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It was a hybrid, you see. Yes. No. OK. I'm not sure what it is exactly you are saying, but go ahead and get it done. This has to be completed by Monday. When is that ever a reason to hurry? We have to capitalize on the available market. Fuck you. You are a sorry son of a bitch, Dick, and not worth the oil that is collecting on the sides of you nose. Christ, can't you do something about that shit, it's making me sick. Uncouth bastard. I need a drink. This guy is a complete cretin, I'm sure…
When the rules are changed, assumptions are made on previously learned patterns. The brain has to be rewired. Mine was wired that night, stumbling through bathrooms and hearing Spanish bouncing around. Who were those people I was with? I will never know. One more bar, yes let's go sure gotta be somewhere in the morning but hey what's your name, Sandra, okay nice to meet you let's fuck. The motel was cheap and dirty, and I guess so was she but she was pretty. The drugs were flowing and all night long we didn't leave the bed. Was it Sandra?
I don't want to hear it, understand? Nobody, and I mean nobody, yells at me. I will not sit here and listen to you rant and rave and for god's sake shut your fucking piehole before you push me too far and I explode. It's very easy, you know, easier than you would probably expect and the fact that your comfortable in my presence merely means I have you fooled and you don't really know me. I don't hit, you stupid motherfucker, I disable. The thoughts teetering, the loss of the need to restrain myself. Where is the fucking joint?
Night slipped into morning and we sat and smoked and talked listened heard maybe not hey I'm only human. I watched her intently, wondering how it is she came here and who she was. Never met her. It was, indeed, nice to meet her and I couldn't help think what it might be like wrapped in between those thighs. Never happen. She likes girls, which is cool with me but damn if I didn't have this attraction to her that I could not explain, and it's not the liking girls thing. We always want what we cannot have, I guess.
The tip, headed west with no course. A brief period of fair conditions, that's all I can promise. Well, there it is. Either we go on the 6th or wait and lose out even more. The longer we wait the more anxious and fearful we will become. We must capitalise on such information as soon as possible and take what is ours. What is ours? Nothing is ours, just like nothing is theirs. Nothing belongs to anyone, don't you see. The whole concept of ownership is fabricated and false. Shiny things attract birds, barracuda and humans. What have we become?
The car appeared in front of 444 Orleans as we were taking a break from practice in that hot, dank old building. The size of a football field with no air conditioning, it was hell in the summer. Steve decided to make a call and walked across the street to the opposite corner to the phone booth. It was sweltering, so naturally he had no shirt on and had a hat on to hold back his long hair. I remember it to be a Lexus, but a man in a car pulled up and motioned to Steve to get in…
I am weary with trying to get motherfuckers I know to open their eyes and stop listening to CNN or Fox News. For Crissakes, how could you only buy what you're getting sold? I find it interesting that the Korean farmer who committed suicide at the WTO protests in Cancun was NEVER mentioned on the news here. CNN online had a small, buried blurb, but isn't that more important than Joe fucking Millionaire or Paris Hilton. The newspapers are shit, and so is the news. This country had become so corporate that the mind control is unbelievable. Sorry assed saps…
The fire roared and the people slept in their homes. I sat smoking, listening intently to every crackle and pop the fireplace emitted and wondering about my country. How has it come to pass that so many could be so blinded by so few? Did you guys see the news last night? No, I didn't, and I would appreciate you not spreading whatever bullshit you heard by passing it on to the others around you. Polysemous. The program equals the message. I feel alone on a crowded street. "For non-conformity the world whips you with its displeasure." Ralph Waldo Emerson…
Crickets hummed gently in the darkness and my eyes slowly adjusted to the light available. The smells of a soup or stew grew steadily as I slowly approached the apartment. It had a comforting feeling, but I still knew what had to be done. The dark corners of the human mind are often disturbing when confronted head on, so I chose instead to take an indirect route. The cold blade held fast in my hands, I knew no yesterday or tomorrow, only this moment of glory and pleasure. Tonight, yes, no more struggling with the demons. The doorknob turned slowly.
Inoculation – give "dangerous" voices in small doses. I shall inoculate those around me first. Make them stronger, more informed on the real issues that are in need of immediate attention. Hope the web can spread out like a virus. A cleansing virus to clear the mind of unnecessary wants. Small level. Disrupt stable situation and re-establish. Fuck ‘em. Compressed down deep in the earth's crust and after years of pressure popping up to take heed of the situation and steer it towards fame or folly. Both are legitimate ends. I am a monk of my own religion. The sleeping souls…
Eleven in and that's it, as I would venture to guess. What happened to Drewski? No more e-mails of the truth pouring in. He said he was being watched for some of the things he said, and now he has stopped relaying info to the people completely. I wonder if they got to him. Who shut him up? His is a voice that cannot be stifled, or so I thought. It has been too long, and I guess I am going to have to give him a call and see what's up. Please, people; find out the truth right now.
I was offended; I had no idea what to say. If he used the word "nigger" one more time I was going to punch him, but sadly it was all to common in that area of the south. I was ashamed, for him and me. How casual of you to offer up such sentiment so blatantly. I needed a drink. I am so glad I moved away from there years ago. I wondered to myself if I would have been saying the same things had I stayed. With so many racist blacks and whites there, it might have been unavoidable.
If somehow the rain would just cease its constant washing of my brain clean of any thoughts that might be filling it at any given moment, maybe I could get a few things done around here. Yes, I am guilty of being a tremendous slacker and was finally jolted by another contributor, but with the cold, dreariness of winter I found myself absorbed into my own head. Thinking more and sorting less of it out, waiting for something… I guess. What could I possibly be waiting for? What is really stopping me from anything? What good are these questions? Christ…
What do you think we will discover about his regime? I guess the same shit you'd hear anywhere, about anyone. We are all as guilty as anyone of international terrorism. Shit, I pay my motherfuckin' taxes, which is more than I can say for most corporations, and it doesn't take much research to find out about international incidents perpetrated against Muslims that were basically sponsored by our great country. The part that brings about helplessness is the thought of the two water-headed fucks you have to pick from when election time comes around. Rich, corporate, lying, crooked, white, greedy… evil…
It was so peaceful. The streetlights seemed to be floating balls of cotton and everything was glazed, bleak and out of focus. Inside, I could make out the outline of her form, lying peacefully next to me and sleeping lightly. Unable to focus, I couldn't tell if the clock said 3:30 or 5:30 in the morning and could have cared less, since the sound of her breathing was sweet and effortless and kept me warm. I intently tried to focus upon her face, squinting hard to try and hold her for a moment with my own eyes, here this night…
Faint recollections of dank cigarette smoke and the peeling of paint were all that struck me in retrospect. The smiles and frowns, the smell of spilled beer and pimps and hustlers seemed a dream. Cecil sayin' "Yo cuz, you wanna hit dis" My man. "Fuck yeah" "Bad Breath" Yeah, Mushmouth had some shitty breath and you couldn't understand a fucking word he said. Vance understood that much. The heat slowly melted old wallpaper off the wall and cooked the place like an oven, but none of that mattered all that much. It was more about the music than anything, music…
I saw her this morning, walking down the street on her way to school as I passed by in my car, alone in my world but wanting to be in hers. Later, I again saw her while on campus, and then yet again in Steve's store, oh she's quick. I see her at the bank and while I'm at work, studying her face and trying to capture what it is about her that fascinates me. I dream about her at night, nothing dirty, but loving beautiful dreams that change my soul. Which one could she be? Could she be near?
Maybe it's time for a change, something drastic to let me know that I'm alive. I am so tired… Why am I always feeling this way? Explicit dripping sounds crater my ears listening to the powerful claps of thunder. The stone wall glistens and the rocks from barricades against the flowing power of the sharpest thing in existence. I can hear the slight gong of the meditation chime and I slip into unconscious thought. The spirits around will haunt you, feel their presence? Why can you not understand my observations? The walking dead smell fear in the hearts of some…
The walls pressed against me and signaled that I should change the way I approached my daily living. There was a gentle hum of rain against my windowpane and I knew it was way past the time I should be up and out of bed. I staggered up and out and for some reason, as was my need, I wanted a smoke to start my day, which is rare for me. An omelet and some coffee and then maybe I could face the morning, or actually afternoon already. I am one lazy motherfucker when it comes to mornings, no doubt.
The darkness was permeated by the smell of ozone and vegetation, and the soft ground underneath my feet was spongy and soft. I walk, sans umbrella, through the wetness relishing the idea of getting soaked to the bone and maybe even getting sick. It did not matter. My clothes hung on my body and my shoes were soaked to the socks. I walked slowly, trying to take in all around me knowing that I would not be in that place again, seeing those same people and hearing those same voices decry the afternoon monsoon that always came, that always came…
We hopped into the small pirogue and pushed off the muddy bank. The early morning light broke through the oak and pine trees and glimmered off the bayou. We silently glided through the water for a bit, before breaking out the pole and paddle to guide us around the dead, submerged logs and shallows. Gators moved in the water giving off no sound, their eyes and snouts the only visible reminder of their presence. The outboard on the back of the boat was tilted upward, as we would not need it and I could tell the morning would prove interesting.
The humdrum drumming on my head hurting and hearing blasting my ears ringing and the blur of motions captured and frozen in time for later. Red lights and blues whites greens things are different than they seem not only in this light but others. Dirty floors cramped smelling cans butts saliva nasty how could this be the place to find her where and at what time. Wandering thoughtlessly not believing maybe not caring that would be so yes I think so don't you? Like to leave yes no fine I'm going can't take this anymore can you I hope not?
Weightlessness. That hanging feeling that makes me feel completely alive and yet devoid of my body and senses so how could that be? Almost like a trick of the mind, it is hard to explain exactly. I want to escape this feeling, want to break free of the constraints of this way of life and consumer society. Why should I buy shit I don't need and constantly accumulate more STUFF? I feel weightless. Tumbling through a void of mindlessness and lack of thinking, we are a herd being sent through the chute to the slaughterhouse. It is almost like Disneyworld.
So basically the old U.S. A. is going to shit. Corporations move their manufacturing to Guatemala and the Philippines, their accounting to the Caribbean and sell us cheap shit at places like Wal-Mart. The pay Wal-Mart workers shit wages and crappy benefits, fire them when they talk of unions and all of the corporate executives get rich as fuck off of all of this. The people don't see it either. WAKE UP, YOU FUCKING NIMRODS! NAFTA and CAFTA are not free trade; they are made to enslave. Make someone in Nicaragua work 10 hours for $2 an hour. What bastards…
I hide in my apartment again, much like I was doing in past entries when I lived alone in a closet, basically, and railed against the world with biting diatribes about the unjust nature of our society. I have thought about trying to get involved with some type of organisation so I could feel like I'm actually doing something, but nixed that because that just gets you watched (no, I'm not that paranoid, it's the fucking truth). Shall I sit and wait for a signal to start the show. When the time is right, things shall happen as they should.
Thursday. I don't mind them, I guess. Wondering about friends that are gone or lost or long since departed. Whether or not they wonder the same things when sitting alone and searching the depths of their minds for small bits of lost information seemingly forgotten. I can sometimes think up people I have not seen in twenty years, and actually remember what they were like then. I wonder what they are like now and sometimes whether or not they are even alive. That seems morbid, but you never know. My first love, where can she be and with whom, Iza?
I am getting old. I see it in the mirror and feel it in my knees. I can tell by my sleeping habits and the way I feel at parties and my indigestion. My birthday is fast approaching and I have mixed feelings about it. I am not married like so many of my friends and now wonder what the fuck I'm doing with my life. I am going to quit drinking on my birthday as present to myself. I think it will be hard but I need the challenge. Some things need to be changed, that is for sure.
We played a show at the Cripple Clown tonight. Sober. That made it good. Afterwards we had a party back at the lodge and got pretty wasted. We went skiing and stayed up all night. I made ill-advised phone calls and talked to Dave and Mike, waking them up. Sat in the car in the rain and fogged up the windows listening to music and realising how insane I had been acting for the last, oh I don't know, 10 years. Next Saturday is my birthday, and after talking to Kyle, I know what I have to do to change.
One word. PRIMUS! Steve and I went to the Austin Music Hall and saw Primus tonight. Fucking awesome! Four hours of original lineup Primus with the second set being the complete Sailing The Seas Of Cheese. I remember now why they are my favorite band. I can't wait for them to record a new album, since Anti-pop was a piece of shit. It was the first big show I have been to in a while and even though I think it was a bit expensive, it was worth it. They are truly an original band if I ever heard one.
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