hysterical paroxyms

Still bathing after all these years

2009-06-26T09:05:00.001-07:00

Things I drive past on the way home from work, in no particular order:
- A large black garbage bag, presumably full of garbage
- Three stray dogs, or at least hungry-looking dogs, collarless
- One seemingly drunk Chamorro guy, staggering too close to the road
- Ghosts. Countless, invisible ghosts

You walk by the flower pot stuffed with cigarette butts on your way to get another beer from the cooler. You smile weakly at their faces without making eye contact. These are some of the things you do to fill the time in between being born and dying. There are other things, too, of course. Like going to the beach. And sleeping. There's also work, jobs of all kinds. Having sex. Falling asleep. These are some of the things you do, just to pass all the time you don't know you don't have.

"Why do I even bother?" I wonder sometimes. Why indeed.

You hold your hand in the cooler full of ice and beer and soda and a couple of leaves of grass here and there, you're trying to see how long you can last before finally giving up. You imagine your body slowly filling up with ice cubes.

"The ice is melting, melting," you think, "and all my broken glaciers are drifting away."

This is the kind of nonsense that fills your head more often these days, as your body fills up with ice cubes, knocking one into the other, melting.

Memory lane

2009-04-26T09:15:00.001-07:00

This weekend was fun, wasn't it? Yes it was.

You went to the Dot Dot Dot concert pretty high, and left pretty drunk. Lots of funny faces. You remember it all as a series of blurry photos. Joser was a not-so cowardly lion and was, with Trey, dressed like a garbageman on casual Friday. Royce was a living skeleton. Together, they kicked out the jams and led you up a stairway to heaven. What fun!

What else happened? Something else must've happened. I can't remember.

I need to think about it.

Oh yeah. You wrote. And wrote and wrote. You took a break and wrote some more.

There was plenty of good food. And money. Plenty of money, falling from the sky.

Didn't anything else happen? I can't remember.

Whatever.

The Passenger

2008-03-22T17:03:00.000-07:00

one cook to rule them all

the hateful dish bin inspires madness and sorrow in the roughest of men

"i’m telling you, my penis can grow to this size and no larger. fact."

krispy kreme makes me krispy kreme in me krispy jeans. arrr

the arts-and-crap store: suitable mostly for lonely old ladies bent on scrapbooking the pain away

night falls outside borders. in our future lay vehicles honking wildly and loose women commenting from fast cars on our sexiness

A flip of the coin

2008-03-19T05:08:00.000-07:00

Pardon Our Process

2008-03-14T01:48:00.000-07:00

the nausea comes over me still.

when i’m leaning over the sink.
as i sit down in my room typing nonsense.
and drawing pictures of nothing, and nobody.

it washes over me, threatening to come spewing out.
but it doesn’t. and i keep doing what i’m doing.
it comes out my fingers, it comes out my throat.
it spreads like a virus into my computer,
smears like mucous onto the pages of tiny notebooks.
it finds its way around, here and there. everywhere

i’m really excited about this new project. trying to learn about where i come from; stuff you can’t find in books. things other people may not have related yet. maybe these are secret thoughts nobody has the guts to think anymore. things like, oh i don’t know. you know.

yadda yadda

Seven years in Ogygia

2008-03-03T00:35:00.000-08:00

it's monday morning; yesterday was my day off. and a fine day off it was, though there's very little of it i'm able to remember at the moment. one can still find traces of the day's activities in my hair, my breath, my shirt. expired time lingers like old spider webs in the corners of the ceiling.

i've been drinking coffee and alcohol all day, smoking all day. sometimes i wonder if subconsciously i'm adopting the writer's lifestyle, disregarding entirely such trivialities as making sense in conversation or actually producing work for others to read (rambling blogs don't count). i'm lucky at least to have other similarly dysfunctional creative types around as company. this way i know i'm not crazy.

did we go to georgia today? i think we did. poor waitress.

adam: "the difference between our parents and us is that one day we're gonna have to deal with our kids seeing our myspaces."
bobby: "i feel worse for the kids. they're going to have to deal with pictures of their myspace-slut of a mother all over the internet. sad little bastards."

lately i've run back into the arms of an old lover (jean-paul sartre). haruki murakami waits in our apartment, sitting alone at the dinner table as our food gets cold. don't wait up for me.

adam: "i'd say it takes about a half-hour to get there."
charlie: "no way, man. it's definitely closer to 40 minutes."
bobby: "what you fail to realize, charlie, is that we operate on 80-minute hours."

The Doctor Is In

2008-02-10T22:31:00.001-08:00

Karate Cunt

2008-01-27T19:00:00.000-08:00

it's getting dark and the stadium lights are on, light pollution fills the sky.
the fog is lit up and it permeates the city, making it that much more difficult to tell the difference between given objects.
people and street signs.
buildings and trees.
through the thickening fog you hear trains
calling
calling
calling
just like sirens.
whatever.
at least these two bastards are out there, somewhere, keeping the city safe.

Walking On Broken Glass

2007-12-16T08:01:00.001-08:00

not quite as romantic as poets and songwriters would have you believe

Alcoholics Anonymous

2007-12-12T03:37:00.001-08:00

i went to an aa meeting monday night. it was a "young people's meeting" so the group was composed mostly of people in their late teens to early twenties, with a couple of old dogs here and there.

seconds after parking by the curb outside the church, i stepped out into the cold and promptly slipped and fell into about eight inches of fresh snow. i dusted off and headed into the church. i was extremely nervous at first. everybody there seemed to know each other from past meetings and i felt like i was the sole newcomer and that all eyes were fixed on me.

a couple of the regulars were selected for readings from "the big book" and, after the group leader went over the basics (we aren't a religious organization, a charity group, etc.), the hourlong meeting began in earnest. people volunteered their stories of struggle and dependency, always beginning with "hi, my name is (blank), and i'm an alcoholic." many of their stories mirrored my own, including details about family members who were also struggling with alcoholism.

at the end of the session, everybody in the circle held hands and recited a prayer i didn't know. i held the hand of the pimply blonde skater kid on my right and felt dozens of little twitches throughout his body. but still, it felt nice to hold hands with people, even strangers; it felt just like church.

before anybody gets any ideas, i don't have a problem with alcoholism. i accompanied a denver friend of mine to the meeting, out of the desire to support a friend, as well as more than a little bit of curiosity. afterward i carried with me a really positive feeling. not a bad thing for me these days.

i'm not an alcoholic, but i do quite like the stuff. in reasonable amounts anyway. since it's been snowing so much lately, i figured: "when life gives you lemons, fuck it. drink a lot of beer"

cheers

Denver Zoo

2007-12-07T17:53:00.000-08:00

more good times

Denver Art Museum

2007-12-07T17:52:00.000-08:00

good times

Maybe in the next life

2007-11-28T16:58:00.001-08:00

three-piece suit
matching knit ties
wind swoops and howls over the ground outside
fruit smoothies at the mall
medicine for the sick
plans to go on holiday or take another trip
she's got alicia keys cankles
and a cindy brady lisp
she buys closets full of clothes but nothing ever fits

maybe in the next life

for now you seem just like a tourist, looking up at all the tall buildings

Adventures in Photoshop

2007-11-27T02:33:00.000-08:00

i'm still not very good, of course. but it's much better to have more left to learn than you already know. wait—does that make any sense?

also. i just finished watching michael moore's "sicko," which, if you haven't already seen it, i recommend, if only to remind you filthy son of a bitches of the fact of canadian superiority. tres bien

Everybody loves each others’ dick and balls: A comedy in two parts

2007-11-25T17:35:00.000-08:00

i'd like to start off with a poem; it's very personal

"drinking orange juice and jacking off
is there any other reason to live?
if there is, i haven't found it.
on second thought:
maybe mashed potatoes"

i hope those words strike you as deeply as they do me, the world's own tragically undiscovered genius.

it's so cold outside, and inside too sometimes. i find myself haunting the supermarkets here, staring into the blotchy red faces of my adopted countrymen. trailing behind the muslim dress of the faceless faithful as i scour the shelves for cheap cereal and pop tarts. i wait for the moment i carelessly slip on one of their outfits, like a clown on a banana peel.

cue laugh track and applause, erupting cannisters of tear gas.

this is maggie, my temporary roommate

wtf

2007-11-23T18:04:00.001-08:00

it's fucking 19 degrees outside

Sick and Tired

2007-11-23T17:43:00.000-08:00

thanksgiving was nice.

i was appointed lead wooden spoon, in charge of the stuffing. it wasn't family, but it was something.

today seemed to drag on forever. like sitting in detention for something you didn't do.

you've got your golden ticket
a fistful of quarters
and a ring of chocolate
around your mouth

i think it's time for plan b
hopefully they'll have me

Postcards from Outer Space

2007-11-21T09:50:00.000-08:00

It snowed again today. everything's bright white outside. snowflakes are falling down from heaven like the angels are shaking out all their dandruff.

i stepped out onto the patio, planting one foot into about 2 inches of powdery fresh snow, and i lasted close to 15 seconds before it became too much and i had to come back inside.

days like this remind me of the times in elementary school when they'd bring in snow from japan and dump it in the courtyard for all the kids to play with and generally just run amok. of course, by the time it got to guam, the snow had melted together into this sort of shaved ice and all the kids would be throwing snowballs at each other, getting hammered by large junks of ice. good times.

definitely more fun than when "spider-man" would stop by and jump around the roof of the school, spazzing out like somebody who's had too much coffee.

but still, good times.

The World Won't Listen

2007-11-14T04:28:00.002-08:00

this is my first post here, as you can see. hello!

this is a picture of a friend of mine back in guam. she really loves chips and dip (and i really hate drawing mouths).

and this one is radiohead guitarist jonny greenwood, after being taken over by the space invaders.

i guess i prefer a clean, simple look for my illustrations; not too much unnecessary dressing. these two pictures might not look out of place in a children's coloring book.