Video game video game how you make my life insane you make me kill and die nd run and i'm just having so much fun. I walk to the beach to get a snack if you look back in the last attack I wrote this hack shit before, not on my sack, in the is the now the entry the wow-sentry that works out sidewise/ways is what I meant to write but I don't mean to be seen to write anything so why does it matter. What Am I thinking now, now. now, now, mpw mpwn wehbeojenbwomnwehnij Nothing at all just anothaer and another and thisder at that sir. What's the name of the man who stole ytour heart? Tattoo it on your verve pipe alley eriture and that's another word that means nothing in any language so there you go to the store with a buck in your hand for some more maybe I'll get good at typing like this which is good cause I got a lot of typing to do. Where's mine he saisd? Not here yet. Onitys way? Maybe. But if you keep dpoing it like that, no onn even you knows what it means to be the one who is lying through their teeth and drinking Johnny Veech (my dad's friend) and wrestling with the life of an ordinary scared person in a world full of shit and also full of shitty things ansd also full of the greatest things and the wars and the greewatest wars and the answers you need you need you need to have in your face when you need them they are there for sure no doubt just look it asshole in the face of mine that rubs off when I touch or look at it in the millions of windows downtown where you see yourseldf all the time and become vain. And insecure.

There's a passage in Kerouac's Desolation Angels where he dissolves into a string of syllables for about half a page, ending with a picture of three large triangles along the bottom of the page. It's beautiful, confusing and fantastic.
This post reminded me of that passage.

Holy Finnegans Wake Batman!

I don't feel like I can comment on the comments already made on this page because I've given them too much thought already I don't want to give thought on this page even though I do I don't want to I just want to go and say and write unencumvbered by the way and the way I go about writing things in the yes way and the no way and the way what is the way is it zen like they say how a are you ever suipoo? that made no sense stop criticizing the nonsense there uis no nonsense only writing and words and nothong no-thong that's sisko becomin enlightened right there there there and then I think about another thing what I don't know I feel so far away from understanding realuity but I want to and it scares me like last night the train went by and it opened me and passed right through me it was so strange and scary and my head started to pulse with no what do it say? it started to pulse with bnlooo i can't say waht it was because I don't know and anything I write will maybe make it real buit it isn't. I hate that there are so many typos but aiI I don't know how to type fast gopod and I feel like when I slow down Typing weven a little UI a start to control what I say which isn't the point fuck fuck fuck sahytr satr hhhhgfn notyhing nothing noithing I can really tuyp type well with one hand and the other one is udse useless I think but sytill it is not the way your father made the way for you to go into the seven centers of the inner mind indiependent of yourself but also indipendent independent of nothing that the way to go is the way that you want to die in youyr mind I think but when the seveteen that allways in the thing the problem Is I can't type without looking at my hands which makes this harder and worse and this takes up a lot of room without saying nothing or anything and now and then I feel now I mean right now that Jack and Jim would be dissapoointed butr not necessarily disappointed and who cares anyway because it's all gone.

This is great, this is catharsis to new heights. Just like Eric Timm's class in yonder years. Eric Timm posted message a couple of messages ago. I wonder if it was really him. i hope it was. I told him about skitfaced when I bumped into him at the grocery store a few weeks ago and maybe he followed the links here. I wonder. I really wonder. It's a lot easier to write this than type it I can tell you. I feel like I'm flippin speed or something, typing so fast, typing like I've never typed before. Just the ticket to let loose some excess energy otherwise gwasted at work, thank you please. Pleaae and thank you. Emphetamines, that's what this is all about. Ever been on emphetamines at work? marvellous fun and totally harrowing at the same time. I'm thinking too much now, got to just keep typing, to hell with spelling mistakes etc, forget editng too, James Joyce can suck it,Christ I can't read that drivel at all but hel;l, this is pretty fun. Maybe he was onto something after all. My goddamn wrist is seizing up like nothing. This must be turgid stuff to read though, I've said nothing of import whatsoever, drivel drivel. Fuckit. fuckit all, got to go back to work now, thankee King for helping me out of a dark patch. If it wasn't for this release something would have got it. Maybe the mouse, who can tell? Too late now sunshine. Sprechen soon cunts.

Welcome Jerms to the place where you can write what you want when you want unless you can't because like me you have a problem typing faster than your thoughts in whic case the editor comes swiftly he rode on a fanciful aircraft made of steel and knives and bullshit in the airspace my head wants to climb hiugher and higher above the trees I saw a psychic tonight and she told me some things that were good and she sounded legit but I can;t shake my suspiciuons of psychics and shit and I can't run into tha the place where we all go when we die because if I do then I 'm not gonna get anything don dinner land is the place where you want your kids to eat at nighttime they took it away my computer and tyhey gave it to Maggie Cassella from this how is Maggie Cassella
's show what was it called? I can't remember D is here over me so I can stop now for now I will stop stop to the rather the greatness to trhe readser.

Boy did that last comment suck, I mean it's total nonsense, absolute fucking crud mate, I'll just have to slow down my typing until I can learn to type better. If I don't slow down between words at least , then I can perhaps guarantee that I won't stop writing or at least I won't stop or start edoting myself which is the point is just to write and write like we used to do in Mr. eric timm's class as has been mentioned by Jerms and you might have seen Timm's name in this entry but I don't think it's hium I think it's D in disguise or D's guise as the case may be wow, I don't really like doing this kind of thing on a page where anyone could conceivably read it even though not too many people maybe are reading right now but I'm libel lible?libel? to say anything if it's what's on my mind like tonight I had to shit and I didn't feel good so I had diarrhea dioorrghea ? hmmm glad i tried to ciorect that cporrect that shit here we go again anyhow I think ytat that I shit on my balls in fact I know that I did and it was awful and I did that in times before this time well once before that i can remnember but i took lots of drunken shits at the university and elsewhere so who knows but definitely one time i did and it was worsede worse than this toime but this time was bad. I feel like that was a premeditated entry so now i will try and let go let go let go and write what i feel not what i think hopefully up with the gas pipe in your lozenge in the way of the gas rat the raty who onverse inverted his body so that he could find out what it would be like to be indide and outside the typos are coming to get you and there's nopthing you can do but try and be swift and nimble and avoid the fat finger mayhem that purs and pours and pores out of my pores it pours out and it purrs like a pussy in hit hot heat i say hit because it's like a shorter version of heat and it pulses like a pussy should and another thing about the vag is that the hit hot heat eats the rat rot read if you carry on this way you may not stop and then what will happen and when ? how long can an entry be is there a limit? is the internet infinite? van ge wh ere are you know I wonder ? are y ou i i n th e in finite or the fi nite? which one and where am I and why? can infinity really truly exist or is there nothing at all behind it? so that it's not truly infinity but rather something else more complex or infninitely more simple and yet difficult to grasp I feel like I'm slowing down as I try and wax all this bullshit but they are legitimate questions that I'm not pretending to be interested in. I desperately want to know what is behinds the tapestry of everything that exists and I feel like I've made progress in that area though not really all that much and though often I perceive some sort of synchronicity in things I somehow thought it would be a lot more the more I practiced but sometimes it is and sometimes it s not and I don't feel like I can talk about it with anyone because I don't know how to describe what I'm thinking on a day to day basis and if you heard it you might think that I'm crazy or thzat i don't know what [robably not that i'm crazy but you may not believe or think that i've convinbced myself of things that have logical explanations outside of how I perceive them and i aklso find myself a little obsessive with certain things so I feel like wow that's insane or you don't know what yuou're talking about but the thing is that the moment in which the universe seems to rezxpond to your thoughts is the moment for me anyway that i can't stop trying to make that happ-en agaoin.

ball harness ballsiere sack-bra sack off shit casing shit-snickety snack! sneck snakc jake in the grass

teflon bullets to punctuation

And bulletproof love to you Mantron.

If my aunt had balls she would be my uncle, and what a sweet uncle she would make.

free to do what to write freely i guess i want to write and be as free as i can possibly be but that is hard because so denmanding is the pace of life for many and all that there is no time for the freedom no time I find that myself i am aleways waiting around for something to happen that in the fututre things will happen that will make my life better and more complete and maybe that;s true but there's another part of me that alweays regrets or longs for the past and regret by regret I mean regrets that the past is not now the present because i missed out on this or didn't do that instead of just doing and doing and living and loving now right now because that's all that matters. Then when something good does happen I find that my mind dwerlls on it for days and days and that by re-living this experience in the mind there is some pleasure like when someone gives you a nice compliment you think about it and think about it and each time it fades a little uintil eventually you don't care about that compliment anymore like if your boss at your work says"good job" and three weeks later you are still working at the same level and pace and qyuality and whatnot and they don't say "good job" then you may not be so happy anymore.

free to do what to write freely i guess i want to write and be as free as i can possibly be but that is hard because so denmanding is the pace of life for many and all that there is no time for the freedom no time I find that myself i am aleways waiting around for something to happen that in the fututre things will happen that will make my life better and more complete and maybe that;s true but there's another part of me that alweays regrets or longs for the past and regret by regret I mean regrets that the past is not now the present because i missed out on this or didn't do that instead of just doing and doing and living and loving now right now because that's all that matters. Then when something good does happen I find that my mind dwerlls on it for days and days and that by re-living this experience in the mind there is some pleasure like when someone gives you a nice compliment you think about it and think about it and each time it fades a little uintil eventually you don't care about that compliment anymore like if your boss at your work says"good job" and three weeks later you are still working at the same level and pace and qyuality and whatnot and they don't say "good job" then you may not be so happy anymore.

Let's clean this mess up. Enough's enough, let's clean it up. Prepare the surgical strikes, the injections, let's freeze it out. Get out the whitening strips, the bleach, the stain removers, the grime removers, the crime removers. Let's eradicate wrinkles - we need to stretch the world out until it's taut as a drum - then let's dance delicately, let's not beat that thing too hard. We'll scrub and scrub, by god, we'll deploy precision scrubbing instruments from the ionosphere. We'll zap, sting, jab with white-hot needles, we'll clean-bomb from on high. Let's watch what we say, goddamn it, let's clean up our act. It's all about precision filth removal, or on second thought let's fuck precision, let's clean at any expense. Let's make an omelet, but not only will we crack eggs, we'll vapourize the shells - they'll flash white like a botox smile in the instant before they vanish beautifully, cleanly, serenely. Let's clean, but from a distance - you get up close to that filth and before you know it it's all over you, controlling your words and deeds, and then you'll need to be cleaned yourself. Don't talk to the filth, don't be concerned, don't commune, engage or communicate: eradicate. Don't get close, let's stay in orbit, circling sternly, monitoring every last fleck, making a list: wash dishes, eliminate acne, sleep soundly, organize foreign policy. Mr. Clean's foreign policy is this: I'm cleaning your dirty ass, motherfucker.

Let's not lose sleep about this, there's no time, as the clock ticks down things only get dirtier. There are tiny freemasons floating around in our very atmosphere, after all. Time is their friend, it's our enemy. Let's clean up time while we're at it, the more time we lose the more we lose, the more time gains. No gains for that bastard. Let's wipe it out, let's clean the slate, let's stretch time out like a newly cleaned sheet and hang it high - let's set an example for all the other ontological miscreants who might want to tangle with us. Yo, space - who you lookin' at? Want a piece of this? Come and get a piece of this.

Let's make no exceptions to this law, that's too complicated. This will be the cleaning of a lifetime (no, wait, there's that word again) - this will be the cleaning of a life, our lives. Everything will be clean - gleaming surfaces where there were no surfaces before. Depth should go, depth hides dirt, stretch everything taut and hose it down. No exceptions, no dilutions (only the strongest cleaning agents, poison if swallowed), no exemptions, no redeptions, no refund, no exchanges, only a one-way surgical cleaning blast from on high, like god's own mouthwash vomited forth for all to bathe and thereby reform themselves.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Stop making with the movement in my head or the feeling or "feelings" in my head. In the left side of my head creeping and creeping around my brain. What am I to do will I take the medication and be healed or will it fail like it did last time and why is Dr. Rick Cameron so afraid to prescribe the medication or I should say hesuitant to prescribe it in the first place. I am weatching my thoughts go by and there are thousands and millions and thousands of them all the time and I try to understand tyhem instead of watching them go by. The cats are running around upstairs and now I feel like I can smell cat piss. Like they pissed on this computer, but I hope that's not possible. I don't know what they are doing but I know they like to wrestle. Tonight Rick ate a cookie thing out of my hand which is unbelievable for him though he still hisses a lot. He''s ssmart though. You can tell. There's a guy down the hall from me at work who yells a lot at his edit bay computer thing. I think I mentioned that before but maybe I just thought I did they went to the barn to get some yarn but when they got there they were assaulted by a bear absessed in between two teeth that they assked for. The teeth were the kind that have diamonds on them the D flawless diamonds. The most expensive diamonds in the world and a pinky ring can cost you 400 000 dollars like the one that Riochard Pryor used to wear that's a fact man. That is a fax machine in there in that room I wouldn't go into if I were me, oooohhhh how clever to replace you and me and me and you for what is one to do I hope this is helping to unstick the stuck as my aunt would promote that planning and planeing and you can't go back nay you musn't Andrew for when youi are through and if you can learn to type you will be through much sooner you will... I'm sick of tense in both definitions or all definitions of the word and the world.

your cat crawls around your house and runs up and down the stairs of your brain. wrestles with your conscience and emotions. pisses on the thing that steals your attention. steals your time. steals your life. Your cat eats a cookie out of your hand. Claws at any attempt to make a connection with you. What cookie are you offering now? What cookie are you going to take? Hiss and piss. hit and miss. Life goes on and on and on. And i was on a plane while your cats ran around and wrestled with your brain. I waaas flying over the international date line while you fed a cookie yto your cat. I was sitting on my ass in a confined space in a tiny fucking seat between here and there and absolytuely nowhere. And my cat died. My cat died. Just liek that mother fucker. My cat died on a day that didnt exist for me. Does that make any fucking sense? Does it? My little black and white cat took the black and white out of my life as her little life left her. The dateline swallowed her up whole. swallowed up my understanding. swallowed up time and day and night. And i landed with a smile. The unknown teased me. Mocked me. Follwed me. And then death slapped me in the face. Like it always does. Again and again and agiain.I cant escape it. Fuck u death. Fuck you. no matter how hard i try. no matter how far i run. It is there waiting. ALWAYS fucking waiting. Around Every corner, it looms. Its dark and bloody and evil. And its buried in the ground. Hurry hurry. Bury bury. hury mother fucker! Hurrry! BUrry! Before we have to face it!!!!!!!!!
But that doesn't work, does it? We bury and bury as far down as we can. But it always bubbles to the surface. Go as deep as you can into the ground, into the basement, into the closet. but it bubbles to the surface. bubbles and curdles and wraps itself around you. Reveals itself. Manifests itself in every little thing you do. And we run to hide it. Hurry! run! hide! bury! hurry mother fucker! Hide that emotion. We dont want to see it. we dont want to show it. But it seeps througjh your pores. Seeps through everything you do. Contorts your face as you try to make it into something its not. Contorts your heart and your soul. Contorts everything about you until you dont know whats you and whats not. And you don't know. You dont know. And maybe thats okay. Maybe you aren't meant to know. And maybe thats okay.

A la free dem they are the reading from the great one the one you want when you want readway thuimng. The Youthe of today are the ones who are behind the options they have the re are two many trees i n the forest for there are bno no nio no nyet nein ni nonesk of the proper symbnols. How do you find your way when you have an instrument blocking you and preventingh direct contact? When eityhetnet. This cannot be an enjoyable laughing fit in fact in can be neither that nor anything else. The problem is only a problem when it is a problewmatic situation. Therefore the problem is no longer a problem. Hence the discover y of another s work in a drawer in the top drawer on the left side of her desk, is not a crime per se unless you count the chickens that were released into her desk under the auspices of hatching a larger chicken than the one previous. In that case we are talking about something that is altogether different. That is something else something wonderful something new something fresh but something difficult nonetheless. I find that the harder I try the more I don't succeed. Therefore I have decided that I will try not to succeed.

In fact there's a leprauchan's back, he's getting a bat rat at at at tat on the cat with the hat so fine it must be black. Lyrical nightmares and counterfeit care bears we don't know where there's any more airfare. Back with our interests, nothing tremendous, counting and mounting the skill that we invest. Labour ain't neighbours with traders or favours just haters who invaded days before traitors. You don't wanna know it you blow it and roll it and throw it and ho it and mow it down.
You don't wanna know it you blow it and roll it and ho it and show it around.
You can't seem to wait you debate your mistakes while you bait your own mate with the fate that they hate cause the gate wasn't straight it's too late it's not eight but you ate you can't skate.
You never wanted anything just a wing and some things and your ring but nothing except some frings and ring-dings but not kings not vikings.

Enough stop he said as he slowed cause he rolled and he blowed and he couldn't write anymo and he had to be glad there was rap guys who rapped highs and rap lows and rap hos and rap flows and rap tricks and rap sticks and rap feet and rap sweets and rap friends and rap bends and rap treasure and rap measur-ing sticks and rap licks and rap pride and rap wide load bumper stickers and rap side road thumper....ah fuck it.

Fear fear fear fa fa fa fear fear fear fa fa fear faere fear fare frea feer free feer frea frea frea frea freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeea feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeear what am i doing? What the fuck am I doing? Who is doing this? What is it doing? Why ? Why why why why why ? I can't stop and I can. Stop and enjoy the time I have right now I'm drinking Glenfiddich, in the workplace!! What a nice man it was who gave it to me. Thank god people still drink at work. Thank god we haven't completely lost our freaking minds. I have maybe, but not all of us. And what's wrong with being crazy? Nothing at all I hope and pray there's not except that one had to do what one had to do when they had to do it and what is the right way, the correct way to know to rationalixze to make decisions to create things there isn't one. There isn't one at allk everything is self-created and yet there is no evidence to support this without genuioine experience and awareness, and how does one go aboputy cultivating this sort of thing? For it cannot necessarily be cultivated. It just is. But how can one then calm down the neuroses of mind which constantly threatens to bury the rest under mazes upon mazes of self-delusion. And phony illness? Or real illness? At the very least, very real tension in the jaw which causes a traumatic abrasion. There is no way of stopping it I suppose. But it forces one to look ahead rather than now, because one will always look toward the allevience of pain that one is experiencing, or backwards, to happier times. But one is confident still that one will realise the present one does not know what it takes. Nor does one know much of anything, save that one finds it increasingly difficult to relate to one's own image of one's self and is therefore often reduced to silent staring and shy eye aversion and the like, and one is not comfortable with this kind of an existence either. So one looks back once again, to a time where feelings and sensations were far more cultivated already, and one feels that one has regressed. But there can be no regression. There cannot be. There just cannot. One hopes, once again, one hopes. Attention and awareness is here, but so is the fear.

I am a lazy fuck. No, not lazy I suppose, but a prcrastinator, I feel like I should look up that word in a dictionary of etymology in order to determine what kind of things I could do to lessen the procrasytination. I mean there are a hundred things I want to do right now, but even that , in itself is what stops me from doing them. Strange. The only way I ever get anything done is to procrastinate doing something else. Weird. I can't believe that I am at work, watching the channel that I work for on TV and all it is is lesbians and naked tits, wwhat the fuck man. I mean seriously, I like lesbians and tits as much as the next guy, (maybe even more than the next guy) but I can't believe that this is what I'm watching because then I have to watch and I can't stop I am so enthralled with that type of thing, which the femalebody as object and shit, maybe enthralled is not the right word, I mean I just can't let go of eye candy and whatnot in order to reach a deeper level, I wonder what the point of reaching a deeper level is too, I mean why not just watch tits annd lesbians right, I guess there can be love involved in all that but I feel like mush sometimes because there is nothing that brings anyone any closer to un derstanding anything and ultimately it paints a strange pictyure of life. Now I've expanded my answer, I mean, not answer but thoughts and "ruminations" as Sting would say, to include many of the dating shows that I've been watching recxently. Like the bachelorette. Trista is the bachelorette and she looks great in a swim suit, yes, no argument there, but she is a very fucked up person I think, I mean, in some ways no more fucked up than any of us but I see a great loneliness in her, or rather, I don't see it, she talks about it. She is extremely fragile too, and most of her decisions about people seem to be well what am I saying, I suppose the guys she got rid of were the more fucked up guys, that's true, I mean the guy that walked off the show was obviously not altogether that sure of himself either. And definitely not a grounded individual. I suppose I think that I suppose you know what I am writing horeshit right now, It's just that the dating shows, I mean I love them, but the value of them is less than nothing. There is very little that is not external about any of the elements of the shows any of them, except for elimidate which is the best, but just look at Trista I mean really look at her and think about the kind of person she is and what she hopes to achieve and the fact that she is as much a part of you and me as is our own fingernails and shit, she is us, this is us. Our culture is us, and she's just a scared, fame-obsessed lunatic who's main credentials pitched by the show is that she was a Miami Heat dancer, now it is a wonderful thing to be a dancer, but has she really danced. I mean really danced. No, she's performed some lame ass rehearsed half-cheerleading/half hip hop cardio aerobic dance step that is so wooden and lowest common denominator she has. But has she danced, I mean the dance of life I mean let herself rip until she disappeared? No. She will never disappear, but nobody wants to. Everybody wants to be more visible. Including me.

That Blog jump from here. Didn't work so good since I don't know how to imbed those anchors in a homepage so that you can end up at the bopttom or anywhere on the page you want. So it didn't really make sense, but there's no reason to make sense, after all this is only an extension of my thoughts and sometimes they don't make sense. Well sometimes they do, but a lot of times they don't. If you tell yourself that all your thoughts will make sense will they? Is that how it works, do you become confused because you say you are? If that's true that what isn't or is. You know what I mean? Is there someone trapped in the upper hemisphere of the globe that we call the cerebellum or is that just something that is a result of biomass accumulating. Did you ever think that mass could be thought material that has consolidated somewhere in the universe. But why would it mainfest as rocks and shit right? And what about all the stuff we're thinking now, where does that end up (if not in an electrical/sub-electrical field of thought that exists on a p[lane in one of the 26 dimensions and we can feel because you feel heavier when you are burdened with thought, for sure. ) And you might say, well then who was thinking all those thoughts back then, but I would counter that time does not exist except as a concept which is also thought and that it is really only a study of movement that happens when we try and measure time. And these aren't things that come from me but only things that I've tried to understand from other people but I find great excitement in ideas as wild as this. Like when phycisists actually come to the conclusion that there is only one moment and that it stretches out infinitely in both directions into the past and future but that these pasts and future concepts are only a different lens on the same moment which happens all at once now, forever, and the perception of the moment as something else comes from the tendency of us to describe the motion of the planets (and especially to get old and die) and to think that we don't want to die and we think that we aren't immortal and stuff. We think that everything is seperate and apart and we are always very concerned about arriving on time for everything because it's rude not to arrive on time. It's ve4ry very rude to keep someone waiting because while they were waiting all they could do was sit and think about how late you were and how much time they wasted out of their lives while they waited for you and all of this thinking about you and how much you disrespected them kept them out of the infinite moment because they didn't know that there was nothing to think and nothing to do. There couldn't possibly be. And all you did was cheat them out of several minutes of their life and now they don't have those anymore, because they wasted them, waiting for you.

IK: King, you talked earlier on this page about procrastination, can you eleborate on that now?

k: Yes I coud elaborate and that would be very nice and fun for me to do because it is one of the things that I do not enjoy most however I have notiiced that you cannot find out what you are writing if your train of thought goes away but here we are back again, now. I think we are, yes what I was going to say is that if you use procrastination like an engine to get things moving it can often be sustained for some times, for example on this very bl9og you will currently find writing by me that is happening right now, as i am typing this, in fact that is not even accurate for were i not typing there would not even be these kiunds of statements or even this thought I just had. So you can see how things are maintained, now understand me closely when I tell you that UI have an enormous amount of work to due do do./? Elsewhere or I mean to say for my job however while I procrastinate doing that, I use thise to do so. Thus the fuel, this the energy that is the me.

Blogjump to what I was thinking about around this time last year go!

the sheer majesty of the blogjump technology...?

blogjump now go!

See, anyone can do i -- oh wait, I fucked it up. Rats.

Man, oh man, I wanna write more I wanna but it is hard to do and I am so lazy but like, I look bacjk over entries in this blog and I feel like I don't dso such a good job on it all the time and yeah the potential is there to make it good but there's so many things to do all the time I guess you should just let go and juyst focus on one thing or two things or something but how can you when so many things are so fun like I think about how much time I've spent trying to9 get good on guitar and then I went out and played last night and I wasn't very good at least not in comparison to the people I was playing with I mean I found it hard to keep up and the tone I had was shit but I guess its good to try and play I mean it was fun anyway but what i'm trying to say is that when you get yourself into a situation where you can do a lot of things I mean should you do them of course it's not necessary to be good at everything. MMaybe that's just the ego talking but it would be nice to be proud of something although I guess I am proud of some stuff you know>? But it's just that there's so much self-criticism that goes along with everyuthing that sometimes it's not even enjoyable. And yes I love writing and acting and playing music and directing and editing and producing and all that shit that I have been given the opportunity to do but then why does it feel so stretched out and in between things. I don't even know what I'm saying i'm just trying to figure out what's going on in my head. it's like I wrote this blog entry last year which i can't link to right now because of this fucking free writing thing but i wrote this entry called a weekend away and it has some interesting things in it i think but then at the end it talks about how i should write something with a point and stop wasting everybody's time but what the fuck was that? what am I talking about? i am so insecure about writying i guess, cause who's time am i wasting? I don't know. Maybe i thought i was wasting my time, but i don't think anyone elze was holding out waiting for me to wright something important and maybe it's only me that was waiting maybe i'm wasting my own time but why? i'm writing something which is better than nothing right? I think its hard when you are a big fan of evbery one else's work, and a huge fan of your friend's work or friends'' work and I guess you compare yourself i guess? Man I can't write here at work cause I'm ghetting fucking interrupted all the time. Here's something I noticed the other day and its that my mind is so busy. Somehow and i don't know how but i noticed it while i was sleepiung., I noticed that there were 3 or 4 conversations going on in my bvrain. My brain was trying to work something out and I don't know what i think it was work that I had already done so I don't know what it was but oh my God it is so loud near my desk because the people who sit near me are loud. The inrteresting thing I was going to mention is that when I staryted working at STar! the entertainment information station I was working nights, and I noticed that whenever I worked during the day I'd need to talk way more at the end of the day or I'd need to doi something or I'd be more baljkdjkj crazy. Because i truly felt like I had absorbed the energy of the office it's such a buzz buzz buzz buzzz all the time and it was making me sketchy but now that I work during the day I kinda forget how quiet I had it before and now I still feel buzz buzz but I don't know how to explain i mean I don't think about it. I t occured to me the other day for some reason cause the weeks are whipping by too and I don't know why. How do you know that you're in the right place in life is happiness the only litmus test? Because you should be able to be in the right place but be unghaspppy sometimes right? Or at the very least, be tired and overworked right? I mean honestly I think in some ways I'm here in the right place but in other wayss.... I don't really like editing all the time man. I mean I love having this skill , and I love being able to edit my own stuyff and I like my job a lot and I love working for Chum i've made some good Chums here, well now trhat I think about have I? Well for sure.., I love my boss and the people in my department are great. Who's kidding who, I have a great job but it just feels like a grind soimetimes and there are definitely a lot of cynical people here and people who are just too burnt out to cope and they feel like they've ;lost ten years and even though they get to go to the MMVAss once a year it doesn't really balance out. But lots of people have shitty jobs rtight? I thiunk that here people expect to have an amazing life because it's television and every time they tell someone that theyu work in television people are like "wow that 's great" and the only reason people are like that is because everyone watches or has watched televisiopn whereas if I work as assistant comptroller at a mid-sized hedge fund company no one has any fucking idea what I do they can't visualize it and they don't care to. So maybe I just start telling people that I work in finance aend of conversation and I worry more about life outside of work than the inner4 working s of work. It's just that work takes up so much of life and everyone thinks that if they make enough money they'll end up with enough freedom to check out for a while or at least I think that, but it's never gonna happen like that. I mean I still hope it will but if you wanna drop out yopu gotta drop out I suppose. But listen this is just the gripings of an extremely lazy person. I'll often lie on my bed for an hour or more and literally stare at the ceiling. I squeezed in twenty miutes of ceiling staring this morning in fact and it was great but there's gotta be more to do than get fucked up on drugs and booze which is my problem right noiw. Like I'm trying to quit pot and having a fuck of a time doing it because I want to smoke something even if its a plastic straw from mcdonalds fiulled with salt and sugar and things so I'll smoke anything except cigs well that's mnot true I fucking hate clove cigarettes is this free writing really supposed to help you with anything anyhow I can't seem to let go of a few things and without pot, hoinestly i feel bored. I have a drug problem and it is marijuana and the only thing that's gonna cure it is time like when you get over a woman say, that's the only thing that works is time. So now here I am waiting for time to pass so that I can get off of the drugs and then hopefully things wi;ll
seem less boring but for now the drugs help for somet reason, I mean they do help I mean , I lost my train of thought now here we go we're gonna go for the stream if we can man go to the stream flatbush her bush is the flattest bush I ever poked lad dad is the one who poked mom and caused me in ever in always in the back of the car parking lot where there used to be lines on the cement but now there are cemented lines in my forehead Josh was coming over But I cancelled but he didn't get the message, now you repeat Kwan repeat after me now knowledge nowledge now the ledge looks precaruious precare ee us us we are having a good time now. We are gfinem, fine, but not in a physical way. The area around here is obsessed with the physical and I am part of the are so now I am . But I wanna relinquish that man, and may be to ward the end result of something else is where I should go. It's funny my brain can't help[ but try and make sense of the word s which feel like they're coming out at random sometimes but at the end of the sentence there is an attempt made to try and make it make sense. Semse sense? What the fuck is sense? Why do we need it. Who came up with it? Who's idea is this socierty? Why do we want it. Granted everyonme looks good. Goddmna are there ever some good-looking people in downtown Toronto. But where are the originals? Where the fuck are they? And better yet, where are their minds. Caught up working on something "brilliant" that they're being paid modestly for, undoubtedly.

I cannot believe the level of self-criticism on this site overall, I mean everywhere I'm complaining and whining about this and that and this and that and how much my writing is no good and how I'm not motivated and how I hate the look aof the site and I think what I'm writing is garbage and fuck man like who fucking cares I think I must have had it built up in my mind that I'm supposed to be some kind of amazing writer that whenever I write something it;s gonna rock somebody's world and my own expectations of it are so high that when I see the result i'm like oh, that's disappointing or whatnot and then my energy is decreased the next time out or I don't write cause I think its gotta be so good, but whyy????? based on what? On my ego? On me thinking I'm so great cause I wrote a story that won a prize when I was in grade school? Is that it. I mean, honestly, I'm familiar with the world of literature, after all I worked in a book store for two years and I tried to read a little bit of everything but I mean, I would read like 1 page of everything. Of Ulysses by Joyce I read a page I think and of For whom the Bell tolls and of Dickens' Great Expectations and all these books I'd skim a little bit here and there but I never really ghot engrossed and involved and inside and passionate about the words. Well come on Kinger, sometimes you did, but there would be weekly obsessions and then, I don't know I think that I just never felt comfortable reading literature I mean I felt comfortable but it wasn't like a passion that fired my soul. I mean i love writers I love them very much and I especially love guys who can bend and shape language so that it is easy to understand but it has a musical quality to it and that's what I aspire to??? I don't know I mean, I think I really liked and identified with Hunter S. when I was working because He had a dirty mouth and he liked to do drugs and I responded to that and to the honesty with which he was weriting and to the structural leaps he made within the genre he wasd working in, but now I don't read as much at least not as much literatu8re although I did read Somerset Maugham's Razors edge and fuck was that a good fucking book, but its like I don't know sometimes that i have eniough patience or what? what? i remember I thought about trying to become a jpouinoliusty journalist when I was done at the bookstore and for my first story I interviewqed Mortiis from Norway the Black Metal performer the guy who 's concert I went to and it was insane and so I got in touch with him and I did a telephone interview and I pretended I was a rock reporter and we talked for an hour and I transcribed everything and I trioed to cut it down and cut it down and I tried to describe the experience of seeing him and what his music weas like and I tried to write an articlwe about him but it was fucking hard and after about 12 drafts I gave up and fuck I gave up on a lot of things but what the fuck? I mean I didn't know wgat I was doing . It's like, I f you want to be a good journalist or if you want to be a journalist period its not easy rweally. And I think there is a reason peoiple study it for several years. There are aspects of it that I love, but that is a hard job and its not enough to write about something that interests you, there always has to be a reason that you are writing a story what is it about the story that is now. Right now,. Today why is the story the latest greatest thing that you could ever imagine. What's the angle angle angle? You know? And it doesn't help that you are self critical to the max. Fuck.. What is the point of self-criticism really. I mean, I think analysis and self-analysis is great in one sense. I suppose it can encourage you to do better work. But carried to the extreme, it can promote you to do no work at all. And I knoew there's perfectionism and whatnot, But there's no point in being a perfectionist if you wind up not doing anything that you can be a perfectionist about. It's so rare to find peo[le that encourage passions in others and don't criticize.. I have to say that my own parents are very supportive of me, and simultaneously very critical.. Supportive to my face. Critical to those around me./ What's he doing? What's he doing? Why doesz he do this? Why? Why? And they thought I should do this or that and not what I was doing and now they don't care vbecause I work in television. But I don't think I'm a born editor either man. Fuck.., I totally sympathize with all those people thast I have met in the past five years who don't know what theyu want to do. It can be a very disturbing thing. Your mind is thrown into some kind of freefall. I mean, I think that the benefits of that freefall might be worth while. Agfterall....what about the moment? What about just living moment by momernt. I want that because I've experienced it and there's nothing better. But within our society it's very difficult unless you have a plan. To do anything.

Free free free free free free free open sesame crackers and sesame oil and sesame seed on your bun bun bun. The rogues are gathering beneath a cloud of fungus powder that's floating above us. There's nothing we can do either. Well, not noithing but no thing that we can do do do do do heartbreaker heartbreaker tear this world apart. The police in New York City shot a boy right through his heart in a case of mistaken identity they put a bullet through his heart, wait that can't be right I saw that movie City of God last Night wow, what a great film and what's more, there's a documentary about the slums in Rio de Janeiro and it is amazing. I can't believe people live that way I mean it is a slum slum slum. Even the shanties in Cambodia didn't look so bad although I'm surethere weres ome equivalents but this one was insane. And the documentary had great access too they had the drugdealers they were tyalking to they had the chief of police the residents of the slum it was unbelieveable and the Chief of police his words were incredible I mean just so real. He fully understood the reality of the situation. He talked about the corruption of the police force, he talked about how poor the people were in the slum, how the drug dealers take care of people in the slum. How they protect the slum from the police. One policeman had said that they had had 156 violent (gunfire) exchanges/confrontations witrh the residents of the slums I can't remember what they kept calling it the favel? the flaveld I don't know b=ut 156 confrontations over the last six months and just as many not violent confrontations and also he said theat 100 % of their calls were to that area. The chief said he didn't blame anyone for getting involved with the dealers because it's survival what else are you going to do? You cabn't eat you are starving hungry, you are going to steal or you are going to get involved with someone who pays you good money and plus these peeople the dealers are protecting you from the police if your child is sick and you can't afford medicine the dealers will buy it for you they'll give you money for gas, even for cigarettes they don't even seem like bad guys really -- until you cross them that is. If someone doesn't pay a debt they cut him into little pieces as an example and these guys are armed to the teeth literally armed to the teeth with rocket powered grenades AR-15s Ak47s grenade launchers handguns galore shotguns rifles and more. The Rio police have weapons like no other police force in the world. Combat weapons and they exchaange heavy gunfire on a regular basis with the dealers. It's that violent. And then some of the residents were talking about why the kids become drugdealers and they were saying that girls from the city hot girls beautiful blond girls from the city (and you know they're hot because have the girls in the slum who are dirty and have no make-up on and are the opposite of dressed up arer gorgeous ) those Brazilian girls they like guns I guess cause the people say that the girls from the city love guys who carry guns and if you don't have a gun they won't even look at you but if you do you got it made -- even a poor kid from the slum the girls will go with you and the bigger the gun the better. Crazy right? Buit how can you resist?b We've all done retarded things for women anyhow let alone you got nothing and no pleasure and suffering all the time and then a nice well dressed hot blond brazilian broad from the city
's gonna come by and say hey you with the gun I wanna be your girl and get iut on wioth you while you wave your gun around and I'm not gonna refuse that I'm gonna get me a gun stat. And they're easy to get because the cops will show up and sell them to you for cheap because they get paid and they have warehouses upon warehouses full of stolen guns. Brazil must have more guns than the U.S>, well per capita at least I mean these people everytone is carrying and powerful weapons. They are at war liuterally at war it's a daily eventy that they are in combat and therefore war Therefore War Therefore War War what is it good 4 5 6 7 8 9 0000000000000000are do you tharead said said fred what the fuck happened to the land where from the freaks were abnle to repeat what they saw when they saw it. The last time this went down was the time cbefore lasyt. I need an apartment. Is it really that busy and polluted on Ossington Should I listen to that logic or should I trust my own logic definitely trust my own I know but maybe there is something else out there there's just so much choice choice choice fresh apartments catch of the day of the month even the one I want needs to have everything I need. I don't know what to think I really like the place I live now and it's too bad that MF and I split because I liked living with her and with a girl in general but definitely with her she's so clean and organized and she cooks and she has lots of nice girly things around and the sheets aleways smell good and we could hug whenever we wanted to or needed to and we could watch elimidate every night and hold each other and take showers and talk while she's in the bath orsomething and we were a team maybe one person would get something for the aprtment while the other one was out although I guess it was usually her doing that I mean did I take things for granted? Inevitably you always do I suppose I'm sure I'm taking a lot of things for granted now on a whole range of subjects and I know we weren't gonna make it we would have killed each other probably ijn a few years or maybe divorced or whatnot but sometimes it just felt so riught especially physically. I mean we just fit together physically so weell and I don't mean my dick in her pussy although I do mean that too because that was a good fit but I mean my arm around her she fit into my side there were just lots of things that were the right size and fit and I loved the way she smells and that's big cause so many people girls I mean are nice looking sometimes and they don't smell nice I mean they have perfumes and stuff that are overwhelming and too strong or weird and when you really like someone's scent that they have and wear then you've got something good because it's so great to be close and to bury your face in their neck and their hair and nuzzle in tight and relax into bliss.

I was in the apartment yesterday, you knew that because I called you, but even if I hadn't you would have known. Sure a few of my things found their way back in there and inevitably you would have noticed, but I think that as soon as you walked in the door, you would have felt my presence. I felt yours. I walked in, dropped my luggage and quickly toured the place to see what had changed. It was neat, but not clean. The bathroom floor was soaking wet, because you never use the bathmat or towel off in the tub. You just drip water all over the bathroom floor. I used to hate that. It made me so angry in the past. Yesterday, I just took off my socks and traced out patterns in the water with my big toe. You bought shampoo...nice shampoo. I used it. I liked it better than mine. I bet you used mine today. Just for novelty's sake. I used to buy all the toiletries, you never did and you liked to use mine. You were appreciative. I noticed that although you had great shampoo, and conditioner (you never used conditioner in the past) that you had really cheap, crappy shaving cream. Then my jealous mind thought that maybe another girl had been staying there and I searched for traces of that. Were there two dirty pasta bowls or just one? I suddenly felt angry instead of nostalgic. Then I realized how crazy I was and calmed down. I saw that you returned my movie and got a new one. I opened the DVD and saw what was and felt sad cause I wanted to see that too. I loved that apartment, I loved us in that apartment. I loved (love) you still. For years we loved each other knowing it wouldn't work. The saddest relationship I'll probably ever have and one that changed the way I think about love forever. Reason is that I realized that love wasn't enough to make it work. I feel like a child learning that all of the fantasy and fun of childhood is made up and I'd been lied to all along. What a fucking ripoff. You find someone you adore, respect, lust after and you do everything to make it fit. You fight, you hurt each other, you call each other insensitive and unsupportive, you put band-aids on things and carry on. Deep under all the struggle though, you know its doomed, but you can't accept it because you can also be so insanely happy sometimes and relaxed and in love. I wish that you were someone else to me. A friend, a brother, a son. That you could have some kind of permanance in my life because I still love you, but I don't want to be your girlfriend. You don't want to be my boyfriend. And you don't seem to want to be my friend. Hopefully, some day that will change. I hope so.

I always feel your presence filion, and I always know when it's you calling on the phone because I start thinking thinking thinking about you and then the phone rings and its you. And I do want to be your friend in a way but in another way I don't because I don't want to know what you are doing and thinking about and I don't want to to listen to your sweet voice and see you because it is just upsetting to me and I love youi and that's why because you have this thing over me that is too strong that I can't contain that makes me crazy in my mind and makes me attached and that hurts because you have someone else now and they get access to all those ;little private things about you and you are so private in so many ways that it feels very nice to be in there in that private space sometimes and that's good. I mean you need someone that is moving the same way you are and doing what you are doing and then you can grow together into something rather than trying us trying us trying to force that growing together can happen. Whatever that means I don't think that made sense but I know that I have to do more before I can not be alone and maybe you are further ahead that way or whatnot I don't know but I do think about you a lot and I was hanging out with a guy from work last night who's from a small town and he was just like your brother and we talked for hours and smoked a bong of course and in that way he was very much like your brother but I mean we talked for hours and I felt more easy talking to him than some people that I know better at work and I don't know why I mean ultimately we have completely different backgrounds but there's that thing that common sense stright forward no bullshit approach to things and a keen intelligence that is disguised by substance abuse that I feel completely at home with that feels like something I know that I am maybe I don't know but I thought about you then. I can't be the new friend-ex yet, I don't know if that will change as you are hoping but right now it still feels fresh like warm blood.