Month: September 2011

language

You grow up in a certain way, speaking a certain other language, and you don’t think you’ll ever forget it. It’s there, damn it. It will always be there. This bothers you when you’re young because it’s not the language most people speak. It isn’t the language they speak in the cartoons. You get over this.

It weighs on your mind when you start to lose a native word here and there. It’s the, uh, how do you say it… The word exists, it’s on the tip of your tongue, but it just doesn’t come to you. The impossible begins to happen. Your language begins to atrophy. You wonder why, but you don’t speak it much anymore, do you? You certainly don’t think in that language, not since you were a child. The word for fork. It boggles you, and saddens you a bit. The language you railed against finally gives up on you. It will eventually lose the word for beautiful, or the word for love.

You read the signs and display the subtitles. You pursue feeble attempts at resuscitation.

Let my drafts go.

It’s a good experience or a bad experience. I think people know the difference between the two (relative to their interests), but are afraid to speak up or let go.

Dear lost girl,

Even as I move on, I want you. In my presence you would have found security. In my arms, branches to keep you aloft. In my thoughts the encouragement to continue to be who you will be. In my bed, and every place I please, you and I, our sweat, our cum, our every breath. Your innermost animal revealed to me, and mine, unchained, to you. The only chain that need remain is the one you wear for me.

Love,

A weathered oak

Some bedrooms are no different.

Does that invalidate friendship?

Odd is relative. I get off on fucking outdoors, like animals.

A (real) Mexican restaurant in New Zealand.

Survival of the fittest.

I am the only man in the universe.

disagreeable

The fact is anyone who spends enough time with me finds me disagreeable. Usually, before this happens, I say or do the right thing at the right time. A kind word, a reassuring talk. Jumper cables and a beer. I make things better for at least a while. And, sure, it’s not up to me to make everything perfect. But there’s that short while when the smile is genuine, the handshake is a little more confident, and the hug lasts a few seconds longer. This is something I learned a long time ago. Genuine hope breeds genuine hope.

I read this thing that said people don’t remember the green lights. They only recall the red lights—those that block them from getting where they need to go. It’s conceivable that it’s better to see them through the green light than linger and become the red.

disagreeable

The fact is anyone who spends enough time with me finds me disagreeable. Usually, before this happens, I say or do the right thing at the right time. A kind word, a reassuring talk. Jumper cables and a beer. I make things better for at least a while. And, sure, it’s not up to me to make everything perfect. But there’s that short while when the smile is genuine, the handshake is a little more confident, and the hug lasts a few seconds longer. This is something I learned a long time ago. Genuine hope breeds genuine hope.

I read this thing that said people don’t remember the green lights. They only recall the red lights—those that block them from getting where they need to go. It’s conceivable that it’s better to see them through the green light than linger and become the red.

I am too base.

I can feed myself, but advanced cooking science escapes me. I cover the basics and essentially consume like a hunter-gatherer. Raw (or fire grilled) is simple, effective, and doesn’t leave behind all sorts of waste (my biggest gripe with anything that is cooked and sold quickly, wrapped in paper and plastic). I only really indulge in a group setting. It becomes a part of the social ritual.

For instance… Yea, I’ll tell you about this. I made a bacon explosion. I purchased the finest of everything. Awesome smoked bacon, sausage from an obscure shop in the city that was recommended by foodie confidants. The BBQ sauce flowed like molasses. I planned each step in spite of the Internet’s numerous sources on how to prepare it. I slaved over that fucker. If a man could pour his soul into culinary creation, I did it. The crowning achievement was not the product of my vision, but the confounded faces of the BBQ goers who had no clue what to make of it.

“You grab a beer. You break yourself off a piece of that. You sit down and thank me.”

And they did. That night became a part of the myth I leave behind.

high

Found me a highway pretty in the mornin. No one around but the thoughts in muh head. Runnin like a demon’s got a pretty virgin waitin in his bed. Air’s swellin in, DEEP FUCKIN BREATH. Runnin home to mama who’s waitin in muh head. Didn’t keep her safe from the demon in her bed. Knots in muh leg been tuggin miles long, DON’T STOP RUNNIN. Been thinkin bout the fat I been losin in the road. Knots musclin up and ready to explode. Thinkin bout the pretty pale virgin that I fucked instead. Left her cryin sorry that she lied, HARDER UP THE HILL. Head’s all empty cause there ain’t no man can run faster than the shit he brings and dumps up on his son. Steady as she goes, drive into her deep. Hard to stop an action’s been set upon the road. Still feelin steady got to go, got to. Harder down the path I been followin to sleep, ANIMAL’S BEHIND YOU. No words no nothin but dreamin bout muh hand round ol red room girl’s wrists. Runnin demon’s on me I got to stop soon. Insides feelin as empty as the road. Pumpin harder cryin ain’t comin from me but from every little angel that I bring along to see. Every step down’s takin it outta me. Harder, faster, soon’s it gotta end, soon’s it gotta go, soon’s the air runnin low in muh head thoughts a fog and no stoppin no stoppin sorry lied sorry truth sorry want it sorry take it sorry broken sorry never doin nothin wrong but wantin to be a stone be love when no one’s else’s got any fuckin clue what to do, GOD COLLAPSE.

half-awake notes

It’s interesting that people get excited over obtaining someone’s—anyone’s—number.

I never compliment a girl on her ass unless it is with the utmost, heartfelt sincerity.

It upsets me to be told I should marry a trophy wife. Fuck you.

Trophy wives are anything but.

Marriage is having someone to help complete puzzles in the morning.

Forever. (Forever).

Marriage is creepy, in some senses.

The sense of smell is most alert during sex.

Touch me.

Do you really want to hurt. Me. (Do you).

It’s alright I’m a male shield.

The testosterone is strong with this one.

A Frenchman lives on an island, alone, for decades.

Willpower is utter defiance. Stubbornness.

There must be a disorder for that.

There’s a disorder for everything.

Can OCD be a disorder?

Can a disorder be OC?

Psychology is academic.

People are multi-layered neural organisms capable of atrocities and niceties.

I could stand to learn about atrocities.

Don’t trust niceties.

But I do trust.

Still.