Monday, April 29, 2013


when i was a lad, i wanted to fuck Carmen Sandiego. imagine that. sure, the game and the game show helped me solve mysteries better, helped me become a more astute world-traveler, but most of all, it was about her, it was all about Carmen, she helped me become a virile man.

1. did you ever find someone else's stash of sex toys, lube, etc? yes, my mom's, and that is why i blog...

2. did you ever search someone else's computer to determine their porn habits? were you ever the subject of such a search? i consider that the ultimate invasion of privacy, i mean you might as well just kill the guy while you're at it, the embarrassment will last a lifetime. besides, i'd rather not know that my best friend likes to look at pictures of naked lawn gnomes on the internet. that's why he kept insisting that i get him lawn gnomes for Christmas, i just thought he liked that travel commercial. as for me, i have no friends, so i don't have to worry about being searched. the gnome guy and i broke up.

3. did you ever investigate to see if two people were getting it on? just as long as it's not Mom and that burly dude from the garage, i'm cool as ice...

4. did you ever look for naughty pictures on someone else's phone? yes, i was being a horndog, quickly checked this babe's phone to see if there was any skin, i'd even take bikini selfies, i mean, whatever, but i found a picture of me in her inbox, a picture of me naked...wait, when was this picture of me taken? i don't remember this! Liz, what's up with this? where is this, i don't recognize the rocks or the crashing waves...Liz?

Liz zooms into the sky in her spaceship.

i have a permanent probe-hole on each of my two butt cheeks.

5. were you ever involved in an investigation, formal or informal, over whether someone was cheating in your relationship? i don't like to show my face, but if you watch "Cheaters" Episode #1256, season 4, it's about me and my lover Liz. we hit it off at first, i didn't mind her green skin, but things got rocky when i experienced a space of two weeks of missing time. Liz was cold and aloof after that period...

bonus: do you have a secret online identity so you can find a secret lover? uh, hello, of course, that's the entire reason for this blog, which has about a month left. thus, i've failed in said quest for love. y'know, she doesn't have to be a secret lover. one glorious day, the two of us will race out into the open sun and declare ourselves non-anonymous, real flesh people.



Friday, April 26, 2013


i crack up every time i see the babe in red corpse during the scene above, i did the very same thing as she the first time i saw this episode in real time and every time i've seen a repeat, it never gets old, it induces the laughter every time. i would have corpsed, too, professional actor that i aspire to be.

folks, i'm giving up porn. now the last time i made such a pledge, it lasted for one day. let's see what happens later tonight...

i wonder if i should lift the warning-label page barrier from this blog, as long as this blog lasts, anyway. no, probably not a good idea. uh oh, sex and all that it stands for is drawing me back in...

hey, what is going on over at the Doctor Who boards?! i went to imdb as usual after last week's episode, which happened to be the first good episode so far this half of the season, love-story ghost-story, and was confronted with more anti-Americanism than usual from the British typers. i always thought British resentment of Americans was more of an inside joke between both countries, but i guess it's still real and alive. but why? didn't we resolve our differences with a few skirmishes, a war, *White House burning*, something about the price of tea? let's all have a spot of tea and move on. love, people, love will bring us together. i recently met a very lovely British woman and we're...uh, well, i've said too much, wink wink. but seriously, we all know the deal: Americans are dumb and uncultured, yes, very true, British humor is more subtle, agreed, that's why i love it. i am here today to say that i am an ardent Anglophile, i love everything about British culture, i'm in love with the accent, it makes everyone seem smart when they use that accent, British telly shows have always started the trends the American shows follow, they are always the inspiration for our shows across the pond, so you guys have the superior foresight there, no argument. Three's Company came from a British show, that's enough for me to convert. also, British shows take way more risks, i mean just look at Skins. Skins UK was an honest, cutthroat masterpiece of teenage life which never cut corners or white-washed anything when it came to the drug scenes and the sex scenes, no censoring of skin or ideas. the MTV Skins...yeah, just should have never been made in the first place, i cringed when i saw the first preview trailer of it, it felt so forced and unnaturally "hip" and "dangerous", never saw a minute of the show, felt i would have betrayed the original gem, which was way more natural and true-to-life. i wouldn't call myself patriotic, i'm a pretty level-headed American, i see things for what they are, i never pretend i'm something i'm not, and my DVR is set mostly for BBC America shows, that's me, really that's me. in the immortal words of Rodney King, RIP, Celebrity Rehab alum, Dr. Drew is handsome but controversial: "can't we all just get along?"

now British food, well...yeah...though i do love Gordon Ramsay, i finally warmed up to him after he had three shows of his on American television at once, three shows a week, *overexposure*, you can't help but fall in love with the ol' grump, he has a heart of gold underneath, it's all an act mostly, right? i mean, if he behaved like that with his wife and kids off-camera, he'd have drop-died of a stress heart attack years ago...

i was gonna post a PORN LESSONS: LEARNED edition today here at this spot, i picked out a nicely-filmed porn between a sexy secretary and her boss fucking on the board-room table complete with cumshot ending in front of everyone's view because the office was a square room of pure glass. one of the "learned"s was gonna be my observation of how the glass-cleaners deserved an extra pension for keeping the viewing area nice and spotless for any perv passersby and the audience at home, but...remember, i've given up porn for life, so...if you really want to see it, email me. i'm expecting zero emails on this.

can you guys tell me what my cat is doing, is he communicating, is it a sign, or is he just crazy as we long have suspected? whenever my cat is done using the litter box, he races like an Olympic sprinter out of my room through the ajar-door, it's like he's embarrassed or something and wants to exit the area as soon as he's finished. could it have something to do with the fact that there's an angled scratching-post toy a few steps ahead of the litter box with a hidden ball inside of it that try as he might, the cat can never fully tear out? i dunno, he loves to play with that toy, he won't let a little natural-business get in the way of his playtime, but there are other times when he seems to be looking far afield, he rushes out after the bathroom break, almost crashing into the toy on his way out. i've thought about moving the toy to another part of the room, but it's awfully cramped in there, don't know where i'd put it. i could sleep with the toy on top of me, i do need to file my nails in a more healthy way than biting them. i'm not metrosexual, and i'm not sanitary, and i don't have OCD, well a little, it's that i think too much.

I ATE THE BONES! gonna have the boneless KFC 2-pc meal tonight for the first time, i'm so excited i could burst.

i'm feeling a little better today, but like the porn, it never lasts...


Wednesday, April 24, 2013



click on the Crystalline Entity from Star Trek: TNG to start the new skin series. remember that episode? that poor old woman, coping with heartache over her killed son, slowly turning from dispassionate scientist to vengeful passion-filled scientist, a mother's love...can lead to some dark alleys. as for the skin-pic clicky, i've entitled it TO MY CRITICS


ha, yeah, but no, seriously, whassup, folks? it's been so long since i've talked with you. how are you? how's the weather where you are? it's difficult to maintain the relationship when you keep taking four-month hiatuses. where do you go? i don't mean to be a stalker, but i do wonder what has happened to you, what you're doing, where you traveled to: a romantic getaway in Paris? fucking in Rome? white-water rafting on the Moon? i know, i know, it's work or it's kids or it's life...those are three things i don't get troubled by anymore...never had to...

i dunno, this whole blogging thing...i dunno...i still feel that i have to walk on eggshells...i can't REALLY type what i REALLY feel...i can't express myself with full-on strength and no filter. society imposes filters, invisible filters, set rules you have to follow, just by being a human you are converted into a nice citizen, you have to account for others' feelings and sensibilities...i get that, i want so much to be a part of right society, i want to make friends and love those

i mean, as crazy as i am, i'm here to tell you that i'm operating at about 40% crazy level. folks, i'm still holding you want me to expand mine and your imagination to heights and depths only conceived of by God Himself after a few divine beers? i once raced God and won, but He told me not to tell anyone. in exchange, i was granted the mind i have. it was a fair exchange, i'll be analyzing the interesting thoughts which spill from my brainstem for eternity until i die. God will have to take over then...He will have to examine all the unique, insane, legal but just barely, world-changing, alien-induced thoughts of mine. i want to change the world...of my headspace. the depression helps with my creativity, my arts, my art, depression is good after all.

we must respect our Moon and the other planets, even poor Pluto and Planet X. is there other intelligent life out there in infinite(?) outer space? check that, is there any intelligent life at all, seeing as there's none on Earth? that joke, by the way, is as old as dirt, the dirt on the Moon. i don't mean to get green, but i'm Mean Green Gene, plant a fucking tree instead of ranting on hulu, water your ferns, and water your Aunt Fern, her favorite drink is Long Island Iced Tea, you never call her, do something that matters, if you're gonna destroy your body by downing 5 cans a day of that rancid Monster Energy Drink, you can at least recycle those damn cans. put them in the blue recycling bin, make sure your carbon foorprint is nice and clean, be a functioning member of society, think of others, not yourself, stand up and be counted, be a world citizen, a cool dude, a nice guy, it's not always about sex and cum...The More You Know...about yourself, your human self, the more you will be scared and frightened...we've only compassed a few miles of the human brain, much more left to traverse and learn, do we have the tools to talk to God? mind reading? but also are there tools within us to bring about our destruction? power works both ways. who am i? who am i really? Jung once said that the greatest thing we can do as humans is really REALLY discover who we really are. what is a human? what is the point? what is our purpose? what is a human being for? what do we do? what can we do? what are we really capable of? what truly motivates us? what is our path?

ew, what are those brown things in my chocolate bar? poo? no, they're almonds...mmmmm, almonds...




Monday, April 22, 2013


hello. my college days were a mixed bag: on the one hand, i fully discovered and embraced anime to the fullest there and joined an anime club to further become free and unashamed. on the other, not as much sex as i would have hoped, i seemed to come at a three/four-year period where folks actually really just cared about...studying...more than the hash-brownie threesomes. fuck my life.

third pic from the top: i'm gonna just assume this is something cool to do with Nine Inch Nails and move on.

fourth pic: i'm just gonna assume this really is Marilyn Monroe and file it in the ol' spank bank.

8th pic: now this is what's uniquely ironic about me: the first thing i thought of was not the massive porn stash or that these are priceless collectibles or the demeanor of the owner of this stash, my eyes beamed through right to the ghost and i thought Pac-Man...Pac-Man.

9th: smile!

11th: i'm a film geek, so it's a triangle of used film of my student film about the viability of existentialism in this modern computer's still a patch i'd like to lick...

1. have you ever been sexiled? y'know, you have to leave your dorm room 'cause your roommate is fucking the fuck out of some geometry honey? "sexiled", very urbandictionary, i already like. true story: the geometry honeys were thick when i was at Cal, i tried to get in a threesome with my roommate and one of them, going the math angle, explaining how three is better than two, it's symmetrical and triangular, but to no avail. i became an English major that day. not too many grammar hotties...well, there is one that i know now, wink wink.

2. were you ever propositioned by someone in your circle of friends who knew you were dating someone else? point of clarity: what is this circle of friends of which you speak? friends? what are those, never had one, especially in college where you're supposed to make your permanent ones. i do know about a drum circle, was in one of those against my will after the cult-brainwashing worked on my feeble mind and only my mind. i know about the circle of life, the circle of karma, which has so far only granted me the bad stuff, still waiting for the good karmic stuff to happen to me, and i know of the "Circle of Life" song, but i don't want to be a furry anymore...that's just bad karma...

3. did you date someone in college only for sex, only for the one-night-stand booty call? i wish i would have had the balls to actually present myself as a university pimp like that. that kind of stuff works better in the small fishbowl of high school, the dude who walks down the confined halls after busting down the main school doors with his boot, shades on, with his backwards baseball cap and baggy jeans down to his ankles, talking back to the nerdy, bald, virgin chemistry teacher and making the hot-babe drama teacher swoon with his every gesture. hmmmm, actually that is more a sitcom high-school trope than an IRL high-school trope. if you did that in real life, the chemistry teacher would kick your ass.

4. ever involved in a regrettable sex incident where drugs and alcohol were involved? i confess, *hand up*, the first time i tried pot was in college, true style, with a full-fledged bong that used ice and the *whirlllllllll* sound when you consumed it, yeah, the real deal. i guess i was stoned, maybe i didn't do enough of it, but i just felt really relaxed, but not overly so. some girls wanted to have sex with me...but i fell asleep from the good shit and the munchies...and i dreamed that some hot girls were stoned and wanted to have sex with me...then i woke up, it was all a dream...then i woke up from that, it was all a dream...Inception...hey, that's another circle i know about, a drug circle. happy 420, everyone!

5. did you ever see a porn movie in an actual theater? did you ever watch porn on 8mm before the age of videotape? no, i was born about one generation too late for that, though i did see on videotape a history of those porn times, the burgeoning porn industry, New York City in the '70s, Fritz The Cat, Deep Throat, that Harry guy who was the king of porn for awhile, and instantly fell in love. for some reason, i'm deeply fascinated with porn in general, the history of it, not just as jacking-off material, but as an art form, as a predictor of trends and salve for emotional problems in society. i think it's 'cause i love video in general, just video itself, especially vintage stuff, obscure, out-of-date stuff, so Swedish erotica and long-since-defunct naughty magazines that only five people in the world have are right up my alley. it's the '80s-nostalgia arrow lodged in me, i am a child of VHS. porn theaters, yeah, never did a Pee Wee Herman, i would be too embarrassed to share that kind of experience out in the open with my fellow strangers in trench coats, my brothers, my brethren...

6. did you ever discuss the sexual prowess of a lover with a friend who in turn also had relations either before or after with that same person? this is in danger of becoming a sitcom again. sitcom rules: be sure the person being talked about is in the next room eavesdropping through the wall with a glass to her ear. make sure you slam the babe's lovemaking abilities to your dude friend, high-fiving each other because all men are smug like that when around other men, it's an alpha-wolfpack sort of thing. make sure the camera close-ups on the woman's scorned face, it's like the Lucy Ricardo cry-face but angrier. the next episode, the woman plots her revenge by using a megaphone as she loudly compares both dudes' cocks to little unblown string balloons in front of all the patrons at the citywide garden event. the men hang their heads in shame, blood-red in their cheeks, promising to be better citizens, and they apologize to the woman, and if this is on HBO, threesome. if it's PBS, the three shake hands in a circle, a handshake circle.

now films encourage love triangles, too, but that's more complicated, they have to last 2 hours...

bonus: did you become more hetero-flexible or even bisexual after a same-sex encounter while experimenting in college? fuck my life, had to get that out of the way. y'know why? it's the damndest thing: during college, i got tons and tons of numbers and interest from gay men, but never any hot babes...or actually any girls at all. i always kept telling myself that if i were gay, i'd really be living the hedonistic, decadent, lust-filled college experience that you hear in stories as a pimply high-schooler. unfortunately, i determined early on that i just wasn't gay, not even a little bisexual, so nothing ever happened. although, some of these people who wanted to fuck me did end up becoming my temporary friends, they were cool guys. you know what they say: if you can't fuck, friend.



Wednesday, April 17, 2013


fronty complete: you thought the Cobain punk on the skateboard was gonna have purple spiked hair, huh? naw, had to color his hair in tribute to Kurt's ultimate golden long locks.

click on this fronty pic of The Store to end this skin series. a new life has emerged from my belly, a baby phoenix...a baby phoenix also destined to be late. i'm a father. may the Wiccan Goddess have mercy on us all.

one thing i finally learned Tuesday:
my sadness jacket has stretched to its furthest point,
and i'm feeling beyond sad.
what is beyond sad?

acceptance is one of the steps, right?
i was born a loner and i shall die one,
as permanent as my brown eyes,
as unchangeable as my heartbeat, as ineffable as the wind
that steers the air of my shaky path.

dumb, ba-dum, hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

the mistakes and trials weren't teaching moments,
they were bits of realization of a fate long-ago moulded
by some sneaky devils in white lab coats
who are too bored to snicker at how long it took for me to figure it out.

i'm dumb, ba-dum, hmmmmmmmmmm

i'm sad for many things:
random acts of violence
overcoming random acts of kindness,
the storage of my love going unclaimed,
left to spoil into milky clumps of waste rocks,
could that milk have fed the next President?

you're dumb, ba-dum, hmmmmmmmmmm

sad over The Store's lack of Bjork's Biophilia
and that puffed rice i used to enjoy,
sad that the only laugh that spurts from these lips now
comes from a stupid youtube video,
i the so-very-removed audience of some quirky nothing-air prank or truism spouted
over the internet waves, quick, i have to hide my spontaneous laugh
from my folks, must maintain my emo cred.

they're coming, ba-dum, hmmmmmmmmm

sad over so many things
which i have forgotten now.
did i type the right thing?
was it apt for the situation?
did i stop caring because they didn't care,
or was it that i never cared. who cared less first?
being alone is fate,
it's right and proper,
it accounts myself to the cause of thinking
of why this happened,
i have the time, space, freedom, and wind to carry on my thinking-cap duties,
i will meditate into oblivion

dumb, dumb, numb, da-bum, hmmmmmmmmm

i read and know in the book that B comes after A,
but as for the meaning of it all, there is none,
no meaning, never was, save the one we attach to these squiggly lines on a page:
A and B, you say? if you say so.

dumb and becoming numb, numb, a bum, hmmmmmmmmm

clearer outside-sight is not good,
you see horrible things about yourself, other people, and the world you shouldn't.
insight is better,
you can lie to yourself safely in a computer cocoon.

da da da dala la la la
da dalal da la la l da l
da da lal lla da  alla
la la lda laid  d a d   a  a

what's beyond sadness?
i'm numb, a numb bum.


Monday, April 15, 2013


1. have you ever considered yourself completely sexually satisfied? once, but i am too far gone now to feel it again, to reminisce over the feelings. i am already living in my heavenly McMansion far in the clouds, the green countryside hides my exact location, see PIC 1 from the top there. i ride my white hornless unicorn once in the morning, then an afternoon stroll, before retiring for steaks and shakes at midnight. the only image i can collate from that magical satisfied night is of me in a unicorn suit twerking it like Miley did, with my lover on one side of the bed and ten filled-up orange-peel husks on the other. we decided we would do the fresh-squeezing ourselves, the orange juice tasted slightly bitter, slightly sweet, slightly cummy. now whenever i drink OJ...or more so an Orange Julius...

2. what was the last sexy photo you took? well i do have this meme of mine called SSS...

3. what was the last sexy pic you took AND sexted? what was it of and to whom was it sent and why? it was of my double-penis, sent it to NASA for further scientific study, hoping to get it in the next published journal.

4. how is your sex life? wet blanket, warm cozy comforter, heated-up electric blanket, OR none 'cause i sleep without covers?: imagine having to actually sleep with a wet blanket over you. i do, that's why i send my 5 cents every day, mail it out through Charity to the less-fortunate. cozy comforter sounds nice right about now, my beanie tore. whenever i think about an electric blanket, my thoughts turn toward that masterpiece of a little indie film My Dinner With Andre, my god what an elucidating conversation! i can't sleep without covers, i'd get too cold, my heart is already cold enough. yeah, so as you can see, i'm trying to skirt the issue of my nonexistent sex life.

5. what's your idea of good foreplay? responding to my youtube comments, that gets me so fucking hot.  if you want me, i haven't the faintest why you would, but if you do, the quickest way to my heart is not through my stomach but through my keyboard. email chatting works, too, and pizza.

bonus: can you have a great, long-lasting sex life with just one partner? how? i'm sure it works on tv and the movies and stuff, but for me personally, i'm not sure i could. i get bored easily, i'm a victim of the 11-minute attention-span of our computer youth, so i'd just move on to the next game when i finished the Last Boss, ya feel me? when things started to get rough, when the fireballs would start shooting our way, i'd race to the nearest reality-altering Mushroom and bail, jump a few times to clear the Pipe Hurdle and run as fast as my little plumber feet could take me. yes, i'm still single, why do you ask? wanna play some video games with me? i've got time...



Friday, April 12, 2013


see? this is what i mean. just right now, i pushed the silver tv remote's button as hard as i could: no picture, no fucking picture, without tv i am already a ghost. was it the batteries? i raced to the combo attic/basement thing i have down the kitchen to find the other remote to the other tv. brown tape blocking the batteries-insert cover. i peeled it off furiously, rampaging because this was the end of the world. AAA, good, finally, my fridge was stocked with mounds and mounds of useless AA. replaced the batteries and it still didn't fucking work. what am i gonna do? i started fake-crying, which is worse than real salty tears, there's a sheen of inhumanity to it all, fakery, soullessness. i was thinking of transferring the heavy tv in the whatever-room over to my room, i might break my back in the process, steaming bad memories of wearing a back brace throughout high school, but it was worth it for my shows. what should my revised schedule contain?: a trip to the radio store, which doesn't open 'til fucking 9AM, need new AAA batteries just in case, and cat food's running low. cat food, cat, wait...the cat, he loves to run up and down the wire area at the back of my tv, what if?...the damn plug was unplugged, it wasn't noticeable, it was just barely unplugged, not from the socket, just barely askew for it not to work. it works again, never stopped working actually. i really can't deal with the stresses of this world.

what am i gonna do? really, what am i gonna fucking do? i'm out of options save two: there is the monastery thing, but i dunno, i did visit there for a week's boot camp, it was a different experience, wouldn't say i enjoyed myself, though i didn't totally dislike the experience, the men were weird jokesters, so that quelled the tension. it was more like a week's spa holiday, though, i just don't know if i could make such a lifestyle my lifestyle, i mean, the boredom would set it quick, i'd be pulling my hair out from missing my shows, i'd conform to the monkly duty of baldness soon.

the other option is what i dub '80s Living. this is how i was in the '80s before the scourge of social media. nowadays, it's a trigger reaction to go immediately to the imdb messageboards and type up my reviews once i'm done watching Archer or Degrassi or whatever as i see what the enlightened over there have to say about the episode and (their) life in general. back in the '80s, there was no such burden placed on my young shoulders. i remember distinctly what separated the two time periods. y'know that awesome episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation which ends with Picard the Borg and Riker in a Borg vs. Enterprise standoff and Riker having no choice but to exclaim the order, "Mr. Worf, fire!" and the epic Viking music swells up and poor Riker with his beard has to fire upon his dearly-respected mentor Picard? Family Guy later did a spoof of this...not that that means anything special...just trying to bridge generation gaps here. well, at the end of this epic episode, i didn't have a thumb to type with. i had a thumb, just not specifically a typing thumb, because there wasn't a device to thumb out nor a social-network platform to thumb to. the only discussion of the episode came the next afternoon at the schoolyard, after the bullies had their way with us, the bullies added to the conversation simply that Picard's Borg get-up looked "fake", this was the first use of the term which would later go down in youtube-troll lore, it ended up just my best friend and i talking about what we had seen and heard last night right before we had to go to bed without supper. my friend would have had the chicken, i the fish. we re-created the booming and the laser fires and the lines said in the episode like little children destined for a lonely life of sci-fi geekdom do, i pretended to be Borg Picard, my friend was Riker getting himself a brown-leaf beard, we re-created the scene a dozen times, each time it seemed that vignette got awesomer and awesomer, we discussed Enterprise politics and alien species and what a cliffhanger that episode was and how we couldn't wait for the next episode next season, we were peeing our pants over this! that was the extent, that was '80s-style imdb. other than that, i kept all my excitement and pondering over shows to myself. being an only child, i relived each episode solely in my head more often than not, never speaking a word to anyone about it.

so, should i go back to that way of life, those dark ages without facebook, twitter, hell without much of an internet at all, no social-board connections, no talking about anything and everything with complete safely-anonymous strangers with clever screennames, and those that try too hard to be clever with their screennames, the tryhards? damnit! see, internet culture has seeped into my rotten core (NIN reference). should i pull the 2013 plug and descend to a time of nostalgia, should i let the nostalgia arrow pierce me back to a simpler era, should i skateboard Marty McFly and myself right into the past, not blabber on about nostalgia on another wasteful youtube channel, but actually LIVE it again? you can't go home again, but you can re-create it as best as possible. if i just turn off all devices except for the tv, i can watch shows again like in the '80s and not have to worry about who is saying what on the boards, i simply let the episode settle into my imagination and that's it for (non)connection and analysis, bouncing my ideas off my left brain wall with the other images and preconceived notions and imaginings i had of the episode which reside on the other side of my brain, i have a conversation with myself about the episode, hours and hours it may go on, until Mom calls me for fish.

should i, should i should i? i can't decide for myself anymore, i've wrestled with billions and billions of possible combinations and permutations in my head but to no avail, pi just keeps on going forever. there are pros and cons to this, each weighs the same, each gets me nowhere, both doors contain the Monty Hall prize, 1+1=2, and Mother Teresa and Stephen Hawking are both correct. House of Anubis and the last of my netflix Twilight movies ended on the same day, will one get renewed while the other franchise is over? i was never the demographic of these movies, but i did cry like a 12-year-old girl when that last ending gray montage of all the characters spreads across the screen in Breaking Dawn, Part Two, accompanied by that great song "A Thousand Years", not so much because these were scintillating movies, but just because it was over, i'd never see these characters again living on (tv) screen, it's more the loss than the actual content. like when you end a play, the play may have been a college kid's experimental rubbish, but you cry at the last bow because you'll never see your fellow castmates again. promises to write will never be heeded, this is really the end of the line, get your kisses in now, your chance to make a baby with her is gone, to keep her contained, here with you, to give her a reason to stay, she's leaving on the first flight out at the Break of Dawn (get it?), disappearing forever, leaving only Bella, Pale Kid, and Shirtless memories. are werewolves immortal, too?

should i? should i? should i? i'll leave the monumental decision of the rest of my life not to me, but to random strangers on the internet, they shall decide my destiny. that is so this time-period, huh? that is so the 2013 way of doing things, leave it to the fucking social networks.

i could continue reading every messageboard in sight or not burn out like a Roman candle (Soundgarden reference) and have time to look at every bit of plastic debris that i use up eating and drinking during the week to see which number is in the little triangle, which kind of plastic it is, 1, 2, maybe 5, before i toss it in the recycling bin. hey, i may have loads more time to kill, but i would still have the forced OCD. sometimes i get treated to very rare types of plastic, like the 7 from that thin, yellow hard-salami package recently.

should i continue clicking on every one of the 11 news stories from HuffPo each day, even the ones about Miley's something not fitting right? those are never worth it, just time-consuming, and i have no more time. but i have to, i need to sate my gut with the latest pop-culture offerings or i won't be in the know, i won't have fodder for any more of my clever remarks, i will be lost. i don't mind sailing on the sea of mediocrity like everyone else, but i need to be sailing on a boat, not drowning to the bottom of the sea, where there is only doubt and the not-knowing.
trying to find a girlfriend on youtube vs. finding out my funny comments were misconstrued as creepy comments and giving up on youtube

"a life unblogged is the only worthy life."---Socrates

what shall i do?: monastery...or '80s Living...or something else?

Wednesday, April 10, 2013


fronty 3 of 4: race to the finish tape before the original pencil wears off

clicky 3 of 4: click on the fronty for skin, my birdbath water broke.

when you live with a cat, you develop ocd, or rather ocd is forced upon your crown. this is a blessing...and a curse...and a cliche. on the one hand, you are constantly looking out for little scraps of paper strewn on the floor, every little bit he gets his paws on, licks and opens up and smells and wants to eat, everything is a potential choking hazard. he plays with strings you thought weren't there, he can't wait to scale onto that tall light fixture which is an eyesore anyway, you must remove lilies which once beautified your living-room table and place them instead in the shower. the minute you wake up, your eyes are plastered to the carpet, scanning for little pieces of white, black, red, socks linen, gravy spills which become stains, tiny pieces of flint and fluff and plastic strips and twine and brick and mortar and dust and grime and mop hair and the hair the mop mopped and wires.

blessings arise as you see the world differently, you pay attention to the small stuff, every little detail of the world you cover and analyze, you begin to appreciate the atomic nature of Earth, at least your little plot of it at your house. as you take an action, you examine it and think about it, your brain is in two places at once telling your arms to move and sending philosophical signals to your mind about what just transpired with your arm there. your mind will negate any puffy philosophy and simply register a scientific output. then, the two compromise and end up with psychology.

i was telling her that the third trash-recycling bin was still full of brown twigs from the gardeners we just hired. they hadn't taken that one on this Tuesday when they take the other two, the trash and the recyclables. she responds that the schedule is different, the specialists come an hour after, to go check again. it was full this morning, but like magic it's empty now. sneaky trashmen. like magic then, a gush of wind hurriedly closes the planked gate ahead of me, locking me out of my own house. like a scared pup blocked from Mother Wolf, i pull on the emergency string that's supposed to gain access from the outside. *SNAP* fucking useless thing breaks in two on contact, funny as hell like in a cartoon, but this is my life, as useless as the string. it's embarrassing to have to knock on your own door, push the silent bell as unsilently as you can, knock like a madman, to get into your own house...wait for folks to get decent while you aren't decent. naked can be sexy, but my naked here was uncomfortable and ticket-inducing. that wind wasn't magic, it was anything but, it was planned.

in naked, i have the power, but in a hole ripped in my pants that i know not of, i am powerless. she told me that everyone at The Store could see my underwear. no, no, nobody cared enough about me to look at me much less a very obscure corner of my lower body to see anything. also, i wasn't wearing tighty whities, just standard blue boxers, so if anything, the patrons would get bored of me, not report me. lastly, i was representing myself like a hobo. i suppose i was a hobo in spirit, in the flesh, in all aspects of my life, i stopped caring years ago, but to have that pointed out against me, not for me to make that declarative statement about myself, really got me depressed. you're not supposed to care what others think of you, that's part of my spiel, i don't care about anything, my appearance, my looks, my demeanor, but this works only upon my agency, i pronounce the speech to the audience. the minute a heckler points out that my speech is hypocritical, power drains from my mic into his youtube-channel camera, and it turns out that i cared so much i bled, i was careless for a minute, and it cost me my not-caring.

when i lay down to sleep last night, my ears decided to chop me up into little pieces. what is going on? my eardrums are behaving like real booming drums, they are chopping up and down in my head, RUMP RUMP RUMP RUMP RUMP, never ceasing like the "secret" sound those who live near a UFO base or forbidden oil drill hear. RUMP RUMP RUMP RUMP, it was right after my shower, so water going down the wrong tubes must explain it. i can't hear the tv, it's just a lot of RUMP RUMP RUMP RUMP static, i can't sleep, i can't hear myself think save for the RUMP RUMP RUMP RUMP RUMP which doesn't have the courtesy to synchronize the beat into a manageable song so i can at least go RUMPSHAKER RUMPSHAKER. it's RUMP RUMP RUMP and once you have a beat, it pauses awkwardly, it goes's gone RUMP. i move my head up, it goes away, i can drink water RUMP RUMP water is the problem, remember? need to get my entire head de-waxed...while i'm at it, might as well get a lobotomy...Dr. RUMPMEIER on line one...about the brain-exit.

do i feed my cat just the right amount of food each morning? am i measuring it correctly? i use the chart, but i haven't weighed him in a month, so the black line i drew with magic marker on the plastic cup is expired now, must be. one day, i decided to experiment by giving him a little more above the line, just to see. that's how it starts, you experiment, and eventually you end up mad like Dr. Rumpmeier. well, he finished it, he gobbled it all up, and the empty bowl was wailing to me, telling me he was still hungry, he could use more. so, how much more? should i fill the cup to the brim? see, he will down any amount i give him, he could probably eat two cups and not gain weight because he's so active, he'd burn it away into his third race around the house. if i just give him the standard load, could he tell the difference? now that i've opened the floodgates, will he resent me? it's like finding out the truth about God, once you read Nietzsche, you can't go back. once you go Black...Mustache, you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. my kitten has seen the promised land of more food, but that little extra line will haunt me forever. what will that extra amount above the line mean for his future? will be become obese because of me and resent me for a different reason? the young are invincible, they don't think about such downer adult things, they can cruise the interstate, they'll never get in a car wreck, youth is wasted on the young, and for their masters, a lifetime of angst over stepping over the line.

i just heard the maid ring, she was right after all, it was the week of the second week, she comes every two weeks, i can never remember whether it's the off week or not.

i fucking hate when i forget to thaw out the bacon in the refrigerator from the freezer the night before. sure, i get an extra fifteen minutes of sleep from not tending to my chores, but man do i fucking pay for it in the morning. i'm ready for some juicy bacon, i look in the crisper, and OH NO, i didn't take the simple step of moving the bacon from the freezer to the refrigerator. the freezer now houses a fucking block of hard, immovable bacon ice. i have to cook the entire pallet of bacon strips in the microwave for a minute just so i am able to remove two pieces that i can cook properly. there is something very sad about this process, the bacon does not like it, it's violating, you're semi-cooking the entire batch, but not really, just enough to remove two strips, so the rest of the batch will forever be one-minute cooked but not really and immediately frozen again, well, not frozen, but refrigerated, so the next time you use these pieces, they are a maudlin mix of cooked and iced meat. was that 4AM, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE FOR THE SONG epic dream you experienced in your soul during the night but can't intellectually remember now worth it?

they say to write what you know...


Monday, April 8, 2013


fantastic first pic there, huh? i want to see the other stuff, but i swear all i keep seeing is the bear/wildcat.
1. if you had a magic beauty wand, what would you give yourself? shinier hair, glowing skin, brighter eyes with no crows feet, or nada: let's tackle 'em one by one: my hair is forever curly and scraggly, i am forced to shave it every month, i had that trial period keeping it long when i was in my rock star phase, but i was starting to need my lube for my hair instead of the fun stuff, so i passed.

i don't want human glowing skin, i want the glowing ethereal skin of an alien, i don't want the neon green of a raver but the otherworldly glow of a space traveler...with a blue box...and a babe companion.

if my Eyes were any Brighter i'd be a semi-successful indie band...

nada: yes, like Nada Surf.

by the way, if i had a magic wand, i'd ask for more magic wands...that's the trick, that's how you get over on that smug fairy godmother, right?

2. if you were spring cleaning your life, what five things would you throw out? my computer, my spring-break thong, my fleshlight, my Good Book, and my life...all proved the fleshlight.

3. if money were no object, what kind of house would you buy? standard answer from me since 2006: a huge McMansion to invite all of my blog friends over for a neverending orgy. *singing*: The Neverending Orgy, na na na na na na na na na, the Neverending Oooooooorgggggggggyyyyyyyy, na na na na na na na na na. and if you want to invite that huge flying long-bodied dragon snake thing with the dog face who helps Bastian, that's on you, all kinks welcome.

4. have you ever visited an erotic massage parlor and had a happy ending? in my stories, yes. in real life, it was a sad ending. we dated, fell in love, sexed ourselves with the finest oils this side of the Atlantic, but she left me for another man, or another something, all i saw was the two of them scurrying off under cover of night. he had a very long body and could fly...

bonus: using the butt chart above, what is your butt type? i sport the classical Spongebob ass...hold up, that's just my wallet chock to the brim with a bulk of gym-membership talking 'bout how to slim your Blocks Butt.

folks, i want to talk about my dreams, hopes, fears, and wishes for this life, i want to share with you readers what makes me barely tick. i've had this dream since i was a little kid: a troll visits me at a McDonald's and asks me how i'm carrying on. i should be happy, a boy with an unlimited supply of Big Macs, but there is a sadness to me, i already know that this brand of happiness will lead to a grease death. smother grease fires, never water them. i shun the troll, i kick him in the balls, and for the first time in my young life i've made an actual decision, i'm gonna go out the sugar way: chocolate fountains and candy-cane mountains. as i matured, this dream matured. the troll became an internet troll and later Ricky Gervais, the McDonald's morphed into Chipotle and then Walmart Chipotle, but the chocolate fountain and candy-cane mountain remained. later, when i went to a wedding and saw an actual chocolate fountain, my brain couldn't handle that a dream thing was in the real world so i went fucking nuts and was committed. i type before you right now from the sanitarium. i'm laughing right now with that distinctive Ricky Gervais laugh...



Saturday, April 6, 2013


my babies, i only have time for a quickie, but y'all know the deal by now, right? predict which team will win the NCAA Basketball Championship game between Michigan and Louisville, the Final Four becomes One, March Madness cannot survive this April reality. also, predict the score. the winner of this blog game is the one who correctly picks the actual winning basketball team as is closest to the actual final basketball score. noobs, i mean newbies, check my entry in the comments below and use it as a guide. the prize is 3 comments from me which i'll type at your blog; they were all out of blenders. good luck, and i'll reconvene with all of you lovely, wispy, of-the-ether blog people on Monday night for the results...


Wednesday, April 3, 2013


fronty 2 of 4: some color highlights, too much drowns out.

clicky 2 of 4: click on the busy scene here to see how far along the 9 months i am...

the cat's face, boom, right there in my face, i see the pistol lenses of his yellow eyeish gaze, this simple animal peering deep into my dark soul, so deep as to find the edge of the universe, the last star, and when the creature instinctively realizes there is nothing there at the next step, his paw steps back, his instincts protect him from that bitter knowledge, instincts which have been ingrained into him and his family for generations, his grandpappy Whiskers knew it, eons and eons of Darwin and common sense lead up to my cat's curiosity not killing him on this day.

for it is too much to bear for humans that nothing is the endgame, the final card trick, that something comes from nothing, that energy is neither created nor destroyed but used up by the last semblance of Nintendo fun, that this last vestige of electrical-wire energy will be used to type up a last will and testament on a blank computer screen on a site which garners 3 hits and no readers, one viewer but that's just the complimentary "viewer" that comes with purchasing the monthly package, it's really just an overworked IT guy at Central monitoring for any suspicious and lascivious activity.

i look back at all i have typed and wonder if it was all worth it. did i string together sentences which burst forth meanings that traveled along the Highway to others' minds who intellectualized what i wrote and actually changed their daily activities, not watering the plants to read a book i recommended instead? did any of them decide to take off Sunday from church and surf instead, all because a little late phoenix wrote about having two years to live? every time i type a word, does it have to be leaden with heavy everything, or is there time to be frivolous? you can't determine seriousness without some good-natured trolling, happy without the sad is an easily-gained summit never appreciated by the king whose daddy was king, the king who cares is the one whose parents were executed by the previous king, who works as the king's trusted servant until the moment to strike is right, and who says he will serve his people like the people want because he is of the people.

at The Store, i compensate for all my life failures by buying a grossly-overweight bag of cat food, i struggle to keep its weight on my painfully-thin arms, i want to show the world, well, the other Store patrons, that i fucking love my cat, i make sure he will never go hungry, he will never spew forth bile from being underfed again, i am a conscious parent, it's a fur baby, not a human baby, but i'm working my way up the responsibility ladder, i matter because i take care of something that isn't me, i learned the fucking hard way that being alone is a black hole of nothing, service to others forces you to think in a dual way, not just selfishly, you have to take others' concerns over your own, and that is what integrates you into society, community, that's what makes you feel that uncertain good that grows like a caterpillar of silver light around your heart, that feeling of mattering, of a sense of worth, of being a part of a group, not a One and Done, but a continuance, a rung on the cycle of communal growth, that psychologist i overpaid for is finally right for once, one nugget of wisdom defines a career, i happily turn off my brain and enter the warm glow of GroupThink.

i'm sleeping better than ever now, i'm sleeping more than i should, is there really such a thing? the Depression Manual says so, i fit all of the patterns, and i have relegated my ability to question to others, like the experts who wrote the Manual. i am too well-rested/tired to think anymore, much less type profound sentences which will stand the test of time, which will be re-typed over and over again, from this tiny computer screen to classroom books across this great Doomed Marble of ours for the next generation of kids to read and get and mind-meld with. Nietzsche said that if an entity presented himself to Fred as a god, proving such by spinning a circle for eternity, Nietzsche would have no choice but to love him, Fred's oversized (seriously, take a look at a pic of him) head/brain space full of science notwithstanding. my only question is whether or not that god is an angel or devil. there are many gods out there, many parlor tricks, many eternal circles. the fact that that kid-voiced Fred was popular on the internet is proof that there is no god, or that a devil controls the info waves. actually, that isn't fair, y'know, for what it was, Fred was actually a pretty clever little idea.

if the human products have intense dreams, do their creators? do Angels lose sleep working and have to take one of those 5-minute power naps inbetween lunch and close to catch up on something that can't be caught up with. those quick, short, startling dreams you have when you take ten-minute naps are the best and the most nightmarish, they are fucked-up and psychologically relevant, you really get a nice clue into your subconscious with those things, because just as they're starting to get good and make sense, the 10 minutes are up. with dreams formed during a proper eight hours of deep sleep at night, you may get some vivid experiences, but more often than not, you forget the dream because your body always has a chance to sleep it off your memory with that extra two hours of slumber and blackness. with the power nap, the REM sleep is just about to charge in when the process gets interrupted, the plug gets pulled out when you wake up suddenly, making for some state secrets to leak out unexpectedly from your brain, you see dreams you weren't supposed to see, revelations about yourself you were supposed to learn five years from now after the divorce and life-altering death in the family:


and full square, it's me and the cat again, i feed him from the oversize bag of food, stroke my oversize ego, and peer into his peering as he laps up the water with his tongue, he needs more water because of the more food, lapping as i do laps around him intellectually, i am human after all, i am self-aware, i can surmise things the cat can't, and yet the cat instinctively looks straight to the edge of the universe for the answer, for his next handout, for his solution, for his next master, while i do gymnastics around stars and physics theories that run me around and around the planet Venus forever. i can't understand Venus because i am a man. the cat's relatives shoot him straight forth into the end of the line, that's an accomplishment i will never see because i'm too smart for my own good, and i must explore all that's out there before i reach the end of the line, all the empty planets and crashed Starship Enterprises, all the space debris of all the Galactic Wars and all the lost Moon Men civilizations, and i still won't know the true course, the way to go, my relatives never helped me, they are all dead.



Monday, April 1, 2013



if your life were a book, what would the 5 chapters or parts be titled?

chapter 1: THE BEGINNING OF THE END: the birth, Year Zero, the realization that i can't escape the precious warmth of the womb, it's a one-way trip, i can't crawl and struggle my way back, i'm here, i'm straight, get used to it, i look this way, i can't take that back, i never wanted to live, especially life on this doomed marble, but it is what it is as Clinton would say, i am born a human, this human, no takesy-backsies, i wasn't born a Nordic alien, or a Grey alien, or even the lower-rung green aliens with the bulging bug eyes who capture and experiment on Steven Spielberg's scripts and cows, it seems i have to live, i'm breathing, and once you breathe and continue breathing, your heart carries forward though your will does not. i am goth, i have no soul, i have sold my spirit for a pack of Pop Rocks, and i have ingested said Pop Rocks with Coke to see if that death rumor is true...

chapter 2: WHY I REALLY BLOG AND WHY I SHOULD HAVE NEVER STARTED: it's quite simple, i started this blog and typing frivolous thoughts in this manner and style under false pretenses. i really don't care about Fame or inventing the next solid urbandictionary word...actually, i do, but that's a parallel argument...i don't care about coming up with the next out-there story or clever saying, i really just want love, i want to find it and never return, grab it, scoop it up, order it online by height, width, and girth, savor it like it was yesterday, because it was yesterday, and retire to a monastery...not a building of seclusion, but my personal monastery of silence, where i can be alone with my thoughts forever, thinking, thinking, thinking eternally, and doing so without the next click of a keyboard. in short, i should have never signed up to blog but rather signed up for a dating service...the good one, not the one where you have to state your religion, the other one, y'know, where it's advertised on tv that 3 of 4 couples end up married...a Girlfriend Experience with Sasha Grey would be fulfilling for me...

chapter 3: THE MONASTIC FACTOR: that dovetails nicely into the monastery point: do i really want to become a monk in actuality, in flesh? or is it more of a symbolic gesture, do i seek solitude within me, do i need to move from the crowded suburbia where i dwell now and escape into a pool of silence, to conjure up the universe and all of its many already-solved godless secrets? it really comes down to one factor...two factors: there's the sex thing...but also, well, i do really love those cool robes they wear, i mean those things are pimp. i disagree with Doctor Who Saturday night, monks ARE cool, they are cool, man! they ARE cool, Space Man!

chapter 4: THE PRETENDERS: the more i blog, the more i can pretend, the more i hide behind an alias, a million aliases, a million octopi, a million screen names, a million icons. there is no real me behind the mask anymore, folks, it's a blank slate, if it were all white or all black, at least that's something, but it's blank. i am no one and everyone...that's why i'm perfect for acting. i really need to get back into it, i must start small or i'll blow my load in one sitting and end up chronically depressed again, some stupid little dinner-theatre thing to get my feet wet again, that's the slow-and-steady path upwards to eventual Johnny Depp.

chapter 5: IT ALL STARTED AT MY DEATH: this whole blogging project was never about sex, though i love sex, i love to cum everywhere all the time. no, it was birthed out of the purest of intentions and hopes, it was the pain of a man crushed by not first-love, but ONLY-love, and the missing woman in his life, all back inbetween visits to a monastery, at a theater class in college, meeting and falling in love, truly in love, not fake internet-meme love, true human love, feeling, compassion, life, life force, real, really real, a simple college boy and his first taste of lasting friendship, man's life, that blonde woman from the pirate drama that was 85% of our final grade.

i can still feel you, even so far away...