide ranges of emotional containment. I drift through dread, remorse, gratitude, shame, incorrectness and self judgment, self appreciation, wild expectations for both good and bad of the future, all deduced through a trail of thought that spits me out, back into the external, and my limbs become apparent to me again. Perposterous and validating, happy and depressing, right and wrong, socially acceptable and self righteously individuating, it is heavy sometimes after, and difficult to discern at times.

If These Thoughts Could Speak

2011-11-13T19:33:00.001-08:00

Laterzzz.

The Evolutionary Energy in Man is everchanging, sometimes the address changes too.
Its hard to change sometimes, and to truly change for the better, but so very much worth it.
"im owrkin on it"

kung fu

2009-09-15T00:15:00.000-07:00

The new happy is oblivious contentment.

Take off, hit the road again. I followed the sun here, follow the moon back and all that jazz from the cool cats in suede shoes.
This time things will be different. I will be the controller of my own fate. I will choose what is waiting for me. I will take the random left turns that change lives every chance i get. Maybe ill be looking for a spicy chilidog, maybe ill be looking for a place to sleep.
Maybe I will turn because I have been going in the same direction for so long i will puke if I dont stop.

or Maybe im a fuckin weirdo that needs to stop living in his head.