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So now that I cleared some demons out last month, I must concentrate on being more positive, not letting the worlds problems weigh so heavily on my mind. I need to concentrate on the comic book that Matt, Vance and I have put so much work into. Matt's boss is waiting to publish it; we just got to get everything ready. Word. It's time for a come up. Years of underachieving have to be forgotten. I know what I am capable of but I have never put in that much effort. Thanks a lot, alcohol, fast cars, and loose women.
Why do I have to be the barometer for your intellectual pretensions? Why do you seek my approval for the music you play or listen to, or the latest book you've fucking read? Do I know something you don't about the world? Is it because I read just about every book I get my hands on? I'm sick of being the litmus test for your coolness. I am not here to judge, only to observe. I can give feedback, but don't think that I know what's best. I can't even find a job. You think my approval counts? Apparently not.
Consider nothing. Take heed in emptiness. Wear your heart on your pant leg. Gain comfort in knowing bullshit. Trivial knowledge is best. Take time to stop and smell the sewage. Pontificate the nature of old radial tires in a pile. The man who finishes first or last was stupid enough to start. Negativity is a gift. Safety violations are a boon. With out these things there is no opposite to give credence to. The benevolent man will take no action in the face of challenge, because he knows nothing real is gained in materialistic matters. I'm the fucking jackass, ya'know?
You didn't find my DNA at the scene. I could not have been there. But still, you have to convict somebody, so why not me. You have already used the media, who in each reporter's quest for individual acclaim have convicted me without trial in the minds' of people who still pay attention to lapdog media. I wish it did not turn out this way, but I guess I will be incarcerated with the animals you are manufacturing in the prison-industrial complex. Wait, this is Texas, how about you just kill me instead of making my life hell on Earth.
I have won the NBA title, the World Series, the Indy 500, and Super Bowl. I've won gold medals, championship rings, and showers of milk and champagne. I live vicariously through the life of major sports figures that can make me forget my own failures and make me feel good about finally rooting for a winner. Man, it feels so good. I am such a winner! Is this sarcastic? You bet your sweet ass it is. I have grown jaded about sports and the jack-off mentality of those who follow them so closely. Except the World Cup, can't ignore everything.
I have no credentials or pedigree. I am of no blue blood stock or old money. Why am I always trying to define who I am? Good question and I'm glad I asked it. It is because I have absolutely no idea. I lack identity. Faceless, nameless, seeking… I have minimal accomplishments that have not been recognized for anything other than what they are. Am I trying to create something timeless and meaningful? Every time I play my music, write, or rant. But I am not going to simply because I am trying to, and is that how it works?
It was a beautiful, but hot day today. Summers in Texas can be almost unbearable in the afternoon, and siestas are a must from 1:30 until around 4:00. Every year now we have a drought here and they impose burn bans, hoping that stupid people tossing their cigarette butts out the windows of their cars don't burn thousands of acres with their own foolishness. There is something about 100 degree-days that are so stifling. I feel like I'm choking on the air, and I still go out in it. I really must be crazy or just this side of it.
A new way of viewing the world and a new way of counting time. Thinking about problems, issues, things that need attention, but not really caring. This is not a confessional, or a bitch. I am sleepy. I watch the goals scored, the fires burn, the people get arrested, the toil of the people who work to save things deemed worth saving. Floods, storms, crime, and gossip fill up the idiot box. Human interest heart string pulling bullshit follows. That should make you feel better, eh? The sun shines brightly in my room, filling up my heart with clean thoughts.
Max died today. I sobbed more than I have in the last ten years, except for when my friend Josh died, but I had raised Max since he was a pup. Granted, I have not been able to spend time with him in the last 5 years, since apartment life is not well suited to keeping a big dog. Never the less, I loved him and was saddened when my dad told me he was gone. I now feel like I have to get a new dog and atone for my lack of being there for Max. 200 miles away…
It is really a beautiful drive to cruise river road in New Braunfuls in the middle of the day, during the week when there are fewer tourists. The high walls of the river basin, with trees gaining the strength to shoot forth from what seems like solid rock, are tall and I think back to when this was virgin land. The water looked green and cool, inviting me to jump in to deal with the upper 90's temperature outside. Fucking hot. Times like that I wish I still had A/C in my car. Too bad the river was so low.
The damn test had 900 questions on it. What the hell did this woman think she would find out about my mental state with this bullshit? The inkblot tests were bad enough, and I tried to blow her mind a little by answering with totally random responses. "Buddha," I said. "What?" "I said Buddha, you know who that is, don't you?" She didn't know what to think. I grinned slyly to myself. I had turned her questioning me into me questioning her. I couldn't believe that at 17 they were thinking I had mental problems, don't we all? Tee hee….
We sat on blankets, drinking cheap beer, letting the soreness work its way out of our muscles after the ten miles of rocks we had just biked, and listened to Marcia Ball in Zilker Park. My brother had many of his friends there, and strangely Val knew some old co-workers there. And there I was, with nobody I knew save Vance and Val. This perplexed me. I've lived here longer than either of them, but had no one there to claim as one of "my" friends. Maybe I choose the wrong people to hang out with. Maybe I have none.
God, I am sitting here watching the Strokes on TV and wonder how the fuck people have been conned into thinking that this band is actually good. They suck ass. They are worse than the White Stripes. Pretentious drivel with no talent, just enough weirdness and "cool" clothes so that everyone thinks they are great. This distresses me to think about. Are we indeed growing more ignorant as a nation so that we'll buy anything anyone says is cool? Steve played some shows on the West Coast with the Strokes and said they were dicks. I am sure they are…
We played Sunday night at Jack's beer joint. I guess everything went okay, but I still have doubts about this new group. I like some of the things we are doing, but I am never sure of whether or not I really believe in what we are playing. This self doubt is confusing considering I've already committed to a July 4th show in the park with what I am sure will be a shitload of people. I have to get Barry involved in this, because I know he's my barometer for bullshit and a gifted guitarist in his own right.
How the hell did I end up in the back of a limo with 4 girls who were doing cocaine? Not me, I hate that shit, but wow, what a night. I got home when the sun came up and today am feeling hung over and tired. I was supposed to go to band practice but I flaked out, needing instead to rest my weary head and recoup my body from a night of hard drinking. I'm glad it's overcast today, because I just don't think I could stand sunny and hot, 100 degrees of headache and what have you….
Why is it that I cannot find a fucking job? What the FUCK! I have tons of experience and can do and have done just about everything. I am frustrated and tired and PISSED THE FUCK OFF! Every time something looks good, I get passed over. Do I give bad interviews? I don't think so. Do I give off some weird bad vibe? I'm not sure. I do know that I am sick of all this and at my ends. I don't know what else to do other than start something illegal in order to survive. It must be done.
I'm glad I stayed up last night and watched the U.S. vs. Mexico World Cup match because it was GREAT! Rough and tumble, lots of fouls, and WE WON! Here in Texas, so many people (read Mexicans) were rooting for Mexico and they were all just so sure they would kick the United States ass. "How do you like your crow?" I jumped up and down when both goals were scored. It was strange, considering the lack of national pride I exude. Sometimes I guess I just have to acknowledge that I am an ugly American, like it or not
Today I feel very alone. Everyone that I work with seems to always talk about their girlfriend all the time. I have none to mention, and have not for about 6 years, really. I just can't seem to find the right one, or a least somewhat right, and I refuse to settle or lower my already set standards which do not involve drop dead good looks, just someone with no major issues that are blatantly obvious. True, I do not have game when it comes to impressing those that I do have interest in, because that's all a front anyway.
It was a slow drip and the ash from the cigarette fell to the floor exploding into tiny pieces of carbon flittering into a mosaic pattern on the carpet. The cold air kicked in, and the gentle hum of the television soothed my thoughts even through I never pay attention to the damned thing. Just like the background noise. My hands were swollen and aching, as was the rest of my beaten body. All I could think about was a cold beer but hadn't the energy to get one. Instead I sat silent, muscles tightening, and listened to the world.
When I stepped up to the tee box, I drove a straight and down the center of the fairway drive that went 300+ yards. I then hit my second shot to within 4 feet of the cup, stopping it with perfect backspin. I'm still trying to putt this thing in that is my life. All the setups were perfect, but the finish eludes me as if it is camouflaged and well hidden from my sight. I guess I the short game is what kills your score and that seems to be my case as I try and find my place…
I seem to have nothing to say today and that is rare for me. Since I FINALLY found a job, I've been working every day and sometimes putting in 12-hour shifts. I don't mind the physical labor, since maybe it will get me into shape, but the pay sucks and when it's 100 degrees of Texas summer heat, it can really take its toll on you. Yesterday we had to move a 1000-pound safe, and that was a real bitch. I just keep jamming to the breakbeats in my head and going with the flow. Gotta keep moving…
Okay, let me see if I can explain this… I was finally laying down to get some sleep and kept experiencing something that almost scared me. My ears felt as if they were closing, changing to a high-pitch hum like I had been standing next to a Marshall, and I felt like I was rising out of my body and seeing the room from above. As soon as I felt relaxed enough to sleep, it would happen again and I would wake myself up as if I was scared to leave my body. Next time I will not be afraid…
Riding back from Kerrville, I was laying in the back of the truck on a bed of moving blankets. The five hours of sleep I got the night before were catching up with me so I decided that since it was a two-hour drive, I could catch a nap. The back was hot from the rising afternoon temperature, and as I dozed, I had visions. I felt as if I could see my friends and what they were doing at that same moment, as if remote viewing. Not that I have any special powers, but something was most definitely happening.
It was an unsettling experience, moving the furniture out of the retirement home. I wonder if the residents knew that the woman who had lived there only moved, and had not died. They were all very nice, but they looked at us as if we were the scavengers of death. "Hey, I'm just hired muscle," I kept thinking. Some Christian group was singing and praying during lunch. I actually heard one of them say "The things I do for Jesus." Don't do them any favors, bitch, and take your stupid puppets with you. When you leave, I'll prey for you.
The moment I saw her sitting in that chair I knew that I wanted to know her better. Yes, she was attractive, but as we all sat around and joked and laughed, I was intrigued by her spirit. She was funny, smart, and no fool. I hate all the young girls in this college town, and maybe that's what sealed the deal in my mind. Yes, I must get to know her better, but would she respond? I am only hoping that she doesn't want to play games with me. After being stalked I don't think I could handle it…
I feel better with Junior involved in this new endeavor, as he adds a lot to our sound and rounds it out with the energy he brings. The show last night went well, especially since he only practiced twice with us. She was there, and we spoke briefly but I was somewhat aloof for some reason. Granted, I had worked all day moving furniture and was feeling very tired. I should have said more, but my concentration was on the gig, wanting to make sure it went well. I liked watching her smile, but I had to follow the changes.
How is it that I just met this girl and I find myself thinking about her all day long? We don't even know each other very well yet, but I seem to be infatuated by her. JT and Mike told her that I had mentioned she was "cute" or something like that, and they seem to think I might have a good chance among her current suitors. I have not thought about a woman this much in years, but I don't want to set myself up for a big letdown. I have to play it cool and take my time…
Our government keeps warning us about "future attacks", and being that the Fourth is coming up soon, it makes me uneasy. I am terribly suspicious of our government, hypocrites that they are, and wonder what THEY are doing behind the scenes. We have to stop our support of Israel because they are just as guilty of terrorism, if not more, than the Palestinians are. This new age we welcomed was carefully planned out by few. There are more things going on than any one of us could fathom, I think, and the only thing keeping me sane is The Simpsons…
Looking around the room, the sad people caught my eye. They were all sad, so it seemed, or else they would be at home with their families or caught up in more serious and challenging endeavors than 12-ounce curls. The life of the barfly, long documented on television and in the movies, is always a lie. It's not Cheers… anything like that. Some of the people in the room were blind drunk, and John kept annoying the shit out of me by slurring business proposals at me. I was supposed to already be at practice, how did I get here?
And one last thing before you go, please do this for me. I don't want to get a bad case of the zips, so if you could, flip that bottle over here. Once again called looking for the train, but off the top of his head he knew not the answer. Wrap it all up then, and have that mailed to my post office box. I can smell the rain coming, and the tightening of my muscles senses as much. Anticipatory, on the brink of absolute sanity, the bursting of the random agents sparkles in the lighted doorway proudly skittering.
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