My brother is still in Japan. Here's an electronic mail he sent me. His birthday is on March 10 and this happens to be the day Bri and I will try to put together a social binge and purge (purge outside or off the balconies). More details are to come.

Hey man,
I'm still in Japan. But I don't have to go to Korea. Which meant I don't have to sleep in a tent and shower with dudes in a mud pit. Or eat MREs or ANY of that gay shit. I just have to watch shit at the hanger. Oh and turn 21, that is somthing I am going to have to do real soon.

I wonder if Champsky has split ends

She played with her beautifully ribboned hair with unpolished fingernails as the aged and feedback striken orator commanded the podium. The soft lines around her face that are usually so fetching and radient hung tired; sleep deprived.
"It's important," she affirmed, widening her eye sockets with both sets of fingertips.
All the while I sat, intent, listening in a constant state of discovery and concurrment as Noam Chomsky delighted my liberal-ing mind with tales of U.S. terror (I don't know if I can even buy a banana with a clear conscience anymore considering the bits of evidence I've accumulated through my studies at MU and his tiny little talk). All the while, she sat; with each slip allowing her eyelids to drop further than the last time.
I don't blame her. It's not like he's incredibly visually or audibly stimulating. He's an old man. He's too close to the mic, or the volume was turned up too loud. When lecturing, he circles around his outlined points like a torturous vulture around a sunstricken beetlebum, exposing the belly with his talons long after the fight lost its terror. And if you leave aside the severity of the issue, much like a "westerner" would do (oh god, Smale's words are coming out of me now) the man is fucking booooooring!!!!
"Did you learn anything about peace?" I approximate she wrote to me on the back of a pink note.
And I deliver something dumb and not romantic at all -- a second's fraction before she sleepily exits.
A Chomsky lecture, in my cinema-warped and happy-ending mind, seemed like a perfect liberal-infused college-period first social outing (for lack of a better term). Wrong! Ahh, such is life. And such are issues for people with compound modifiers for personal adjectives.

"A gib in hand is worth two in the bush," he said about a Saturday night drunkster.
"Yes, I disapprove of his gib, his cut and gib altogether," agreed the second.
"Let's dance!"
Vagueriiiiieeeees ran high and dry that afternoon, when "THE SUN!!!!!" crept softly, sullenly and loudly. Automatic write-up!

For whatever it seems, I think my problems're finally wrapped up. All on the same day! Mr. Lamontia and I are talking, my lovelife's straightening out, and, MU just GAVE me money! FREE! $1,000 bucks, $500 for this and last semester. I'm so fucking happy I could fistfight you smiling.

I hate it when people put up song lyrics as a post

And you stare at me
In your jesus christ pose
Arms held out
Like you've been carrying a load
And you swear to me
You don't wanna be my slave
But you're staring at me
Like i need to be saved

In your jesus christ pose

And you stare at me
In your jesus christ pose
Thorns and shroud
Like it's the coming of the lord
And i swear to you
That i would never feed you pain
But you're staring at me
Like im driving the nails

In your jesus christ pose

And you stare at me
In your jesus christ pose
Like its the coming of the lord
And would it pay you more to walk on water
Than to wear a crown of thorns
It wouldn't pain me more to bury you rich
Than to bury you poor
In your jesus christ pose

[This song has secretly influenced just about every modern rock band you've probably heard of. No real deep meaning here on this bloggy, just a good song. Find it you bastards!]

It's official, everyone's luckier than me now. Here's my bro's arm and his japanese girl's arm holding a helicopter. Hell, he's two years younger than me and he already has a helicopter! A helicopter! not to mention a japanese sweetheart. I know, I'll sent him a purse, tha sensitive fuck!

My self-confidence is no longer an issue or advantage. Here's an emo statement: "It's so hard being me." But you gotta say it with a pouty 6-year-old delivery. Try it. It's an out for everything wrong in your life. Though, when I say it, I just laugh. On holiday, everyone.

Off The Map

Mr. Lundby and I went off the map. What we found: Guy with bad fake tits, Erotic Fiction writer, Humiliation before false redness, Objectivication in tight quarters, My taste in gloves sucks, Fierce small dog, Chick w/uberlarge&displayablebreasts and "cockhungry" tude, Ihop chicks wanting assplay/to-stick-us-with-the-check-but-we-actually-stuck-them-with-check, 4 a.m. Laundromat weirdos, And ... sunlight.

Directtabs.com, as of Jan. 20, only provides guitar tabulature for noncopyrighted songs. What's wrong with the world? Hell, all I want is a quick shortcut to playing that song, "I hear, the secrets that you keep; talk, sleep,(etcetera)." I'mmmaagonna punch Wally Palmar in the balls next time I see him.

The last song I've written, not including last night, was done the day I learned Mr. Kravitz and Ms. Fretland split. I remember because it's about them. I hadn't written a song since. The one last night is not pop-y, but is. I'm happy with it. My eyes've finally closed.

You know what's really dumb? I can do tons of sit ups. Tons. I'll have a six-pack for about 30 minutes, then it's all gone. What's the deal? Doing them every day doesn't help either. Remember "American Psycho"? "Now, I can do one thousand." Half and I laugh about that.

Typing is calming.

The weekend before last a good friend and I had a falling out. I offended him in a deep, irreparable way. It's been on my mind since. I feel absolutely guilty and terrible.

I learned a little while ago Mr. Ameling will be cashing in his 401K soon to start a business, a contracting business. I am full of questions. That 401K is, after all, his retirement. Will I have to help him out if his business goes under? Will my contribution need to be substantial? Do I?

My love life is as questionable as ever. I've no clue about anything.
This was made a topic of conversation at work by an eager supervisor, eager to embarrass me. It sort of worked.
That job is becoming a pain anyway. Someone asked me for a ride home the other night. She lives on North William, close. I agreed. She was scheduled off at 11 p.m. and worked it out with the supervisor to leave a t 10 p.m., when I was scheduled to be off. Then the supervisor comes to me and proceeds to make me feel guilty for still wanting to be off at my scheduled time. Hell, I wasn't even scheduled to work that day; I was covering for someone. Basically, I stupidly thought for a second a department store managment would treat me, the employee, like a person instead of a number. I folded, as usual.

Classes are going well.

I'm so goddamn angry. I don't even know why. I can't really seem to place it. I can't get rid of it. Just when I think I'm about to return to being happy and lucky, I instead become more miserable and more unlucky. At least my parents are doing well with their finances -- well enough to actually call me up just to see if I need any cash! You guys don't even know! Maybe they've already cashed in that 401K? I need to find out how those channels work.

I miss being carefree and lucky. Hell, doing my taxes last week was actually a relaxing break from reality. How do I get my carefree back? What I really need is a solid meal, a nice dream, to clean up, some free time, a good woman to sleep next to, and a handshake with some respect in there.

And it's probably a good idea that in the future I don't mix any cheap red wine with brandy and tequila. Also, I'm sorry if I've been short with anyone in the past few weeks.

The Red's on my shoes. It's in my hair, eyes, face. It's in my face. What do you do with something that's in your face? My fists ball on their own. I'll be patient, though my virtue is luck. Although, I'm not so lucky these days. Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

What's happened to me? I've been hijacked by various outside entities. It's effortless to maintain yet the identity I use is becoming thin, malleable. I'm steering but it makes no difference on which way the wheels're pointed -- like they've a mind of their own. My hands are manipulating what's useless.

( ... I feel a lot like this art below -- very busy yet never seeming to be complete, or satisfying. At least these little circles satisfy someone.)

Forum

I'm allowing this forum due to popular demand regarding the comment policy of my weblog. Normally, you may read, think and discuss the thoughts posted; but not comment. "Why?" Who givvzzaa Fuck! That's why! You know what, just do what I say! Now, here's the emotican showing I'm all smiles ... :)

*EDIT* 2/14 @ 11:30 p.m.
So, it's been a week and this forum has one comment. While the comment is excellent, there's no reason for more. If you'd like to comment, you can write it, put it in an envelope, apply a stamp, and shove it right up your ass. You've nothing to say anyway.

2 more for Tuesday

This afternoon was my first and last time I've watched Jeopardy. It started well, I was pretty freakin smart. "What is Osiris, ... Cobalt ... Biohazard ... biodegradable." But then the camera pulled away to reveal it was in fact "Teen Jeopardy." "Of course, that's why they looked so young. Well, fuck everything!"

I think the holiday season'll get to me. If anyone needs me, I'll be the guy who's his eyes closed, his fingers in his ears, and screaming at the top of his lungs. What did I think anyway? That'd the perfect girl'd fall for me? I'm lucky; not that lucky.

2 for Tuesday

One hat comes back into my life while another vanishes from my life. This time, I know Ms. Jewitt is not behind this one, ... or is she (but she's not, ... or is she?)? The fedora is good for throwing cards into, but not much else. So, my head's cold today.

Things with friends are at a low. I've no excuse. It's just that I'm so goddamn angry at nothing that I can't feel anything else, or smile. My security deposit's gone as a result. Can't I get a little peace? Is there anything that'll calm my nerves? ... Didn't think so.

Not my girlfriend

My girlfriend and I are always on time.
I know that right now there is no one else for her but me, and I know she likes that. Her friends are really supportive of our relationship and my friends think I'm a really good man for being so open about it.
For the most part, she's a carefree woman. The idea of a schedule, to her, is trouble. Once you start to become wrapped up in the cares of the world then you start to care as well, she says.
She has few close friends with whom she is very open with. She tries to keep up with them all but often she finds me and they fade into the background.
She's fairly reserved; her emotions are kind of dry. I really like that about her.
We never become confused with each other. Our plans are always met.
Though she's kissed many men, she's still kind of green. Her thin lips are always available. She never pulls away from me. I don't bother undressing her with my eyes because she's happy to do it herself.
But it's missing something: the passion of an actual kiss. That feeling that comes when her fingers are around mine, when I've my lips to her skin, when she's very close. That fogginess that comes when I look into her eyes, when I hold her. That excitement that comes when I hear her voice, her excited notes, a whistle. That warmth I feel when it's cold outside and her head rests on my chest, when I have her.
She is reliable, commmon, sensible and blunt. And I'm never left guessing.

I could play guitar over everything. Every emotion could be blotted out with a few chords in my hands; a few words in my throat. If I could, playing guitar could substitute for my entire life. I'd play and play so that I wouldn't have to live. However, guitars fail.

Things're upside down. I've a good mind to bolt and join the circus. At least there, I'd feel like I've more respect than currently. I shouldn't say that. Feel like shit, don't look so good. Who does feel good when you drink a imbezzled bottle of wine alone? Empty street.

Some details in President Bush's State of the Union speech erk me. Outstanding detail: he's interested in U.S. implementing more nuclear technology. "Kudos!" I say. But how about other peaceful countries trying the same? Will they be judged before having a rifle pointed at them? Deja-Vu? Critical judgment, supercritical fallout.

Believe it or not, I really don't do much. On paper, it looks as if I'm always busy. However, the items that fill the paper really don't constitute "doing anything" in the very literal sense. I can fill entire days with nothing without even trying. Today is one such day.

Today is Mr. Ameling's birthday. My father was born this day in 1955. He grew up in Iowa, joined the Airforce, probably dropped a lot of acid, probably loved a lot of women, quit the Airforce, and eventually settled with my moms. Now, he's building a house.
That is all.