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Atomic vibrations on my mood sensing Richter Scale

Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

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  2010.05.06  03.35










 
 


 
  2010.05.03  13.43
The bastard generation

Children of the hippies. Wards of the yuppies. Hammered with clear cut reality in a post-psychedelic world. Consumers. Warriors. Innovators. Masters of apathetic. Post racial. Pre-internet. Organic. Hormone and vaccine free. Prescription drug addicts. Most educated. Least insightful. So much to say about everything, all of it Insipid. Nursed on Reaganomics, weened on NAFTA, raised in Walmart, deflowered at Starbucks. Entitled. Manipulated. Used. Promiscuous. Jobs and wages down, productivity and consumer spending up. Angry. Angry. Ang — the policeman's always right. Pot smoking reactionaries. Radicals with money market accounts. The New Five Year Plan centers on career advancement and shopping trips; "to each according to his means, from each according to his disability." Marxists control Eugene. American Idol fans rule the nation with an iron fist by text messaging "war" to *1216. Ennui is a sin when there are sand niggers to be killed on TV. USA. USA. USA.

Print is dead. News is dead. Honesty is dead. Truth is subjective. 3D is as real as it gets. Professors lie if Palin says so on facebook. Twitter is where the battles of the minds will be decided. Avatars. Profiles. Blogs. Introspection should only be done in 240 characters or less. Gagging blowjobs and anal gape are how I say "I love you." Soldiers are saints. Generals the sages. Priest are pedophiles. Arena fundamentalism is the light and the way. God bless our troops. God hates faggots. God hates wetbacks. Liberals hate god.

I deserve more. You deserve nothing. The wealthy earned everything they have. The serfs are thankful for the honor to serve.

 
 


 
  2009.09.10  03.37
Why I hate and love facebook:



 
 


 
  2009.09.07  00.46


Hopefully, in later years I can look back on these past few years as a time of impetuous self indulgence and indispensable experience. Hopefully, it will be punctuated and triggered by the scents of damp juniper night air and sex; and not by the smells of vomit and fresh blood. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but if I'm able to type this era out into anything, it will be a bright, rippling period of youthful full living.

It seems that as time passes even the darker moments become wounds of honor, sometimes more glamorous than those of valor, incorrigible action, and reckless fucking. For whatever reason, that limp you carry for the rest of your life is just as valuable in the greater telling of the story as the men you made cuckolds of and swashbuckling adventures.

We're all a little crippled. We're all walking wounded.

And for whatever reason, we're better for it.

If I'm going to be trapped in this body, with this mind, so help me, god... I'm going to hold the beatings I took just as dear as the major and minor mercies. There's no other way to reconcile it all. Everything has to have been worth something. So much of it can't just be some shit that happened.

I refuse to let any of it be just some shit that happened.

 
 


 
  2009.01.08  07.39
If you watch one documentary this year...



 
 


 
  2008.10.20  20.44




 
 


 
  2008.10.17  16.35




 
 


 
  2008.09.15  03.43


Poll #1259822 It's clearly the end of the world.

Given the strong possibility of an imminent economic collapse; how tightly are you curled up in the fetal position?

Mean: 0.00 Median: 0 Std. Dev 0.00
1
0(0.0%)
2
0(0.0%)
3
0(0.0%)
4
0(0.0%)
5
0(0.0%)
6
0(0.0%)
7
0(0.0%)
8
0(0.0%)
9
0(0.0%)
10
0(0.0%)


 
 


 
  2008.09.07  19.48
afrobeat



TKTK

 
 


 
  2008.09.07  19.37
Tropicália







TKTK

 
 


 
  2008.09.07  19.18
Forlorn Honky Tonk

















 
 


 
  2008.08.25  16.05




http://www.serialno3817131.com/

Likely the most interesting photoset I've seen in quite a while. It's focus is female conscripts in the IDF. Mostly candids, there's the intense beauty of these young women punctuated against dull rigor of military service. It speaks to something very difficult to define, something ethereal that is known only by the initiates.

Pictured above is probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in an environment that I would be loath to enter.


 
 


 
  2008.08.13  07.22




 
 


 
  2008.08.04  08.54
Jesus or Kenny Loggins?

Jesus Christ?




Or Kenny Loggins?







Jesus Christ?




Or Kenny Loggins?







Jesus Christ?




Or Kenny Loggins?



 
 


 
  2008.07.25  21.21
Opinions please



Am I on to something or not?

 
 


 
  2008.07.17  15.30




 
 


 
  2008.07.17  14.53
Sad songs and waltzes

I've always loved sad songs.

Even when I was a little boy. They said I was born with "old eyes;" a little man. Indians are weird like that, but they must be right.

And there's this moment of brilliant melancholy perfection when I find a new one that stops everything and leaves me hanging dead in the narrative and emotional push.

There's just something about a song that makes you want to stop everything and just lay on the floor. One that brings you down, yanks you on some essential level to a place so deep and well covered. Some kind of place so cold and lonely that it might as well be buried under the highway grading and the sidewalks. Gear adrift on the sea of consciousness.

It's a safe place. One of your own founding that you carry in an old shirt pocket or buried in the corner of an old wallet. Somewhere you can go and sift through the rubble and detritus of all those things and faces that you gripped onto and let swaddle you, yet slipped clean away somehow. How did it happen and where did it go?

If it's a sin to be sad, I'll give up sainthood to indulge now and again.


When you leave me, it breaks me like a bone
But it's never as bad as when you come home
Thought so much about suicide
Parts of me have already died

Lonely -- baby i'm not lonely
Baby i'm not -- i've got my imaginary friends
Happy -- baby i'm so happy
Baby i'm so -- i've got my imaginary friends
And if you don't love me, would you please pretend?

Old 97's - Lonely Holiday

 
 


 
  2008.07.02  17.13
So...

After I finish paying off my beretta model 96FS, anyone want to go shooting?



my treat?
Cam, looking at you now....

 
 


 
  2008.06.29  10.07
Dysthymia is...

Realizing you haven't masturbated in a week. Starting, then, upon reaching plateau, lose interest and start browsing lounge pants on the GAP.

I like these:


 
 


 
  2008.06.22  18.56
One year later...




Healed up pretty nice, I think.

 
 


 
  2008.05.28  10.15


What the hell is with that Boost Mobile commercial.

You know the one. It goes: Black guy rapping, black guy rapping, okay, cool... then BAM! Some metrosexual, Bette Midler looking white dude. Seriously. What the fuck is that?

In other news:

If I ever start a band it's going to be called Embattled Boy President.

 
 


 
  2008.05.05  21.27
and you can bet your last money, it’s gonna be a stone gas, honey...

just woke up.


I had a dream that I won $123,000 from a pinball machine. I cashed the check and then bought shoes. Thought about quitting my job and taking six months off. It was strange that there was a pinball machine putting out that kind of cash in the science building of the University of Wisconsin. Even stranger that I ended up in that room after I had been separated from a security detail after being fired at by large rabbit like creatures. So, there I was, walking through the student union with a hundred-thousand dollar check and my M9 thinking about what portion of that money I'd have to set aside for taxes.

I woke up after I'd bought a used car I'd had my eye on. Upon consciousness I was reluctant to open my eyes, knowing that it was likely that I wouldn't find the pistol or an inflated bank account. This was cemented upon hearing the theme from Soul Train coming out the radio. "People all over the world... Soul Train..."

The voice of Don Cornelius.

Yep. I was back where I started, stuck in the same old day night cycle, and my back hurt like hell. Realizing this would never allow me to go back to sleep, I decided to get up and check the mail, probably go but some lottery tickets. Surely a sign of resigned desperation, though I had seen an owl the night before.

Pants on and walking outside. Nothing in the mailbox. Elementary school kids are walking home. Heading back to the house I pick up on something. There's an opossum the size of a small dog walking across the cul-de-sac. There's only one reason why something that blind and that ugly is out this time of day. It's fucking sick. I try to offset the instinctual hatred for the diseased creature; I pay attention to it's stride, imagine the track pattern; think about if it were a good opossum, like Pogo.

No, it's ugly, dangerous, and sick. I kind of wish I still had that M9. Those ambidextrous, reversible type green nylon holsters like I had in the dream are a pain in the ass; what, with the springy thing that holds it onto the guard belt. I think, "If I had $123,000 I could have bought a gun and taken care of this. Could I make it into the house and back in time? Sure. It's slow. I know where it's going. It's slow and in the middle of the street." I watched it for a minute more and then went inside.

"Call me Atticus."

 
 


 
  2008.04.11  18.31


You heard about the mohel who quit circumcising elephants, right?


The pay was shitty even though the tips were tremendous!

 
 


 
  2008.04.04  12.52
Why I hate my job:

Saturday - April 5th
@ The University of Texas - Main Mall
40 Acres Fest
w/ The Roots (8pm)
The Octopus Project (7pm)
Free to students!

 
 


 
  2008.04.02  06.57


I think my mind is clearer now
I want you to be nearer now
I'm ready to come back to you
Cause there's no use in feeling
All the things I'm feeling
There's no one here to feel with me


 
 


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