Archive for January, 2011

Helen

Posted: January 30, 2011 in otiose
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social interaction

Posted: January 27, 2011 in otiose
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The woman at the grocery store made me feel like a giant, pale Yeti. She clucked and chattered at me, and I groaned and growled and stomped my big hairy feet at her while waving a dollar thinking: Just get me out of here!

Sunday Edition

Posted: January 22, 2011 in otiose
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Cut up the dream into little birds.
Cut the crap.

You don’t give a shit about Egypt.

I know that you can’t see me.
There’s nothing on this end that will allow for you to peer into my real surroundings.
I suspect, sometimes, that you’re not even alive but only animated.
Possibly by your own pretensions.

You’re intimidating, nevertheless, and you also seem to thrive on knowing this.
That’s the aspect that bothers me most.
It’s just not nice, and it’s not that everything has to be nice and pretty and proper
and glitter coated pink with rabbits and poppies
but sometimes these ugly moments illuminate a deeper character.

Maybe you’re flawed where I’m presumed broken.

I have a coupon here for 55 cents off a carton of eggs…”any carton of Eggs” if I buy a Kikkoman Product
but I fail to see the connection between soy sauce and eggs.
Actually, if I remember correctly, I’m not even that fond of soy sauce.

No, I don’t want to be seen.

I put the newspaper down, dissected and strewn on a chair and scattered across the floor.
Dozed with bad, nonsensical dreams and delusions that I could ever be someone else

or still myself but…different.

I’m awake again, and sitting naked on newsprint that will surely stick to my feverish skin.
For some reason I don’t mind. It almost feels less filthy with paper down.
As if I’m a puppy…or an ugly old dog suffering from kidney failure.
Either way, my head’s all stopped up, and I can’t smell a thing.

It seemed like the perfect opportunity, and excuse, to take a shower
since I loathe the stench of cleanliness.

Back to sleep.
Work tomorrow.
Then…more melodrama.

A Single Man

Posted: January 22, 2011 in proselytizaytion

You are six hours away…in the wrong direction.
Where I really want to be is sixteen hours opposite of you

from here.

Where the fuck am I?

confession of sorts

Posted: January 21, 2011 in otiose
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I don’t think things through. I think a great deal, but I don’t think about anything in a productive way. I don’t think about how to make good money or properly display an intellectual air.

I think about how to fuck myself over; how to completely fuck myself…then I go ahead and make a few motions that bring this fuck up about. Let’s call this a tendency to fuck about. It’s slightly different than fucking off or fucking up.

I fuck about.

I fret and fidget and fuck about. I apologize for not tweeting it out in constant motion. I guess I don’t fuck about in any sort of trendy or traditional ways. I kind of just…fuck about. It’s bad enough that I have a blog.

I’ve been contemplating deleting it again, but I suspect I’ll just come back half a year from now and start again.

I’d like to stay…if it’s all the same to you. I’d like to stay in my room. See, I have the day off, and I’ve been spending most of the “free time” trying to convince myself to use it.

Clearly, by this post, I’m failing. I must enjoy sharing my failures…but I don’t want to think about it.

Cringe: “In Conclusion…”

Posted: January 21, 2011 in otiose
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In order to have something to chatter about, I would have to do something with my life.
That seems like too much work right now, so I am reduced to wishing insignificant people dead and cursing at my curried rice for failing to pack enough kick to knock me out of my current stupor.

In conclusion, my life is as asinine and worthless as this sentence.