Saturday, December 29, 2007



Lucida Grande. It's close to Garamond...and why they don't have that, I'll never know, however, I know at least with this programme, I can type elsewhere, and I can fix that. I can fix it now or later. I can write in whatever, on whatever I suppose, and then post and then from there, view and have others look and view and that will be just peachy.

Hello, it's me again. Saw OMEGA MAN mach 2 the other day with mom. We're going to Rancho today at 9 and hope is we'll find some good stuff with the hooded zip up jacket with a bit of thermal wrapped in...maybe some insulated booties with sure grip sole. Hella drive. Have to try out the Camry. The hybrid one. Mine stays home on this with a full tank of petrol.


May all of you find the remote device you love and be forever connected, no dropped calls or lost files. Publish Post. Sell CD. Wear whatever. Never get chastised, and always be happy...or at least have minimal chagrin prospects now and then to give balance to your multi-faceted journey, this thing called life...the way to death. (That ugly in some ways final arbiter of what is and what isn't. What we all will face at some time in the "future", for good or ill.)

Listen to some happy music. Listen to some sad. Cry every now and then. It gets out the impurities. Drink a lot of pure water too. Enjoy.

Thanks for stoping by these snowy woods this evening.


Thursday, December 13, 2007

Drunk As A Skunk Here; Feelin' Fine.

Some one once said: "I'm in love with her, and I feel fine." I find that when I am in love with her, all my troubles begin. I feel and want and yearn and have nothing to say. I'd be an ass and it'd be inappropriate to tell her, hey, you know what? I can't get you out of my mind. I mean, I think about you night and day. Help me. I need your help. It's a sickness, or something like that. She'd laugh in my face if she did any thing or give me the number of a 24hr. hot line, of this I am certain.
Hey, have you ever tried one of those "dating services"? She once said to me. No, I replied. I can't do that. I can't join some "speaker's club", as another gal I know once suggested. It's awful, terrible. I can't relate. I can't rely on any thing.
Imagining all these connectivity issues. Getting together doing this that or the other, but nothing, nothing ever happens. I see/meet with this that or the other person, but nothing, nothing ever happens. I don't get it, as it were.
There's more to this, I know. I think I can work it into a story. At least I hope so, certainly. I need to do it. It has to happen. There is nothing else for me. I have to do this. This is what I do.
DATELINE: Cancun, Mexico. Hot weather in MAY, 2008. I am here with my family and we are away from the nortenos for a brief respite and hope is a bit of pull-over buying and even some drunken revelry. I certainly hope so. Hops today, courtesy of Samuel Adam's HALLERTAU
Imperial Pilsner, an intense Hop Experience. 10 bucks for the 4 pack. Not bad if you like the thing. Need to eat though. Will have to break out the bread and lay down the turkey, thin sliced, with a single sheet of mild mozzarella. All on plain Potato Bread, smeared with Grape Seed oil sandwich moistener.
There is too much to read in life and not enough body physicality to get into it and all before you're hurting or dead. Nope, not enough time. Too bad too, people have worked long and hard to get you those words on pages of books you will never read. Shame. Such a sad, and genuinely depressing shame.
The good life would be that I could write this or write to you or speak live at you from the Mexican digs of my Dad's in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mex. before getting on a plane to Cancun, this May, and all that with my portable device no bigger than a deluxe bar of soap, and connected to the WORLD WIDE WEB via satellite or whatever, still connected to my server/service, and not having to pay my pirated body parts to do it.
However, life isn't like that. It is like this: You can do this now, real simple. And the truth of it is, you CANNOT!!! That's what's so inexplicably fucked and what I hate like hell in life, what life in REALITY is. That's what sucks!

Sunday, December 09, 2007

My Whitechapel - Introduce Yourself Entry...

CommentTimeNov 30th 2007 edit (6.388)
368 of these things so far, eh? Pretty good. But I haven't the faintest idea of how to go about creating any thing clever. I can't figure out how to put one of my stupid pictures on here or any thing. I won't lie and say I'm a writer or drug addict or supposed religious nut or any of those other suckeyed mule type of things. I will type professionally and there won't be any intentional typos on this damn thing either. The writing will be neat and transposed. I won't be able to write to you from a mobile device in some pub some where for the simple reason I'd have to drive, and I won't drive drunk. I can't. Sure, I could, but I won't. I'd rather say hello and hope that something clicks. Some day it might but I really think it won't. Not pessimistic, just realistic...I try. I really do...but, if this is effort, you and maybe I can some day see that we know why, it really wasn't ever going to be that I'd be a full time paid writer and loved my life a lot as a result. No. I'm just a frustrated monorail pilot in Orange County some where. Maybe Shell City, maybe not. Maybe in Florida, maybe not. You decide. This is your chance to reject or accept. I am out of the picture. I refuse to accept responsibility with it any more. I'm the stupid git who bought a pen I can't get refills for. I'm the gat-damned idiot who quit my one dentist and went with another and found out later after buying a 700.00 lava/coral tooth cover, that my dentist office doesn't do fridays...I have fridays what the f-ning hell? Why would I blow off a day at work to be in the dentist office on a day to get the tooth cover for which I can't afford because I'm skipping work? I quit my old time dentist because I was tired of getting a crown every time I went in. It was too much. Now, I have a half and a temporary. What is it all about? Grinding and not sleeping. Snoring and apnea....who knows. Who knows. I don't really care for these things. They are a waste of time. Who does them? You hear about people doing them and you wonder. And then you go about reading books. It's not Alphaville. It's Zeroville. Just read Steve Erickson's latest. I love it. Great read. Most accesible book of his to date. Still spilling his philosophy and all, and I'd like to meet with him again some day...same goes for Warren...hard to imagine I'm older than Warren and younger than Steve. Both are with gorgeous lovely women and have careers and are happy. I have neither. Oh well...not going to feel sorry for sense there...I would and have traded the idea of marriage for the struggle of writing and maybe getting to where I can have some stuff to sell...I have a thing or two and no one thinks a bit to say to me. It's crap obviously and no one with any money to buy is looking because I haven't got it to them...every one here is probably here because in their quietest moments they're lonely for some damn reason. It's a world out there or in here and there's something to it but yet I can't help but feeling that there's a...there's some kind of gimp factor to it as well. People want something out of it. There's a kind of look at me thing to it...I just don't...get it...I don't know why I do it....I've wanted to delete all of this....several times...I've kept going...don't know why....I'll just stop. Hope it accepted...and try to do no more. I'm going to Pisgah to see a man about a dog. (Translation: I'm off to piddle around by my lonesome right now so let me go, unhindered.)

It's the home page...there...they don't want wankers...too late...too bad I can't get my photos loaded in there. I have some nice photos of me...see the one of me on the boat in '06. Freakin' nightmare I can't work the computer and software and know exactly what is what and what I don't have to piss and whine and be all angry and whatever about because it's really such a silly simple thing....fucking nightmare for me...I hate this shit.