Tuesday, September 23, 2008

HOLY GUACOMOLE

I found these chat transcripts from when I was but the mere age of 18 and me oh me, me oh my, I was a very dramatic teenager. I'm not trying to hate on my past self but goodness I don't even think I liked ostriches or camels back then, and basically these days that is a pretty big deal for me. Man these days I even think walnuts are funny. WHAT IF I GO BACK TO MY TEENAGE WAYS. All whipping out band names all the time and telling everyone that life is the worst thing ever, just grump all day in the corner wearing black and saying really unbearable things just for the shock value! My heart palpitates at the sheer thought of it. However. From what I can tell, there are two things about getting older. 1) You will always be embarrassed about who you were, and 2) You get less embarrassing as you get older. It is a gentle and forgiving slope when you are in your thirties (man, last year I farted in a movie theater!). the transition from teenager to 20-something is far more violent (JESUS CHRIST I just remembered that night where drank 99 Bananas until I puked all over my crush's bed and then locked myself in her bathroom and cried myself to sleep!). Some might argue that the drama of a teenage life is desirable (the heaving bosoms! the urgent fumblings!), but nothing is worth going back to the melodrama, even if your nostalgia for that sort of thing has blunted the insanity of it all. To wit:

(midnight, on the weekend)
MOM: where have you been?
ME (clearly trashed): ...whatever, you don't care.
MOM: You need to show some respect!
ME: Respect is a weapon used by capitalists to suppress human thought! I'm an anarchist, mom!
MOM: I don't care if you're president! You're grounded!
ME: Anarchists don't get grounded! You are such a typical capitalist. Fascist.
MOM: DON'T TAKE THAT ATTITUDE WITH ME!
ME: Why are you yelling? I'm not yelling. Let's be civil about this, fascist.

Seriously, halfway through reading my account of a tortured teenage life I cringed so hard that I flew back from my laptop and hit the wall.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

cheap wine and the sands of time

cheap wine always reminds me of churches. everyone i know has always got a bad word about churches, and i agree, for the most part. nobody talks about the spiritual kind of envelopment that happens. i remember being an acolyte, holding the decanters of wine and holy water, and the hush over the procession, stained glass windows scattering winks and blinks of light everywhere, the wooden altar, the creaking chairs. it gave me the kind of awe that i think that i am too jaded to know now, except for rare moments in music. it was transcendent. when you really believe, it's incredible. not that i wish to go back to that, or even to adopt an agnostic standpoint to be able to indulge myself in that holy procession again- it wouldn't work. what's done is done. god does not exist. but when i was a kid, for a little while, i really thought the whole thing was real. you could pray, and your husband could come back to life, the sun could stand still, angels with swords of fire fought the demons of the underworld, and it was ageless. today i still stop and think about those rituals, and the reverence, and its de facto respect. it wasn't something you could or could not take seriously, because it was beyond that. it was a process handed down from generation to generation, and there isn't any of that anymore.
i guess when i think of church as a child it embodies the old traditions that are so rare now- heirlooms, legacies.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

update

so remember how i gave change to that one homeless guy who had a lazy eye, well i done spotted him with my friends the other day, all asking for change, and then one of us gave some leftover pizza to him, all benevolent like, and he seemed so happy about that but then not even two minutes later we spotted him again and he rolls right into his homeless patter about how homeless he was and dude didn't even recognize us, kind of disheartening, i had faith in that homeless man what with his lazy eye and all i thought he just got into a bad situation but the dude can't even remember folks two minutes since. i wonder if he ate the pizza we gave him or if he threw it away.
so i have been thinking about gay people and more or less it's a mystery? is there some kind of genetic thing going on where gay men must act the stereotype of the limp wristing flamboyant lisping sassy man, or is it just a man getting back in touch with his long-abandoned feminine side and overcompensating because all the straight men are refuse to dress fashionably. and what does being gay have to do with femininity anyhow, all sorts of ancient greek (grecian?) dudes getting it on with each other, but still being very manly, what gives. maybe gay dudes somehow got suckered into that kind of attitude, that since they're not straight they can't act like a straight man regardless of who they are and how they feel about, i mean i like audrey hepburn, but when a gay guy likes audrey hepburn i kind of want to groan and then i think wait what is this me being homophobic, what's going on here. i haven't read any essays about this sort of thing but for sure they are out there, and maybe someday i will read one and understand it all but until then i think straight dudes should not hang testicles off of their trucks and gay dudes should not have a limp wrist because seriously those things have nothing to do with anything so give it up already i do not need abstract notifiers of what your sexual preference is. i do not go around talking about pussy all day and that is because i try to be a gentleman but all bets are off when i've been drinking but hey you've got to come up short somewhere i guess

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

shadows in the afternoon

living here in portland, hearing the brakes of the bus on schedule, sitting in the sunlight, watching a pair of rusted tin cans sway in the breeze on a powerline, tied up in string, trying to make an understanding of what it is that i am doing here. small events that occasionally pull me into what i think is an insight about different places, portland being so foreign- not in the sense of a culture shock, but in the sense that everything is so familiar, the same people and stores you find in wyoming, but all the tiny things that don't quite match up, somehow the feeling is different. so disorienting, trying to explain it but it's inexplicable, what's happening. certain situations just push my head into the wrong place, makes me feel sick sometimes, drinking a cup of coffee and still my hands are shaking after six hours, trying to acclimate myself. i think that maybe these small situations, circumstances, these things create a narrative that i am experiencing but will never digest, thinking that there's answers in the sky and water that i might be able to discern but can't because it's too close to me, physically- but then i think of those people who believe bananas prove god, and maybe there's nothing for me to interpret here, just the narrative already running in my head and possibly manifesting itself in foreign incidents. it's not a negative feeling, just a feeling that even though i live here that maybe i will never be here, just a different personality residing inside me, that i can never merge the two, wyoming, colorado, oregon, all different states in both senses. one or one or the other, choosing.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

sometimes i don't like the internet

so today i woke up to a picture message on my phone from dan, showing me a pic of this bike that had been hanging on his neighbor's garage wall for who knows how long out in weather. which is really cool you know for him, it being free and everything but it really put the brakes on my day, like, he just got a awesome red bike first thing in the morning and now i'm gonna have to top that, but i don't even got butter for toast, what with being poor and making bad shopping decisions and all. I'll have a list and everything, and then i'll be walking home with bags of groceries and look down and there's a mini keg of beer in there right where the butter and the plunger were supposed to be, and i'm not gonna go make two trips on the store in one day, so i nurse the keg and think what kind of a terrible breakfast i'll be having, coffee and toast with no butter.
all that from a red bike, man, so i just say to myself "well man if you can't top a red bike then don't bother with nothing and try again tomorrow" then it's all swamp moods from there.

also i suckered into one of those ads on the internet that you been seeing since the old webcrawler days, filling out surveys and getting paid big dime for it, always seems too good to be true, but you're always kind of mulling it over when you have a shitty job, sittin' there putting mcpatties on the broiler thinking that you could be doing hell of better holed up in your room with your new afi cd and clicking on answers to questions. so i rack up something like a small fortune in points, which are redeemed into cash money, over a hundred bucks, and i'm so pleased i say out loud 'damn dude you found the perfect calling your pot of coffee ain't even ready yet' but when i try and cash out it tells me that i have a minimum number of offers that i have to fill out, so i'm grumbling a little about that, but justifying it, saying well yeah they can't have any old homebody nickel-and-diming them they need people who're gonna take this seriously but then after i do all that i try to cash out again and they tell me that i also have to make a certain money amount to get any at all and that blows my top, so i want to have a word with their customer service, but they ain't got no number on the site so i google map their address and it shows me a toys r us in arizona and no way in hell this toy company is running something like this on the side and it dawns on me that they probably just scammed me so hard and i get all panicky, looking at my credit card and my email and stuff, but nothing's happening so i calm down a little. still though it's like my info or something is sitting in some data farm and it's only a matter of time before this greasy hacker is gonna remember that he sold me up the river a couple of months ago and is gonna go cash in all sorts of stuff like lotto tickets and sports cars and a hooker. falling all over myself on 20/20 on another rambling identity theft special with tom brokaw type suits making me look like a fool when i already damn well know that.

Monday, June 9, 2008

i'm abuse brews and den boos

i haven't had any coffee for the past week and now i'm barreling through my third cup and i feel like i'm going through the videodrome (is it a noun? do you experience the videodrome? or just watch it? fuck it it's a metaphor) and and so when i am drawing i kind of have that cool chwast kind of line style. they're playing in rainbows here in the coffee time and while that's cool, it's basically pretty depressing but also sounds really good? i keep rubbing my face and sighing and i don't know what i am going to be doing with the rest of my day, maybe get more coffee, write a resume, pay on my student loan, do something productive? i feel like i just took a hit of crack. FUCK man why are they playing this album it's like an infinite winter inside my head and all i can think of staring at the snowfall and not having anything to do and it's getting dark and cold and it's for forever. the first time i listened to this album i was waiting to go to work at the library and it was 7 in the morning and downtown was deserted and it was snowing like crazy, all the stores were closed, it was sunday, and i just stood by the library staff doors for two hours, staring at the snow falling in the cold gray in a gray sky, just getting colder and colder and smoking cigarettes and being all wired on coffee, which starts to feel a lot like stress if you drink too much freezing. then i realized that i didn't have to work that day after two hours thinking what the fuck why isn't anybody here.
sometimes i don't want to draw anymore because i see all these other people drawing so much better than me and it's like well goddamn i guess i'll leave it all up to the professionals then, but i keep drawing anyhow, like on accident, so i guess i'll just keep doing it hopefully i'll get better, always worrying about that kind of stuff, how can people just shrug off shit all day and keep smiling you know? i'm getting older and straight up coming apart the seams it feels like. oh ah well i know i got it better than most folks right? and i got friends too, they just ain't here with me right now, thousands of miles away, but still there. they'll pick up the phone if i call and that's pretty cool, to have a crew like that, honest people. still though where's my boo you know? sleepin' on some junky futon trying to keep it all together and i used to drink every night but i didn't pay no mind, i had my gal and folks around all the time, but now i drink every night alone and that's pretty miserable sitting there at the computer with your discount wine staring at all those fancy artists on the internet when you know you should be looking for a job, just freaking out i guess, worrying about making a name of yourself and just trying to live up the expectations that you had of yourself when you were ten, wondering where all that the zeal for life went. i don't even speak no second language. what gives.
see man look at this i was starting out fine on this speech but they're jammin' radiohead and it don't do no good for folks, listening to this kind of stuff when you're already tryin' to keep from being hard on yourself, i thought i was doing good today too, downloading microsoft word, getting letters ready for businesses, replying to stuff, checking up on stuff, gettin' up at 2 and showering. baby steps, man, baby steps. at least i moved out somewhere right? being all basically independent, callin' my ma on sundays, washing myself and doing laundry.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

nigga's like what the fuck is this?

look at this, what kind of luck is this?

It rains here -again- a fine deceptive rain that could be mist if you get lazy about it. moss grows over everything. I feel like i'm walking on the grounds of some esteemed college. Oxford? maybe.

i am listening to the scarlett johansson and record and it reminds me of the kids in school who were real shy and hid under the slide or over by the trees during recess, and how i always thought that they were probably really cool once you got to know them but then you meet them twenty years later at a bar and it turns out that they were just real shy as a kid and actually pretty boring.
maybe i am giving her a hard time ever since i fell in love with her in the beginning of lost in translation but maybe not? she should make things easy for me and be great all the time instead of making me ponder the specifics of it all.

also there are a lot of bums in portland so maybe restrict giving money out to ones with specific characteristics: eye patches, missing legs and so on. my criteria right now is the businessman who looks like he just had his car stolen.
Number of homeless guys i have seen that look like businessmen who looks like they just got their car stolen: 1.
Amount of money given: 25 cents.
also he had a lazy eye. you may think that may exclude him from the businessman category but plenty of businessmen have toupees and when it comes down to it, what really is the difference between fake hair and a screwy eye?

plus do bees have little bee hearts or is it just goop inside their body?

Friday, March 21, 2008




but it really doesn't matter at all
no it really doesn't matter at all
because life's a gas