Blog Salad Surprise

Here are some things I've been meaning to touch on
and brush out
and fix up and look sharp...

My knee surgey was four weeks ago. I am on the mend, still wearing a brace but mostly getting around swell. Ambulatory adeptness. I will ball it up again someday.

It has rained here a lot. Almost too much. Almost fourteen inches in the month of June alone. This is Oztin not the Brazilian Rainforest. I miss the sun.

Have you ever noticed how some models of car will always remind you of a person that you once knew who drove that particular model. Case in point, the Brown 1978 Mercury Cougar, I don't see many of these any more but this will always remind me of my Aunt Sharon. Or the Red 1991 VW Golf, this reminds me of two people, Marcus and Evonne. Of course Marcus' Golf was a bit different in that the steering wheel was on the right side, fucking wacky British. And then there is the Blue 1989 Chrysler Conquest, this reminds me of myself cause I drove one of these. When I was in Lubbock at Memorial day I saw one of these on a car lot, it looked pristeen.

Six Feet Under is a great fucking show. It satisfies my sense of mortality in a way that hasn't been touched by a television show since I used to watch ThirtySomething as a depressed sixteen year old. It is dirty and sick and sexy and heartwarming all at the same time. That show is a brilliant reminder of how death rarifies life and makes things really precious. There is poor Nate and all his bad luck and his inability to find a life for himself. I relate to that dude in a lot of ways. I got totally hot and bothered when he was on the playdate with that super hot middle aged mother, she reminded me of Lum. There is all that crazy shit going on between the stripper and Rico. I didn't see how that shit started but that storyline can't be going anywhere good. Watch out Rico cause I don't think that chick has any pure intentions. There is that poo parcel shit that Arthur unleashed on Ruth and her new husband George. Way to go Arthur, Way to not let that George fuddy duddy belittle you and not pay for it. Of course there's David and Keith and all their homo erotic fun. Although I don't play for their team I enjoy seeing the dynamics play out. Their relationship is one of the great TV relationships of our time. That Keith is so fucking macho, my gaydar wouldn't pick him up unless he was cutting a rug down at the Chain Drive. And then there's Claire. I think she is about to go lezbo and that's cool I just wish I could take her out and show her a good time and maybe give her a chance to enjoy the company of a man before she become a vagaterian. C'est La Vie.

Things have a way of sorting themselves out after I address them in this space. Is that Magic or just My Imagination?

I think my European friends are taking this blog for granted. I don't want to name any names...but...I will. Marcus, Lena, Matteo, Katya, Jennie McLung, Carlos (representing Mexico actually) even Eamon whom I know is right here in Texas but whom I also know, knows about this space. Listen guys I really need your support here so I need to see each and every one of your IP adresses here at least once a week. Its really not too much to ask. You guys never know when your gonna pop up in a story so please pay attention.

Do Blogger's comments suck?
I need some feedback here. If even one of my fellow bloggers agreed with me, cause I already have my suspicions, I would switch to Halscan in a New York minute.

One time me and Jefe were up at TM all hella late working on this party video that we put together back in 2001. Jefe went home at like 4am and I stayed to edit through the night. Jefe left his camera on top of one of the racks of decks. It was pointed in my general direction. He set it on a time lapse setting that would take a shot at one minute intervals. It filmed me working at the editing station for about eight hours. It was awesome to watch. I was sporting my original cowboy hat and this great tight yellow t-shirt that I got from Angelina that had this cool surveillence photo of John Gotti on the front. There is nothing like video editing that I have found that can focus my concentration in that "laser beam" kind of way. I was glued to that Mac like a construction worker having just caught sight of Vida walking by in a pair of short-shorts, savvy? In the vid I was moving but never very far from that stupid screen. And then as the workday approached you could see Jesse and Jay come in and start working in the studios behind me and then at the end of the vid Jefe comes back and the last thing you see is him checking out what I had done. Things like that make me think that all the good times are in the past. I know that's not true but some days, when the rains have worn out their welcome, and I have so few veins of excitement in my healthy little life, well I just get a little nostalgic and then I get despondent and then I get suicidal and then I blog about it and all seems right with the world.

I got over 500 hits in my first week of having a counter and I am stoked about that. If you were one of the folks that came here then I would like to extend my sincere thanks. I think that's pretty good for something that is in its infancy and for a site that has no nekkid people and isn't selling something.

and the waiter says "Would you like a side of ranch with that salad."
"Please just drizzle the dressing on the top, don't toss it at the table."




Fuck all these words

They ain't getting me anywhere

What I need is a site redesign

and a digital camera

people like short posts with pictures not all this aspiring novelist shit

I'm working on it.




All Hallow's Eve

There was a sign on the ice machine at the Co-op that said “Don’t Use the Ice ~ You’ll Get Sick.” There were massive thunderstorms that day. The power had gone out three or four times. It was Halloween and celebrations seemed eminent. My Mom was having surgery on her spine. Yitzhak Rabin would be assassinated in a crowded square at the weekend. I was planning on taking a dose of psychedelic mushrooms as my main treat for tricks, or maybe treat for kicks. I had just gotten a new car, well a used car but new to me.

I mention all these things cause they all play an important part in the losing of my mind that occurred on Halloween Night in the year nineteen hundred and ninety five. All those play important parts with the exception of the assassination of the PM of Israel. I just remember that happening about the same time. So let me start here ~ there was a guy in Co-op who promised he could get some mushrooms and he came through.

For those of you that have never ingested magic mushrooms, some of this may sound outlandish. For those of you that have indulged in the psychedelic fungi then you will know what I am talking about like you know the smell of your grandmother’s house. Some of this may be hauntingly familiar. The whole day was strange with the thunderstorms and that doomsday message on the ice machine. I shouldn’t have tripped that night but self-control and knowing what’s good for me has never been my strongpoint. Everything seemed OK until I got that psilocybin coursing through my system.

When I got my batch of shrooms from the acquaintance whose name has been lost in the mists of time the goods were old and had dried up and turned to dust. Most of the time when you get mushrooms they look like mushrooms. When they get old and dry out it is very hard to regulate one’s dosage. It’s always sorta hard to regulate the dose with mushrooms cause of varying potency. I ate an amount, which I would soon describe as ‘way too much.’ First, I dosed too early. I must have eaten my allotment at about 8:30pm. I should have waited a little longer. Second, since what I consumed was basically powder it entered my bloodstream way too quickly. I ate my shit and went out into the courtyard to sit by the pool and chat and wait for something to happen. I was talking to Mattais from Holland when the colors and patterns started to appear on the surfaces of ordinary objects. Things started to go crazy in my mind less than thirty minutes after ingestion.

I quickly became unable to converse in any normal human way. I left the Co-op and my friends getting ready for the wicked night to come. It had just gotten dark and I had just started tripping and I decided to go for a walk on campus. Oh… many a night I spent wandering the UT campus just tripping my nuts off. I walked all the way to the Art History building where there flows a little crick that runs off into Waller creek. I sat down beside that crick and let my demons take over my head.

As I had mentioned before I had just found out that my Mom was gonna be having surgery to fix a ruptured disk in her spine. I was worried about that. You should never, I repeat, never ever take any psychedelics if you are worried about something. Psychedelic states have a unique way of bringing that shit to the front of your mind and most likely amplifying it. But it wasn’t that sole fact that opened the floodgates for my personal demons. My Mom’s health was only the catalyst for the storm to come. Somewhere in the night as I sat by the creek and cried about my Mom and as the water trickled down towards the sea, my fears and my ability to think laterally came together to create what I believed was my last night on earth and possibly the end for humanity. Doomsday I tells ya.

As I made my way back to the Co-op the conspiracy came together in my mind. I was sick. I could feel it. My thoughts were confused, my vision was compromised, my breathing was shallow, all this added up to only one possibility, I was sick. And then everyone around me seemed sick. I reasoned that it must be the water supply. I mean the sign on the Ice had said it all “Don’t Use the Ice ~ You’ll Get Sick.” Some nefarious force must have poisoned the water supply and now everyone was gonna die on Halloween and the devil was finally gonna win and the shit was hitting the fan. I could feel it.

By the time I got back to the Co-op I was in a panic and I tried to warn the others. I found Jenny and Eamon in the commons. Their faces were already warped by the sickness. I tried to talk to them but as a result of the oncoming infirmity we were unable to communicate and I grew further despondent. Marcus rescued me from trying to make sense and he took me outside for a smoke. I tried to explain to him what was happening but it wasn’t coming out clear. Marcus insisted that I go get ready to go out. He said we would be leaving for the buses in twenty minutes.

I went to my room. I flew into a rage. I started knocking things off shelves and tearing up books. Someone got Marcus and he came in and tried to calm me down. He said that I had to change clothes that I had shat my pants. I tried to tell him it was from sitting by the crick but at this stage communication had been flushed down the drain along with the whole of human history. Somehow I got myself together enough that I thought I was going to go down to Jester and get on a Capitol Metro bus and go downtown and celebrate Halloween with all the other doomed souls.

As myself, and my cadre of international students/friends from abroad, walked toward the bus pickup the conspiracy against all that was good and alive on earth became clearer and clearer. Now I could see the caustic plan in all its evil grandeur. These people had come from all corners of the earth to celebrate the demise of the known universe. How devious the plans of the devil can be I thought or I thought that I reasoned. Of course reason was trickling toward the sea with the runoff from the day’s storms. Reason had left my side about two hours previous. Reason had failed me from square one, which was when I was holding that bag of psychedelic powder in my hand and deciding how much to eat.

When we got to the busses I could tell that the crowd of people had already succumbed to the water borne sickness. No one seemed to know what was going on. In Austin on Halloween you can take a bus downtown but to me it seemed like state sponsored madness. I got on the bus but I knew I was too far gone to enjoy myself on 6th street so I said goodbye to my friends, expecting that this would be the last time I saw them on this mortal coil, and I began to wander the campus once again.

Campus was pretty empty. Most folks were downtown or trick-or-treating or just enjoying life and not expecting for the world to end. I sat in front of the tower and prayed. Thoughts of revelations and ‘last days’ type theology swam in my head. I was sure that the end was coming that very night and I began to despair. I could hear revelry and helicopters. It was nighttime and the city seemed bright as day. This of course was my perception due to a combination of overcast conditions and dilated pupils. I began to think about my family. I “reasoned” that if I didn’t get to DFW that night I would never see my Mom and sister ever again. I took flight back to the Co-op. West campus seemed more sinister than I had ever felt before. I found my “new” car in the back parking lot right where I had left it. I got in the car without a shirt, without ID, and without any insurance and in my drugged out state I got on the highway and headed for the big D.

About halfway to Dallas, somewhere near Waco, I pulled off into a gas station. I checked the time. It was half past eleven. I had come back to my senses. I realized how foolish all that I had been thinking was and how if I had made it to my Mom’s house I would have felt fucking ridiculous. I turned around and went back to Austin.

I found Lena by the pool. She looked happy to see me and she asked what had happened to me. She said she was on the bus and I was right there and then the next minute I was gone. It has taken me most of nine years to pen what I had been thinking that night and I sure couldn’t tell her right then and there. I was glad to be alive. I was glad the human race was alive. I was glad I hadn’t gotten pulled over, no ID and no insurance and tripping and freaking out about the end of the world, that wouldn’t have gone over well with any law enforcement. Unfortunately I didn’t really learn my lesson, I took psychedelics a couple more times when my mental state was already a little fragile but I never quite freaked out like that again.

“Don’t Eat the Ice ~ You’ll Get Sick” was on the Ice machine cause the power had gone out and they didn’t want the Ice to melt. Duh.



Euro Spliffs

Don't blame me, the British taught me how, blame them. It's Marcus' fault really. Oh sure years after I had left the U.K. and Marcus was only a distant memory I was still rolling the little bastards like they were origami cranes and I was praying for a miracle.

If you fold 1,000 origami cranes a miracle will occur~
If you roll 1,000 spliffs a tumor will occur~

See I like to mix my herb with my tobacco. About fifty fifty is good if its krunk ass sticky icky. With BC quality down to shwiggity shwag you might want to increase the amount of herb in the equation depending on the potentcy. I recommend of course the most potent chronic you can find at all times. I like to use American Spirit tobacco, it tastes the best.

You just don't get quite as high if you smoke in this fashion especially as opposed to bong hits. And I have always liked smoking often and not getting so blitzed each time, its more like a constant mellow high as opposed to being off your ass in Gaggaccticca County somewhere, if you know what I mean. This allowed me to smoke spliffs between classes in college and still graduate with a wicked gpa. After smoking like this for some time you get accustomed to the particular rush that is unique to the spliff. See herb is a bronchial dilator, when you mix it up with tobacco the herb enters your lungs and opens those bronchial passages and then the nicotine rushes right in behind. I enjoy smoking like this and many of my friends have followed suit but for the most part in America this practice is reviled.

If you have ever been to Amsterdam then you know what I am talking about of course. Or if you are in Amsterdam reading this you will relate in vice versa terms. People in Europe as a result of having access to mostly hashish roll it up with tobacco. With hash it is obvious, the combo just makes the most sense. And as a result of becoming accustomed to the mix they also roll the green buds in the same fashion. Everybody who has been in Amsterdam has seen a foolish American put a couple grams of the stickiest AK-47 or white widow or northern lights or what have you, into a skin and roll up, all boat style, a fat American ~solamente mota~ joint. And all the Europeans in the cafe recoil in horror and the American just about collapses a lung tryin' to get the thing to burn properly cause super sticky stuff just don't burn evenly. When you roll a Euro spliff in America you look equally foolish and people treat you with the same social leprosy.

they're all "What the fuck are you doing man you are ruining perfectly good weed."
And of course I'm all "Well if you don't like the way I roll it then you don't have to smoke any sucka."

I also have become addicted to the ceremony of it. Spliff rolling is an art form to its own much like origami. The elements~ herb, tobacco, paper, cardboard bit, and fire come together in a montage of smokable freedom. You sit down and clear your mind and do this simple task that you have done so many times before and when you are done you smoke it and there is nothing left but the buzz, it sublime, its ethereal. Whenever I am at a party and things get a little too much to handle I can just sit down and roll another perfect spliff and it centers me and helps me focus and just gets me through whatever hectic mess I have gotten myself into.

Marcus used to finish the roll and whatever bits were left on the desk he would just take his hand and sweep them into the desk drawer. And then when we would run out of ganja he would roll up the bits in the drawer and we would smoke that. I'm talking about smoking the leavings, the little bits that didn't make the first round cut or just fell out of the roll. It didn't taste very good but as Marcus would say~

"Yeah, but it gets you high and its better than nothing."
~and I'm all "true...true."


The Eleventh Commandment

And the Lord saith

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Web Stats




Exploratory Epiphany

So I come in this morning and take care of a few things and get my printer fired up and my ventilation system going and so then I'm all settled in and it looks like I'm working hard and so I take a little stroll around the blogsphere. run-on deluxe.

I go to tonypierce.com first. Great post about recurring monkey dreams and how they relate to the republican monkey in office, brilliant as usual. And Tony usually has three links at the bottom of each post and I choose one that sounds interesting.
dick shagwell, I mean c'mon that sounds interesting. Besides I have seen this name around in some comment boxes, maybe even mine. So I start reading the most recent post. Now if someone's most recent post peaks my interest I am liable to start at the beginning of their archives and work my way through their whole blog. I have always preferred a tight cohesive album over the temporary joy of just the single, savvy? Anyways, so I'm reading this first post by Mr. shagwell and I'm thinking this guy is pretty fucking interesting and I'm really getting into the content and I'm digging the design when all the sudden my eye wanders leftward and~

BAM ~ epiphany ~ deer caught in headlights ~ your just got punk'd sucka ~ cartoon take ie eyes pop out of my head ~ legs lift off the ground ~ sirens appear above my mug ~ i'm all

Holy Shit, there is a link for the deputy, and that's me. I'm floored. Not that I don't think I deserve it I'm just fucking so excited I can't even finish the post I just come straight here and link Dick and totally lose my cool and get all giddy like a little kid.

And the coolest thing, as I'm just figuring out what is going on and my mouse pointer is just hovering above The Deputy link all slack jawed mouth agape, well you know how if you leave the pointer on top of something it tells you what it is a tiny dialog box opens up and it says ~

*** Coors Graphical Master ***

without the asterisk. I didn't call myself that. Somebody else must have come up with that, must have been Mr. Shagwell. And my day has started off right, bang in time, savvy?

But like I always say, there's plenty of time to fuck it up.



Number Game

Hey check it out I got a counter...

once again I have to thank Tyranny and Tony for the inspiration.

I went over to floorboards today and I had 20 referrals to the young black Hunter S. in the last 24 hours and I was all WOW that means that I've had 20 hits in the last 24 and that ain't too shabby.

I also just got a response from a craigslist personal ad that I responded to and for fucking finally and that is the first time that happened. Also it happened right after my sad post about being lonely and shit and well I guess hope springs eternal. I just hope the springs are clean enought to swim in.

numero yo


The Labyrinth of the Heart

I am lonely.
There is a noticeable lack of romance in my life.
And of sex but I think it is romance that I am longing for.
I am in a catch 22 situation the likes of which I have only observed, never experienced. And I certainly have never been the catalyst of futility as such as I seem to be in this particular personal quagmire.
Let me try to explain.
I want to get laid. But I don't really care that much for casual sex. Sex is only like a hundred times better when there is some or better yet a lot of emotion involved. I have been in love and I have had casual sex and there is hardly any comparison, apples and fucking oranges I tells ya. Don't get me wrong, if a beautiful women asks me to fuck her I will, but just by asking she has displayed the kind of reciprocal emotion that I need to enjoy myself whilst making sweet love.
I was cavorting with this young waitress from my old work. We were hooking it up intermittently to relieve some stress. She is a hot little thing. She just wasn't into me the way I need someone to be. So I let that die back in April and she has gone to Massachusetts for the Summer. Since then the only thing that has come my way came with a ring on her finger and some serious baggage to handle overseas. She should be returning from her trip to see her husband like today. But who knows what went on between them and isn't it just my luck that the only woman who has shown any interest in me in quite some time just happens to be trapped in a relationship situation that isn't even fit to write about here.
Which conveniently brings me to my next point.
I am not running. I am walking.
I refuse to chase women at this advanced stage of human understanding. Cause I know the truth. As a man, it doesn't matter which one you choose, what matters is which one chooses you. Most of my relationships have been under the circumstances of a beautiful women deciding that I was her sweet babu. This strategy worked out best in the Bay Area where there exist truly liberated women who don't believe any of that old bullshit about the man making the first move. It seems to be a little different here in Austin. Seems like some of that old fashioned bullshit still holds sway.
I'm not asking for numbers in bars, I'm not chatting up hotties at the gym and I damn sure ain't sending flowers to girls that I secretly admire. Those were foolish things I did in my youth and they never really led anywhere. Although those things always at least keep my fire warm for the possibility of romance. But these days those things seem like sporting equipment. In that I mean lifeless without the players. But maybe I should start putting myself out there a little bit more. But whenever I get rejected I get discouraged. I just need to go out and get rejected like thirty times in one night and build up a little callous. You know, play the odds a little bit. I think that might make me feel better. Its not that I am scared to talk to women. I'm quite good at it actually. Its not that I lack charm or attractive qualities, geez man I'm brimming with both and I'm also obviously quite modest. Its just that how can I get rejected if I'm not clear on what I want. I don't think I want a one night stand but then again I do want to get laid.
Yar ~ This post is starting to stink.
Anywho,...I'm not miserable but I can feel a distinct void.
I feel better about all this shit just by writing it down and putting it out there...
I am lonely.



Ya know what'll putcha in a foul mood?

Trying to ween yourself off an opiate like vicodin.

Trust me here.




So I had a great weekend and I'm gonna tell you all about it. But today at work everybody seems to need something from me so I'm having a hard time finding a slot in which to blog...

I can quickly mention that

1. Monday doesn't seem near as bad as it usually does and I don't know why.

2. I called my Dad yesterday and I said "Happy Father's Day and thanks for the alcoholism...and then I was all *click*"

Mr. Telephone man there's something wrong with my line
when I dial my baby's number I get a *click* everytime.



El Fin de Semana

Greetings my faithful readers and blog-a-delic friends. I'm feelin dee lux this fine day. I had an experience this morning that set the mood off right. See I'm caught up in the blog sphere these days. Work has been a little slow and when that happens I'm not really at liberty to go on walk about, I still have to stay at my desk and pretend to be designing things. So as a result I have been spending a lot of time reading other peoples shit. Now as a blogger you have people that you read cause you know them and you want to keep up with their lives. And you have people that you read who you think have crappy blogs and you read those for a kind of rubber necking morbidity, sometimes it makes you feel better about your own shit. And then there are people that you read and you don't know them and you just respect their writing or envy their lives or you just think they are the shit. So there's this guy in Canada, his name is Tyranny, he is a prime example of somebody that I don't even know but I think is the shit. So I come in this morning and like usual I decide to take a quick stroll around my personal blog sphere which includes about 15 regular sites that I go to damn near daily. So I go Tony P and then over to Raymi and then I check on my girl Angelina then a little Anti and sorry to hear about your weekend in Hell Centro homeskillet. And then on a lark I go see the Young Black Hunter S. and hell fire and damnation I came there to find salvation and what do I find but some props and linkage for The Deputy (that's me) and I'm all psyched and I am fully inspired to forge on with my bad to the bone writing addiction. E'rbody in Canada ya'll bestabe representing hard core cause ya'll got some of the sickest bloggers. Thanks again T. Word is Bond.

I'm gonna be here this weekend if anybody needs me.

Livin as Large I wanna.




Some time, sooner or later, I am going to have to address my...

alcoholism... Yeah that's right I said Imma gonna have to do something about my..,

Maybe not today and maybe not this weekend and maybe I won't have to do anything drastic at all but something may just have to be done. I was kicking it with my homie Kelon last night and we were at Maudies drinking some sub-par margaritas and I put this statement to him and he was all "Well how often do you drink." and I said "Daily."

I love the looks on peoples faces when I tell them that. I don't seem like the type. I hold down my job and my drinking never really gets in the way of the shit I have to do. You might know me for years and never really see me hammered. You might always see me with a beer in my hand but rarely will you catch me shit faced. But at the end of the day, everyday I want at least one beer. One thing that might impair my forward progress is the fact that I work for the Coors Brewing Corporation. I design and print signs for Coors of Austin and one of the outstanding benefits of my job is a lot of free beer. Which is a good thing as long as you or I in this case moderate my intake.

Another thing that might hamper a swift recovery is the fact that I am one of those biological/hereditary alcoholics. I received my addictive personality from my dad's family. When we get together we drink. It makes holidays with that family a whole hella of a lot better. In this vein I am the worst kind of alcoholics. I, much like my grandfather Arthur, am the kind of alcoholic who always has to have a beverage in his or her hand. During the day I swill water so that's good. You have to hydrate so that in the evening you can fully enjoy the dehydration process.

Oh... another thing that might keep me from diligently addressing this personal problem that I am making public is the fact that I like to drink. I like whiskey and I like vodka. I like beer and I like wine. I like gin and tonics and I like dirty martinis. Sometimes I start thinking about bloody mary's about mid-day and my throat constricts and my mouth starts watering and I start counting off the seconds until happy hour and I think I might just fucking die if I don't get a bloody soon. I wish I hadn't even started talking about that. I like margaritas, I like mojitos and the Guiness, well I like it too much. I am writing a song about my favorite vodka Tito's. That's love. Its not that I particularly like being drunk I just like getting drunk. Its the initial rush or that primary change of headspace that I do so adore.

Oh yeah another stumbling block on my way to becoming a teetotaler is that alcohol is so damn accessible in our stupid broken society. I have to be a criminal to smoke the blessed ganja but I can't go to the grocery store with being bombarded by advertising for booze and who can pass up Tecate 12 pack cans for $7.99. So many social events center around the consumption of liquor. In order to meet new people at least here in Austin Texas you go to a bar. And what is a bar I might ask? A bar is a place where people go to do drugs. That drug is ethyl alcohol. The whole focus of the bar, the whole procession of the proceedings is based around a guy who stands behind a chest high counter and doles out the legal drug to the law abiding patrons. The best part of the stupid fucked up infrastructure at least here in Texas is this
~They say~ Don't Drink and Drive, if you do you will lose your license and you will be fined to the hilt and if you do it again you will go to jail
~But~ Come out to Billy Bob's on Highway 71 for nickel beer night.
Fucked Up but not my point.

My problem isn't drinking and driving, that can be avoided, my real problem is just drinking whenever I feel like it. In the past that was the best way to deal with my alcoholic tendencies. You see if I have a drink or two whenever I feel like it helps me keep from binge drinking. But two beers in the evening on a weeknight has changed to four or five and the weekends get into double digits before 8pm sometimes. So what to do? Well I figure I have three choices

1. Stop drinking. This is the least attractive option for me right now cause I like drinking and at the end of the day things really aren't that out of control.

2. Moderate my intake better which may include not drinking at all like three days a week. This is the option that I am really considering. Its a compromise. It is something that I think I could do it will just be novel cause since the spring of 1996 I have been hitting the bottle on a daily basis. C'est La Vie.

3. Drink myself to death. You know what I mean, just like it sounds, just like in Leaving Las Vegas. Just go at it whole hog. Abandon my job and my family and become what amounts to a modern American hobo with a death wish. This option, although it sounds fun, prolly ain't the best way to go. Its kind of a defeatist attitude and a sucka way to handle things and I'm just not going out like that.

So I'm just gonna press on and thanks for letting me get this out. They say the first step is admitting that you have a problem and well I think I laid it on the table.

tabula rossa




Innovate the feeling to stimulate the healing
Isolate the movement that made the crowd go wild
Feel your way through this thing called resolute redemption
Careful not to shake and bake and make the loud go mild

Unnerve the bureaucrat that pulled up the chair and sat to chat
Pitch the fools some sentimental trinkets in the bleachers
Fumble the thought that you used to beat Mr hustle at his game
Pharmaceuticals don't drown the rhyming ringlets of the preachers

Exempt yourself from the tax base and his lame face
Follow the road to the place where the healing springs run free
Examine carefully the labels that you put on every thing
Fact of the matter is that cables keep the carriage out to sea

Create a space in your own place where the healing can begin
Coagulate the causes of the lacerations that led you down in sin
Adorn the scattered tribal pals with the itinerary of here and now
Plans that fail the first time mouse have the cred to win again

Listen to the intent of the surgeon with the scalpel
Rummage through the medicines till you find the one that works the wonders
Plow through the reservations that you had sewn to keep you safe
And the Devil and the book keeper will be the ones to jerk the blunders




This weekend my buddy Kiko Gomila made us a paella. Kiko is from southern Spain from a town called Cadiz and paella is a traditional Spanish dish. I have been to Barcelona and had paella in one of the cheap ass touristy joints, it sucked. This was home-made paella using a recipe from Kiko's Uncle, it rocked. For those not in the know, paella is a kind of rice dish with chicken and seafood, usually shrimp and calamari. It is flavored with saffron and served with more seafood, usually prawns and crab legs. Kiko was upset cause the rice didn't come out right. I don't think we have the right kind of rice for it in this country. Somebody at the market told him that the rice he bought would be good for paella but they lied. I thought it was fine but Kiko said it was too sticky. After the meal we went to see Kiko play and sing some traditional songs at Central Market. It was a real Spanish day, menos la seista.

I just wanted to post something to counterbalance my Foul Mood post.


Foul Mood

On Mondays I really don't like to do anything. I sort of hide in my office praying that no one comes in wanting anything. I used to hate Sunday nights. They always seemed really melancholy to me and I would always get in a foul mood on Sunday night. But nowadays I seem to handle Sunday night with ease for whatever reason and now its Monday mornings that plague my weeks. I have no good explanation for the shift. I have been waking up on Monday morning in the foulest of moods for about 8 months now. I have been feeling alone and despondent and unable to cope with shit till about 2:30 in the PM on Mondays. I even left work today went home and had a nap and that still didn't cure me. Its five o the clock right now and chillin and watchin a movie or something of my choice is only an hour away but I am still feeling the residue of a shitty mood. I know this is my problem but this is also my blog so ~ Sup. Imma gonna try and get back to some uplifting shit soon as here, Ya besta believe.



Manifesto of Multiplicity

Anything is possible here, its just that most things are not probable. So I will try to press on with the knowledge that although the range of possibilities are endless in the end only a relatively small and fixed amount of things are actually going to happen. That is to say in my realm, whether that be waking, sober, inebriated, blogsphere or cyber I will only get to experience, see, touch, taste, smell or hear a limited amount of things. Personally I think it is a common misconception to go through life believing that any one single ride on this thing we call existence is going to yield a full spectrum of successful outcomes. That's not to say that one should not strive for full spectrum success or that a successful existence is not possible. I just think it is more realistic to define ones own path to success within a smaller cross section of the range of possibilities.
Now when I say here, do I mean in this blog space or do I mean here on earth? I mean both in that one is a reflection of the other. I think that the possibilities in the blogsphere are more vast than in the waking world of your life. This is true because in the blogsphere, since it isn't really tethered to material form, lies can become truth and misunderstandings and falsehoods manifest themselves as possible reflections of actual occurrences. It is the burden of each individual writer to furnish their cyber crib with the accoutrement that is befitting their choice of truth on a sliding scale that is calibrated within his or her own soul. For instance in the blog of Tony Pierce he apparently dates the Russian tennis star cum sex symbol Miss Anna Kournikova. I cannot prove this as false but I would wager, based on the range of possibilities and my own intuition, that in the life of Tony Pierce he does not actually date Miss Kournikova. He has taken an aspect of his personal fantasy and through his deftly skilled writing makes the reader and possibly himself believe something that is false to be absolutely "as far as you know" true.
I am not attacking Mr. Pierce at all, rather quite the opposite. I admire his ability to seamlessly meld the world of words and the concrete nature of that world with the world of his imagination which as you may know is a world of pearlescent fluidity, like petrol on the surface of water. Furthermore Mr. Pierce is not trying to deceive his readers in that there is a simple disclaimer that adorns the top of his page that reads "nothing in here is true." Which in itself is actually a half truth in that much of what Mr. Pierce writes is entirely true. This bring me back to my own dilemma which consists mainly of my inability to transcend the hard line honesty I have come to live my life by for the sake of creating in writing an existence that isn't limited to the set of events and situations that the fates present me. I need to learn how to lie. In order to become the writer that I imagine myself becoming I have to learn how to fabricate a falsehood and make it seem so real to the reader that they incorporate that falsehood into their own personal cosmology of existence. Not for purposes of deception for deceptions sake but for the purpose of living more than one existence in my time in my material frame. If this goal seems vain or maybe ostentatiously unreachable then screw you. I am trying to raise the bar here. I am trying to turn trite life to lavish. I can't let the small minds of those around me who may or may not be echoing my same self-defeating sentiment to bring me down into the mucky muck. On ward and upward. Forward Progress always.

This treatise was written in a cursory manner and is a little juvenile. If you have the mettle or the inclination you are more than welcome to debunk these ideas right down there in the comments. Be my guest...

cha ch chaos



Recipe for Temporary Depression

This is a recipe that I came up with for myself, feel free to experiment with the ingredients, the possibilities seem endless. Or is it the end seems possible.

Recipe for Temporary Depression

~ High dose Sodium Pantethol
~ 5 hours dead to the world
~ 55 tablets Vicodin
~ 20 tablets Darvocet
~ 7 tablets Celebrex (for swelling)
~ Bum leg which limits movement
~ Sit around on your ass for one week and let simmer

This in itself should trigger some basic depression but if possible talk to the National Weather Service and schedule the sitting around to coincide with some severe weather. If possible Overcast conditions should last the better part of three to five days. It shouldn't really matter what is going on in your life at the time but whatever is going on be sure to accentuate and dwell on the negative. Remember, there is always something to feel shitty about.

Seriously I'm OK. The surgery went fine and it was not as bad as I thought it might be. But the drugs make it hard to blog and I am also at the low point in my creative cycle so If I had to guess It may be a week before I return to my usual irrepressibly creative self. By that time I'm sure most of you will have forgotten about this blog and its author. That's OK. I can make a comeback.




Radio Silence

There's gonna be an interruption in service here. I am going in for knee surgey tomorrow. ACL reconstruction that is. I'm not scared of the discomfort or the pain or the swelling or even the rehab. What does scare me though is the unknown. I don't know what its gonna be like and that bothers me a little. Oh well, just another adventure to blog about. While I'm gone you should catch up on the classics, like this one about the obscenely beautiful stranger or this one about partying in the UK or this one about the time I got arrested for vandalism or this one about the time I a federal agent came to my yard sale or this one about ordering a margarita in St Petersburg or maybe this classic tale of liberation. There's no shortage of shit to read here and I know not one of ya'll has read it all. When I get back there's gonna be a test. I'll pray for you if you pray for me.