I've assembled quite a collection of music over the years
but it's not enough
I must compete.
With your coloring outside of the lines that drives me wild with
apathy and timidity.
Earth quaking my 200lbs of meat.
Like when I'm suffering from acute acataphasia in
my computer chair.
Because there's a world out there.
Like when my tires pound the street.
and there's heat
and life
and
a desire to care.
I've wished secretly that we were kids again
if it weren't enough
but I must compete.
With the spectra I can and cannot see, so I feel
valid and complete.
The stinging anxiety of an apocalypse dream.
Like when I'm all nasolacrimal thinking about
that Iraqi sunshine.
Because someday I too will have to die.
Like I wanted to when I was your bel esprit.
and there was heat
and life
and
my open eyes.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Pot Helps pt. 11
"After he followed me around the corner and then inside the entrance I knew it was going to be him. It was just perfect because he was exactly the type of person I wanted to do this to. He wasn't really following me but I was just making careful decisions and going the way that I hoped he was heading because I wanted to size him up first and at this point I'm just really hoping he makes his way up that first flight of stairs because if he does that then I know exactly where he's going.
"So I make my way to the top of the bi-level open staircase and just watch him casually like I'm out of breath as he actually takes a minute to either catch his breath and pretend to check his phone or just check his phone.
"During this time I'm getting really anxious because I don't have much time left, on a small scale and large scale, and I want to do this before the air of the act's necessity takes off.
"So I'm sitting up there thinking 'He's not coming up.. he's waiting for someone down here... maybe he doesn't really know his way around..,' etc. And then he makes a quick phone call and I'm brainstorming on what other violent acts I could commit but of course anything short of what I planned would feel like some huge appeasement to this world, this life, this disease, etc.
"And then he gets off the phone, flips it shut and makes his way towards the stairs and all my anxieties slip away and are replaced by good ole' stomach nerves, because at this point I know he's not making his way down any other hall then the one I had planned to use because he didn't have on one of those blue polo shirts that indicate you have business elsewhere besides the residential tower.
"And so I casually stroll to about 20ft inside the hallway so in case there were any random people that decided to show up at 11pm they would have 20ft of distance to skew their view of the perpetrator.
"Waiting there, I felt like De Niro from Godfather II, stalking Don Fanucci.
"So he comes around the corner and I'm dicking around with my shoes like I'm tying them and I'm realizing how stupid and cliché it is to pretend to tie your shoes as he makes it near me and gives me this fucking eye. This fucking look like 'who the fuck ties their shoes anymore..?' or some other 'I want to be alienated but somehow also be so-with-it, hippie, hipster, American, being anti-bourgeois but amazingly bourgeois in the process' fucking look which was all I needed to swallow my nerves and hop up.
"And then I watched his look of manufactured disgust turn to confusion and fear as I swept in like a stiff breeze on a Pacific coast cliff and snagged him up around his right shoulder and neck and turned him so his back was facing the eastern wall of the hallway, which was the side with the tinted windows facing the courtyard, and gave out a small little roar or yell or 'umph!' or something as I pushed him towards the window and as soon as I got some good footing, I launch this 'look at me, I have vinyls' fuck through the .5 inches of single paned window wall and send him crashing onto the grass courtyard on the other side. The glass was insanely loud and I knew I had to get out of there fast but first I made sure he wasn't cut anywhere that was real bad and could potentially kill him but thankfully he was all right minus the whole 'just got transported through glass' shock of it all.
"I was worried that the remaining shards on the lower half of the window would get him but what probably saved him was that he had jeans on, like every other one of the goons that dresses like this moron did, even though it was like fucking 102 that day in AZ.
"When I lived there a lot of people used to complain that that hallway was always too hot and cold and I knew it was because that glass was real thin, which is why I picked that particular place. And I'm sure if that fool could ever think of anything outside of his greasy head he would be thankful it wasn't double-paned.
"I couldn't have asked for anything better than that because I did it and got out of there and made it to my lawyer's bar just in time to sign my DNR."
"So I make my way to the top of the bi-level open staircase and just watch him casually like I'm out of breath as he actually takes a minute to either catch his breath and pretend to check his phone or just check his phone.
"During this time I'm getting really anxious because I don't have much time left, on a small scale and large scale, and I want to do this before the air of the act's necessity takes off.
"So I'm sitting up there thinking 'He's not coming up.. he's waiting for someone down here... maybe he doesn't really know his way around..,' etc. And then he makes a quick phone call and I'm brainstorming on what other violent acts I could commit but of course anything short of what I planned would feel like some huge appeasement to this world, this life, this disease, etc.
"And then he gets off the phone, flips it shut and makes his way towards the stairs and all my anxieties slip away and are replaced by good ole' stomach nerves, because at this point I know he's not making his way down any other hall then the one I had planned to use because he didn't have on one of those blue polo shirts that indicate you have business elsewhere besides the residential tower.
"And so I casually stroll to about 20ft inside the hallway so in case there were any random people that decided to show up at 11pm they would have 20ft of distance to skew their view of the perpetrator.
"Waiting there, I felt like De Niro from Godfather II, stalking Don Fanucci.
"So he comes around the corner and I'm dicking around with my shoes like I'm tying them and I'm realizing how stupid and cliché it is to pretend to tie your shoes as he makes it near me and gives me this fucking eye. This fucking look like 'who the fuck ties their shoes anymore..?' or some other 'I want to be alienated but somehow also be so-with-it, hippie, hipster, American, being anti-bourgeois but amazingly bourgeois in the process' fucking look which was all I needed to swallow my nerves and hop up.
"And then I watched his look of manufactured disgust turn to confusion and fear as I swept in like a stiff breeze on a Pacific coast cliff and snagged him up around his right shoulder and neck and turned him so his back was facing the eastern wall of the hallway, which was the side with the tinted windows facing the courtyard, and gave out a small little roar or yell or 'umph!' or something as I pushed him towards the window and as soon as I got some good footing, I launch this 'look at me, I have vinyls' fuck through the .5 inches of single paned window wall and send him crashing onto the grass courtyard on the other side. The glass was insanely loud and I knew I had to get out of there fast but first I made sure he wasn't cut anywhere that was real bad and could potentially kill him but thankfully he was all right minus the whole 'just got transported through glass' shock of it all.
"I was worried that the remaining shards on the lower half of the window would get him but what probably saved him was that he had jeans on, like every other one of the goons that dresses like this moron did, even though it was like fucking 102 that day in AZ.
"When I lived there a lot of people used to complain that that hallway was always too hot and cold and I knew it was because that glass was real thin, which is why I picked that particular place. And I'm sure if that fool could ever think of anything outside of his greasy head he would be thankful it wasn't double-paned.
"I couldn't have asked for anything better than that because I did it and got out of there and made it to my lawyer's bar just in time to sign my DNR."
Pot Helps pt. 10 ([some sort of] Edging)
Dear son,
I always just assumed it was just my own kind of, I dunno, weird obsession with savoring the best part. Like when I was a kid if I were at a restaurant with my family or something I would always save the favorite part of my meal for the end and everyone would be looking at me in my 7-14 year old body thinking I hated chicken or something because you know I would get [some sort of] a pasta thing with chicken in it or something like that and I would pick around the chicken because growing up I loved chicken a shitload and I had this almost problem with even enjoying the things I love because of that awful paradox of having the things you love physically in front of you along with the future enjoyment they bring and actually enjoying them which meant of course you no longer had the prospect of future enjoyment because they were no longer physically in front of you.
So I just figured it was proprietary to me because of the aforementioned chicken bullshit. And so during my 'sessions' I would get myself closer and closer and closer and every time I'd hold off, right at the last minute. I think the best way to describe it would be if you had [some sort of] physiological control of you're sneezing and you just kept tickling yourself and going to the point where you knew you had to get ready to shut your eyes because you're getting ready to do your thing and then stopping the whole process and starting from step one, the tickling.
At first the motivation was to just hold off on the best part until I eye-fucked and pseudo-fucked every single one of those nude women in that 1993 issue of Penthouse Magazine buried deep in the large Tupperware box that contained my father's hunting paraphernalia of which I had to return to the exact position that I found it in so I could pretend that I was still wholesome even though now later in life I realize that no matter how sneaky I was when borrowing and returning the 'hunting reading material' that my father already knew damn well that I was doing crazy, exploratory things to my body after he had gone to bed at night regardless of any evidence of tampering with his Tupperware box, because once you get to adulthood you realize all the clamor and self-righteousness about touching yourself is unwarranted because, fuck, everyone needs to get off and everybody does. Or should.
And I thought maybe I was doing some sort of damage to myself getting so close like that and then holding back like maybe I would mess up the wiring between my nut sack and my bladder but shit here it is now like almost ** years later and I still occasionally practice it and I'm all good. And also once I started having sex with actual girls I realized that holding off on the fireworks was a major part of the game in order to not look like you suck at your biologically commissioned ultimate life-task unless you were comfortably drunk or something, or you totally disrespected the girl and you could have your way with her ignorant pussy and the whole feeling superior thing would allow you the confidence to either hold off on the 'Junk Shot' or if you did it right away who gives a fuck because she's a dumb slut anyway, right?
And so the funniest part of all of this is that I could never for the life of me think of a word to describe this particular activity. I mean, sometimes I would just sit there befuddled and try to come up with [some sort of] a trendy or clever description of what I was doing and as much time as I spent on trying to come up with some title I was also trying to find out if there was already some well-known post-adolescent title that I just haven't heard yet and needed in my vocabulary.
It's crazy to realize the kind of personal nostalgic and historical significance of pretty much giving up on believing there is even a term for such sort of activity, and then having what turns out to be the best friend you've ever had in the worst and best times of your life telling you a story about this girl he knew who, when jacking off some dude, liked to stop right before the recipient of her hand job 'cycled out' or 'came his fucking bones out.' Whatever you want to call it.
He told me,
that she told him,
that she called it 'Edging.'
So way back somewhere around 2001-2005 I finally had a name for it, but now I was even more perplexed as to how this woman knew when to pull back from her hand job routine and maybe do something like slap the guy in the face or turn on any sort of CBS sitcom in order to stop him from releasing his cum-volcano. Like, was she good at it? She had to be, if she gave it a name. I couldn't even come up with a name for it and it's not like I was that great at 'edging' myself because sometimes I still slipped up and completed when it wasn't my intention of doing so.
So I'm sure the question that's burning inside of you right now is:
"Will practicing 'Edging' give me more 'stamina' in bed?"
The answer is: No.
All that stamina shit is in your head, and it's all about confidence, like I mentioned earlier. Having to think or not think about your ability to perform in bed with a sexual partner is just one of the many drawbacks of being a *FUCK,EAT,SLEEP* kind of creature that also has to manage these goddamn complex emotions and if you also have the burden of being one of these 'hyper-aware, where does it all and I fit' type of individuals, which you very well may be having my genes and all, well then you need to learn (and learn fucking fast) to get in touch with that *FUCK,EAT,SLEEP,AND CONQUER!* side of you so you can go about pounding ignorant pussy without automatically visualizing yourself as a sexual failure before you even get a chance to be reckless and talk dirty or spank an ass or two. Or 45.
Sincerely,
dad.
I always just assumed it was just my own kind of, I dunno, weird obsession with savoring the best part. Like when I was a kid if I were at a restaurant with my family or something I would always save the favorite part of my meal for the end and everyone would be looking at me in my 7-14 year old body thinking I hated chicken or something because you know I would get [some sort of] a pasta thing with chicken in it or something like that and I would pick around the chicken because growing up I loved chicken a shitload and I had this almost problem with even enjoying the things I love because of that awful paradox of having the things you love physically in front of you along with the future enjoyment they bring and actually enjoying them which meant of course you no longer had the prospect of future enjoyment because they were no longer physically in front of you.
So I just figured it was proprietary to me because of the aforementioned chicken bullshit. And so during my 'sessions' I would get myself closer and closer and closer and every time I'd hold off, right at the last minute. I think the best way to describe it would be if you had [some sort of] physiological control of you're sneezing and you just kept tickling yourself and going to the point where you knew you had to get ready to shut your eyes because you're getting ready to do your thing and then stopping the whole process and starting from step one, the tickling.
At first the motivation was to just hold off on the best part until I eye-fucked and pseudo-fucked every single one of those nude women in that 1993 issue of Penthouse Magazine buried deep in the large Tupperware box that contained my father's hunting paraphernalia of which I had to return to the exact position that I found it in so I could pretend that I was still wholesome even though now later in life I realize that no matter how sneaky I was when borrowing and returning the 'hunting reading material' that my father already knew damn well that I was doing crazy, exploratory things to my body after he had gone to bed at night regardless of any evidence of tampering with his Tupperware box, because once you get to adulthood you realize all the clamor and self-righteousness about touching yourself is unwarranted because, fuck, everyone needs to get off and everybody does. Or should.
And I thought maybe I was doing some sort of damage to myself getting so close like that and then holding back like maybe I would mess up the wiring between my nut sack and my bladder but shit here it is now like almost ** years later and I still occasionally practice it and I'm all good. And also once I started having sex with actual girls I realized that holding off on the fireworks was a major part of the game in order to not look like you suck at your biologically commissioned ultimate life-task unless you were comfortably drunk or something, or you totally disrespected the girl and you could have your way with her ignorant pussy and the whole feeling superior thing would allow you the confidence to either hold off on the 'Junk Shot' or if you did it right away who gives a fuck because she's a dumb slut anyway, right?
And so the funniest part of all of this is that I could never for the life of me think of a word to describe this particular activity. I mean, sometimes I would just sit there befuddled and try to come up with [some sort of] a trendy or clever description of what I was doing and as much time as I spent on trying to come up with some title I was also trying to find out if there was already some well-known post-adolescent title that I just haven't heard yet and needed in my vocabulary.
It's crazy to realize the kind of personal nostalgic and historical significance of pretty much giving up on believing there is even a term for such sort of activity, and then having what turns out to be the best friend you've ever had in the worst and best times of your life telling you a story about this girl he knew who, when jacking off some dude, liked to stop right before the recipient of her hand job 'cycled out' or 'came his fucking bones out.' Whatever you want to call it.
He told me,
that she told him,
that she called it 'Edging.'
So way back somewhere around 2001-2005 I finally had a name for it, but now I was even more perplexed as to how this woman knew when to pull back from her hand job routine and maybe do something like slap the guy in the face or turn on any sort of CBS sitcom in order to stop him from releasing his cum-volcano. Like, was she good at it? She had to be, if she gave it a name. I couldn't even come up with a name for it and it's not like I was that great at 'edging' myself because sometimes I still slipped up and completed when it wasn't my intention of doing so.
So I'm sure the question that's burning inside of you right now is:
"Will practicing 'Edging' give me more 'stamina' in bed?"
The answer is: No.
All that stamina shit is in your head, and it's all about confidence, like I mentioned earlier. Having to think or not think about your ability to perform in bed with a sexual partner is just one of the many drawbacks of being a *FUCK,EAT,SLEEP* kind of creature that also has to manage these goddamn complex emotions and if you also have the burden of being one of these 'hyper-aware, where does it all and I fit' type of individuals, which you very well may be having my genes and all, well then you need to learn (and learn fucking fast) to get in touch with that *FUCK,EAT,SLEEP,AND CONQUER!* side of you so you can go about pounding ignorant pussy without automatically visualizing yourself as a sexual failure before you even get a chance to be reckless and talk dirty or spank an ass or two. Or 45.
Sincerely,
dad.
Pot Helps pt. 9
I guess what probably happens is that when it comes around it has some sort of electromagnetic pulse thing that diverts all my inspirational musings and other assorted bullshit into just those thoughts that some people label dark but I bet it's part of some larger worldly plan for myself that I can't see just yet or maybe I'm just hoping that that's what it is.
Or do I care? I don't know.
Because it's like when it's around I care and I don't care at the same time and I try and try to explain the benefits of apathy to someone because inside somewhere it's telling me that apathy is also hard work at the same time because you have to to be thinking about it or something and at the same time I'm confused as hell because when the cloud is around and I'm thinking about this stuff there are those moments where I'm all "I Get it!" and as soon as I have that emphatic exclamatory moment, I mean like the second I have it, I'm receding back into confusion and I have this like, economic cycle of thought because the instant I reach my 'peak' of awareness of whatever it is this cloud is trying to teach me, I'm already in a recession, then down to a trough and about 4-6 weeks later I get to another sort of 'peak' and I don't really know or I am not fully aware of whether or not I'm actually learning something with all these peaks of awareness, or what I think is awareness, or if I'm just getting more and more confused and maybe that's the cloud's purpose because of course it does give me those thoughts that of course I am not supposed to be talking about otherwise you may all get uncomfortable but it is something I think about often and don't really have anyone to talk about it with because they may get the impression that I am trying to hurt myself, which I'm not.
Well, I guess the biggest problem with the cloud, oh and you can't see this cloud, I guess it's just some weak absolute metaphor to call whatever it is that occurs every 4-6 weeks a 'cloud' because I bet as soon as I called it that you imagined a dark rain cloud. Please disregard that imagery and just imagine it as 'clouds of thought' or 'winds of thought.'
Right, well the biggest problem is probably in feeling completely genuine and at the same exact time feeling like I'm this worthless piece of non-inspirational cannon fodder and I'm thinking it wouldn't be so bad if I was just one day feeling like a P.O.S. and the next feeling genuine because then maybe I'd be better at discerning between what I produce as being 'genuine works' or 'expendable works mostly done for practice and if nothing else just to keep my brain in shape,' I guess. But see when that cloud is around, and again please try to abolish any imagery of rain clouds from your head when I refer to it as that and of course the coincidental hilarity of all this is that at this exact moment a storm front is moving in and I'm wondering if this is a part of my 'thought clouds' timing to enact a rain storm the minute I am trying to explain to you that these 'thought clouds' are not in fact rain clouds. Regardless, what sucks about it the most is that when those two conflicting beliefs about how confident I feel collide, the negative seems to have an even more profound impact because the 'feeling like I'm this worthless piece of non-inspirational cannon fodder' mood probably totally leaks into the 'feeling completely genuine' mood and makes me feel even more worthless because now I'm questioning whether or not those feelings of being genuine are actually genuine at all and it's not just my own stupid human chemicals moving around, and that maybe those chemicals are just some bullshit biological barrier from keeping every single person from being totally consumed by their 'thought clouds' and running a steak knife through their wrist to counter the hyper-awareness.
Again, no.
Or do I care? I don't know.
Because it's like when it's around I care and I don't care at the same time and I try and try to explain the benefits of apathy to someone because inside somewhere it's telling me that apathy is also hard work at the same time because you have to to be thinking about it or something and at the same time I'm confused as hell because when the cloud is around and I'm thinking about this stuff there are those moments where I'm all "I Get it!" and as soon as I have that emphatic exclamatory moment, I mean like the second I have it, I'm receding back into confusion and I have this like, economic cycle of thought because the instant I reach my 'peak' of awareness of whatever it is this cloud is trying to teach me, I'm already in a recession, then down to a trough and about 4-6 weeks later I get to another sort of 'peak' and I don't really know or I am not fully aware of whether or not I'm actually learning something with all these peaks of awareness, or what I think is awareness, or if I'm just getting more and more confused and maybe that's the cloud's purpose because of course it does give me those thoughts that of course I am not supposed to be talking about otherwise you may all get uncomfortable but it is something I think about often and don't really have anyone to talk about it with because they may get the impression that I am trying to hurt myself, which I'm not.
Well, I guess the biggest problem with the cloud, oh and you can't see this cloud, I guess it's just some weak absolute metaphor to call whatever it is that occurs every 4-6 weeks a 'cloud' because I bet as soon as I called it that you imagined a dark rain cloud. Please disregard that imagery and just imagine it as 'clouds of thought' or 'winds of thought.'
Right, well the biggest problem is probably in feeling completely genuine and at the same exact time feeling like I'm this worthless piece of non-inspirational cannon fodder and I'm thinking it wouldn't be so bad if I was just one day feeling like a P.O.S. and the next feeling genuine because then maybe I'd be better at discerning between what I produce as being 'genuine works' or 'expendable works mostly done for practice and if nothing else just to keep my brain in shape,' I guess. But see when that cloud is around, and again please try to abolish any imagery of rain clouds from your head when I refer to it as that and of course the coincidental hilarity of all this is that at this exact moment a storm front is moving in and I'm wondering if this is a part of my 'thought clouds' timing to enact a rain storm the minute I am trying to explain to you that these 'thought clouds' are not in fact rain clouds. Regardless, what sucks about it the most is that when those two conflicting beliefs about how confident I feel collide, the negative seems to have an even more profound impact because the 'feeling like I'm this worthless piece of non-inspirational cannon fodder' mood probably totally leaks into the 'feeling completely genuine' mood and makes me feel even more worthless because now I'm questioning whether or not those feelings of being genuine are actually genuine at all and it's not just my own stupid human chemicals moving around, and that maybe those chemicals are just some bullshit biological barrier from keeping every single person from being totally consumed by their 'thought clouds' and running a steak knife through their wrist to counter the hyper-awareness.
Again, no.
Pot Helps pt. 8
Bullshit,
Bullshit,
bullishit,
bulloishit,
bulloilshit,
oilshit,
oil.
Hypocritical, computer-screen-staring, alcoholic American;
Like chewing on tin foil.
Day: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,
11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,
20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,
30,31,32,33,34,35,36,37,38,39,
Forty.*
This doesn't affect me, concern me, it's boring me.
Like when I'm thinking of my autonomy.
Like those dog v. cat ideologies.
Like when I'm mucking in my own gulf of oil and sweat,
Bring me death.
If you can,
Not some bogus 'Top Kill, Top Hat' method of suffocation,
(Who made the decision that labeled chaos as an aberration?)
I am all sensations.
And if you want to kill me fast and now,
You gotta stuff some dynamite or nuclear weapons in my hole and,
KAPLOW! Oh WOW!
No more 25,000 gallons-a-day of bullshit coming out of my mouth.
*They've had 40 days to blow up and collapse the well and have dragged us around by our limp-dick, post-Bush, post-Obama-is-just-a-Wall-Street-puppet, ponytail wearing, pussy-ass liberalism while proposing all these comical and elementary solutions to this spill, because all they see is MONEY spilling out of that well and the only methods they will EVEN CONSIDER are the methods that allow them to retrieve the oil. And while they dick around and shrug like they have no idea how to stop this they will provide a 24 hour live footage feed (a mile under the ocean's surface (with proper lighting)) of the catastrophe. Footage they use to do nothing more than what I perceive as spitting in our face as they act like they have no idea how to collapse a reservoir leak with demolitions, or how to ask someone else to do it for them.
Or maybe not?
some reading
Bullshit,
bullishit,
bulloishit,
bulloilshit,
oilshit,
oil.
Hypocritical, computer-screen-staring, alcoholic American;
Like chewing on tin foil.
Day: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,
11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19
20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28
30,31,32,33,34,35,36,37,38
Forty.*
This doesn't affect me, concern me, it's boring me.
Like when I'm thinking of my autonomy.
Like those dog v. cat ideologies.
Like when I'm mucking in my own gulf of oil and sweat,
Bring me death.
If you can,
Not some bogus 'Top Kill, Top Hat' method of suffocation,
(Who made the decision that labeled chaos as an aberration?)
I am all sensations.
And if you want to kill me fast and now,
You gotta stuff some dynamite or nuclear weapons in my hole and,
KAPLOW! Oh WOW!
No more 25,000 gallons-a-day of bullshit coming out of my mouth.
*They've had 40 days to blow up and collapse the well and have dragged us around by our limp-dick, post-Bush, post-Obama-is-just-a-Wall-
Or maybe not?
some reading
Pot Helps pt. 7 (army friday)
0600hrs: 1st wake-up/re-sleep.
0610hrs: 2nd wake-up/re-sleep.
0615hrs: 3rd wake-up coupled with bathroom usage and 4 minutes of bed rest.
0620hrs: Depart room and make way to first formation.
0630hrs-0724hrs: Physical Training - Company 'Fun' Run.
0724-0735hrs: 'Bullshitting' with peers.
0735-0755hrs: CNN viewing/internet browsing while waiting for turn with bathroom.
0755-0812hrs: Bathroom (shower, empty colon, teeth maintenance, assurance of facial continuity, etc..)
0812-0845hrs: Dining Facility Breakfast
0845-0855hrs: Running around trying to find 2nd formation because we (my roommate/hetero-life mate and I) neglected to secure information regarding 2nd formation.
0855hrs-0913hrs: 2nd formation (AKA Taking fucking forever to be told information you have already known for just about the whole week OR information you don't even need to know while in a rectangle of people all standing with legs shoulder width apart and both hands thumb-clasped in the small of the back(aka lower back))
0914-0914hrs: Obligatory post-formation Nof joke.
0914-1126hrs: Pretending to do work.*
1126-1202hrs: Lunch (most likely not a DFAC meal considering it's only been like, what? 3 hours since you had that hearty pre-weekend breakfast and you might as well just make a sandwich from the groceries you got last weekend so you don't feel bad about buying food and not eating it).
1202-1248hrs: Counting the minutes until you have to return to work.
1250-1255hrs: Return to work.
1300hrs: Platoon leadership: 'Good News Everyone! We have nothing more to do for the day!'
1301hrs: Questions raised by platoon members about probability of 'getting out of work' early in response to information received addressing the lack of work available for the remainder of the work day.
1302hrs: Platoon leadership: 'Um, Just hold on one minute let me check with 1SG.'
1303-1303hrs: Obligatory Nof joke.
1303hrs - 1522hrs: Work-day purgatory-(the sitting around, rock-paper-scissors, cynical jokes, random bullshit tasks meant to give the idea that we DO have stuff to do, freecell on a laptop, text messaging and then finally being told 'Ok everyone, safety briefing is at 1600 so you can go but you must be back here by then. Matter of fact I want everyone back here at 1550 SHARP.')
1523hrs - 1545hrs: Might as well just go back to the room and enjoy the 67 degree air because we don't give a fuck we ain't paying the bills and it's humid as fuck here in GA.
1545-1615hrs: Waiting for this FUCKING FORMATION. LET'S GO.
1615 - 1644hrs: Do you realize we are standing in the sun as you go on, and on, and on, and on about the same fucking thing? - AKA Safety briefing.
1645hrs: Pick a cool song to blast on your radio while peeling out of the parking lot.
1645-1735hrs: Spontaneous game of FIFA04 with random barracks peer while wearing stripped down version of army uniform.
1735-1808hrs- Planning/Alcohol Purchasing.
1815hrs-1829hrs - Shower.
1830 - 0215hrs - Drunk. (There are too many non-significant and embarrassing events taking place during these hours that it isn't necessary to record them)
0215hrs - 0300hrs: Destruction of Exit Signs/Fire Extinguishers.
0300-?: Sleep.
* - AKA Shamming. Stay tuned for forthcoming piece regarding Sham.
0610hrs: 2nd wake-up/re-sleep.
0615hrs: 3rd wake-up coupled with bathroom usage and 4 minutes of bed rest.
0620hrs: Depart room and make way to first formation.
0630hrs-0724hrs: Physical Training - Company 'Fun' Run.
0724-0735hrs: 'Bullshitting' with peers.
0735-0755hrs: CNN viewing/internet browsing while waiting for turn with bathroom.
0755-0812hrs: Bathroom (shower, empty colon, teeth maintenance, assurance of facial continuity, etc..)
0812-0845hrs: Dining Facility Breakfast
0845-0855hrs: Running around trying to find 2nd formation because we (my roommate/hetero-life mate and I) neglected to secure information regarding 2nd formation.
0855hrs-0913hrs: 2nd formation (AKA Taking fucking forever to be told information you have already known for just about the whole week OR information you don't even need to know while in a rectangle of people all standing with legs shoulder width apart and both hands thumb-clasped in the small of the back(aka lower back))
0914-0914hrs: Obligatory post-formation Nof joke.
0914-1126hrs: Pretending to do work.*
1126-1202hrs: Lunch (most likely not a DFAC meal considering it's only been like, what? 3 hours since you had that hearty pre-weekend breakfast and you might as well just make a sandwich from the groceries you got last weekend so you don't feel bad about buying food and not eating it).
1202-1248hrs: Counting the minutes until you have to return to work.
1250-1255hrs: Return to work.
1300hrs: Platoon leadership: 'Good News Everyone! We have nothing more to do for the day!'
1301hrs: Questions raised by platoon members about probability of 'getting out of work' early in response to information received addressing the lack of work available for the remainder of the work day.
1302hrs: Platoon leadership: 'Um, Just hold on one minute let me check with 1SG.'
1303-1303hrs: Obligatory Nof joke.
1303hrs - 1522hrs: Work-day purgatory-(the sitting around, rock-paper-scissors, cynical jokes, random bullshit tasks meant to give the idea that we DO have stuff to do, freecell on a laptop, text messaging and then finally being told 'Ok everyone, safety briefing is at 1600 so you can go but you must be back here by then. Matter of fact I want everyone back here at 1550 SHARP.')
1523hrs - 1545hrs: Might as well just go back to the room and enjoy the 67 degree air because we don't give a fuck we ain't paying the bills and it's humid as fuck here in GA.
1545-1615hrs: Waiting for this FUCKING FORMATION. LET'S GO.
1615 - 1644hrs: Do you realize we are standing in the sun as you go on, and on, and on, and on about the same fucking thing? - AKA Safety briefing.
1645hrs: Pick a cool song to blast on your radio while peeling out of the parking lot.
1645-1735hrs: Spontaneous game of FIFA04 with random barracks peer while wearing stripped down version of army uniform.
1735-1808hrs- Planning/Alcohol Purchasing.
1815hrs-1829hrs - Shower.
1830 - 0215hrs - Drunk. (There are too many non-significant and embarrassing events taking place during these hours that it isn't necessary to record them)
0215hrs - 0300hrs: Destruction of Exit Signs/Fire Extinguishers.
0300-?: Sleep.
* - AKA Shamming. Stay tuned for forthcoming piece regarding Sham.
Pot Helps pt. 6 (The Ocean)
I guess I'm real sick of opening this box and seeing that
fucking pair of brass knuckles you purchased outside of Orlando at the liquor store that sold bullshit Absinthe which you bought anyway for $49.95 and tasted like fucking JP-4 and the way
you successfully broke my Mom's ex-boyfriend's maxilla in two separate but equally painful places and also probably took out a good portion of his front and upper teeth specifically the
central and lateral incisors and maybe even the canines, the teeth you call your fangs, like we had used to pretend we were vampires when we were child-like in 2006 swimming the carpet with a head of acid and tossing a knife across
the room to each other and now all I do is sit around and cash checks and flip through my 12 various News and Weather stations that I acquired with the purchase of the ATT U-Verse U450 TV Package and I sit in this room attempting to not get mad at or involved with
the bullshit zeitgeist of which I submit myself to everyday like I'm sitting in some boat in the middle of the ocean of ping-ponging-American-political-pundit-scaremongering-bullshit and the boat purposefully has a tiny hole in it to allow at least a good part of the ocean(1) in over time so I have to reach
for my bucket and physically scoop and put the bullshit(2) back in the ocean(3) where it belongs and it's not just the ocean or the bucket or the boat but the whole thing of it all combined that I seem to like or fall into doing over and over easily and I'm sending these
brass knuckles back to you because I cleaned them and now I need you to pleasantly surprise me and break my face.
Footnotes:
1- (of bullshit)
2- (from the ocean)
3- (of bullshit)
fucking pair of brass knuckles you purchased outside of Orlando at the liquor store that sold bullshit Absinthe which you bought anyway for $49.95 and tasted like fucking JP-4 and the way
you successfully broke my Mom's ex-boyfriend's maxilla in two separate but equally painful places and also probably took out a good portion of his front and upper teeth specifically the
central and lateral incisors and maybe even the canines, the teeth you call your fangs, like we had used to pretend we were vampires when we were child-like in 2006 swimming the carpet with a head of acid and tossing a knife across
the room to each other and now all I do is sit around and cash checks and flip through my 12 various News and Weather stations that I acquired with the purchase of the ATT U-Verse U450 TV Package and I sit in this room attempting to not get mad at or involved with
the bullshit zeitgeist of which I submit myself to everyday like I'm sitting in some boat in the middle of the ocean of ping-ponging-American-political-pundit-scaremongering-bullshit and the boat purposefully has a tiny hole in it to allow at least a good part of the ocean(1) in over time so I have to reach
for my bucket and physically scoop and put the bullshit(2) back in the ocean(3) where it belongs and it's not just the ocean or the bucket or the boat but the whole thing of it all combined that I seem to like or fall into doing over and over easily and I'm sending these
brass knuckles back to you because I cleaned them and now I need you to pleasantly surprise me and break my face.
Footnotes:
1- (of bullshit)
2- (from the ocean)
3- (of bullshit)
Pot Helps pt. 5
A significant amount of my canary yellow, b12-enriched piss in your mouth...
Who's laughing now?
Who's laughing now?
Pot Helps pt. 3
"I got my complaint back from the Department of Creations and Existences."
"..."
"Remember? Filed that complaint way back in, well shit, 2005CE?"
"..."
"...I didn't even know they operated anymore. Guess so, they sent me this message!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"This is my favorite part, listen...'We've received your LIFE complaint and have found that neither logical nor ethically suitable measures can be implemented to satisfy your grievance(s) OR the grievance(s) has/have been previously satisfied through the already all-known Amalgamation."
"..."
"They even sent me a pamphlet of information on the nano-life/cancer relationship! I don't think I've seen one of these since right before non-recorded time. Not a clue as to how long ago that was."
"..."
"I wrote in complaining that all human life was inherently fraudulent because, back then, some whatever hundreds or thousands or millions of years ago, being a human meant you were at the top of the food chain from birth, no matter what."
"..."
"But I suppose, that was indeed solved by the Amalgamation."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"I also filed another complaint the same time as the other one, jokingly asking for a bigger dick."
"..."
"This one just says..."We've received your ANATOMY complaint and have found that the grievance(s) has/have been previously satisfied through the already all-known Amalgamation."
"..."
"..heh"
"..."
"Hey, are you all right? You aren't talking much."
"..."
"Remember? Filed that complaint way back in, well shit, 2005CE?"
"..."
"...I didn't even know they operated anymore. Guess so, they sent me this message!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"This is my favorite part, listen...'We've received your LIFE complaint and have found that neither logical nor ethically suitable measures can be implemented to satisfy your grievance(s) OR the grievance(s) has/have been previously satisfied through the already all-known Amalgamation."
"..."
"They even sent me a pamphlet of information on the nano-life/cancer relationship! I don't think I've seen one of these since right before non-recorded time. Not a clue as to how long ago that was."
"..."
"I wrote in complaining that all human life was inherently fraudulent because, back then, some whatever hundreds or thousands or millions of years ago, being a human meant you were at the top of the food chain from birth, no matter what."
"..."
"But I suppose, that was indeed solved by the Amalgamation."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"I also filed another complaint the same time as the other one, jokingly asking for a bigger dick."
"..."
"This one just says..."We've received your ANATOMY complaint and have found that the grievance(s) has/have been previously satisfied through the already all-known Amalgamation."
"..."
"..heh"
"..."
"Hey, are you all right? You aren't talking much."
Pot Helps pt. 2
Oh lord hear me,
that I am the counterpoint of a 'juvenile' teen,
a raped and abused, left to die in the system that is supposed to rehabilitate me. Fiend
Fuck
U
C
K
Me
E.
Now let's take a moment to be perfectly honest,
what will you do without your post-apocalyptic,
uguggleeyy mouthed messiah,
your American-sponsored illegal war pariah,
the shotgun-seated free styling poetic beat crusher, birth-named Ryan?
A monster.
N-zero-F
'OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!'
Mountains of evidence proving that you will not be able to halt my advance. Smokey breath.
I HAVE ALREADY DEATH.
Oh lord hear me,
that I am the reason black holes exist.
the only feasible answer the universe can produce to counter the fire my eyes emit.
I swallow star shit.
My domination: annealed.
Cant
A
N
T
Stop
T
O
P
Me
E.
that I am the counterpoint of a 'juvenile' teen,
a raped and abused, left to die in the system that is supposed to rehabilitate me. Fiend
Fuck
U
C
K
Me
E.
Now let's take a moment to be perfectly honest,
what will you do without your post-apocalyptic,
uguggleeyy mouthed messiah,
your American-sponsored illegal war pariah,
the shotgun-seated free styling poetic beat crusher, birth-named Ryan?
A monster.
N-zero-F
'OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!'
Mountains of evidence proving that you will not be able to halt my advance. Smokey breath.
I HAVE ALREADY DEATH.
Oh lord hear me,
that I am the reason black holes exist.
the only feasible answer the universe can produce to counter the fire my eyes emit.
I swallow star shit.
My domination: annealed.
Cant
A
N
T
Stop
T
O
P
Me
E.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
