Splashes of Lights and Sounds

I saw the bottom and it is full of rocks tarnished with years of hatred and I lived there many years and one day I swam. Every ounce of my being woke and furiously clawed at the waters and sprawled forth. I was free. I could breathe. I could breathe. Optimism and reality sang a distant song I remembered from what felt like so long ago. Life sprung forth anew from this once broken frame. I knew no kiss this sweet and this passionate. I'm writing again instead of feeling the spears of inevitable failure.
I think I rolled a 20.
And I think you are going to love the show
Welcome back, optimism, this is going to be insane.
Stay Tuned.... 

Like being torn apart by butterknives

I feel like a starving dog that's been pushed into a corner and it's getting harder to hide in this tiny room. It's one of those days where the air is sweet hot and smells sweet with decomposition I haven't worked since Sunday and it hit me today that without a dramatic change to my work schedule I'm not going to be even eligible for health insurance. Now, without even the prospect of health insurance, I find myself thinking about what's going to strike first: The constant looming infection in the back of my mouth from the wisdom tooth that is surfacing, The dull pain that lurks in the realm of my left kindney, the fact that the water in my house isn't potable, or, the newest addition, the muscle spasms in the top of my ribcage. Is this another point in my life where everything keeps flinging shit in my face like a perpetual machine or everything pops at once and puts me in a hospital bed? Life has become a series of choices with no positive answer. It's sickening and unfortunately funny. When I used to see a wounded animal, insect, or bird; There was a level of perseverance and respect attached with trudging forth. Now it instills the question "What's Next?" I've tried to be an optimist but there is less and less to be positive about. For example, If you are making a shit stew, I refuse to get excited because there are chunks of beef in it. I can't afford to eat. Next person who tries to put a positive spin on that is getting put on their back.
It shouldn't be like this. It's supposed to be tough but conquerable.

I was working today and I realized how silly I find people when they yell at me. It's really hard to sound serious when you yell something like "Butter Croissant!" Especially when you are a feeble fat guy with an Oregon Ballet Bookbag strapped over the front of your walker. I mean, seriously.... Just picked up some new records and may be taking a trip down to Redding to DJ Kenny's birthday party at the end of the month. Excited.... also if you like electronic music check out Royksopp new album, Junior, it's fucking awesome.

If I don't find a job by next week I have to start packing my stuff. I hate how this world is run by money. Money can't buy hapiness but the lack of it can make it an unobtainable goal.

Another rant because I have nothing better to do

So I just tried to re-establish my unemployment claim only to find out that the fucking Oregon unemployment office is closed today. It's the fucking 3rd not the 4th; the 3rd. I find it slightly ironic that the place in charge of unemployment benefits SHUTS THE FUCK DOWN ON A FRIDAY THAT HAS NO FUCKING SIGNIFICANCE. You are in charge of things that effect usually very frustrated, tired, and desperate people. It's the same with any government office I've dealt with; Everyone is a fucking moron and their job is to delay a neccesary mode of action for as long as their pea sized brain can handle. I'm so sick of people making up reasons not to work. I dealt with it at the last fucking job and maybe that's why I never quite fit in. Granted, my job wasn't hard BUT I WAS THEIR EVERY FUCKING SHIFT NO MATTER WHAT. Actually, I drove all fucking Thanksgiving night to be at work the next morning, little did I know I'd be fired five months later. I can't believe the bulemic southern bitch, the coke head who can't make it through a shift without getting drunk, and the "I'm going to take 6 months a year off because I have projects" hippie, ARE ALL STILL EMPLOYED. I took my job seriously and I was a good employee and I get shit canned because needle dick Frank Cherry needed to feel like a big manager. I can't find a job, I'm broke, and my rent is do in 2 fucking days. The world is not only unfair; it's also, for the most part unbearable, if you don't want to fuck people over. It's not like I'm a nice guy either, but I don't fuck people over and, because of that and other situations, it seems that I'm always the odd man out. At this point, it's almost hard to believe in Karma and even harder to believe in justice. I'm constantly surrounded by awful people who seem to keep things together. I don't want to be a fucking tick and it seems that no matter where I go, these fucking vermin are in excess. This falls into that "why don't you trust people?" catergory; the whole rant seems to me like a good reason to move into the woods with alot of guns. This would also explain why when I got fired I realized I had about 7 friends. Five of which know who they are because they have been my friends every step of the way. The other two seem to be a roaming two... people I considered friends stopped talking to me after I got fired. That shit hurts and it is just another level of mis-trust.

Remembering Kathy Griffin.... Burned as brightly as her mane.

Ok, so Kathy Griffin isn't really dead but she better watch out for the reaper. I swear to god, if I hear another fucking ironic hipster piece of shit talking about how much they love Michael Jackson I'm going to hit a stranger. (not them, passive aggressive like; I'll kick some dude in the balls a couple of hours later...) Do we have to mourn fucktard celebrities dying from their own stupidity (Heath Ledger) or because they chose to get more botox injections than a can of fallout shelter chili. Was Anna Nicole Smith's death a big deal? Hell fucking yes it was; she was a self inflicted burnout who a couple of times fifteen years ago she showed us that Guess jeans look better with a coked out model in them. Who will get Jackson's three fucked up children?! Deport them; didn't they live at his English estate. But the fucked up thing about all of this Michael Jackson and Billy Mays and whatever fucked up slug you can pull from has-been stew; I don't care who keels over. You know what? They lived like fucking kings; Jackson diddled kids for god's sakes and who knows how many mallwalker heart attacks Billy Mays is responsible. Not to sound heartless hear, but these two died having millions of dollars. Billy Mays made a living by taking whatever crap sales pitch job he could get. Great.... now we have a (another) bearded "where's the beef?" lady. I wonder if they will bury them in fucking Arlington since this is such a huge media event.
However, I do think it would be awesome if Billy Mays' grave had a motion sensitive speaker that just yelled at you.
Nobody threw a fit like this when SNK went under.

Motivating music

I love when you listen to songs that motivate you to make music. Somehow, it feels like a production thing for me. There's a real warmth to self produced stuff.

blog postin'

new blog check back here for updates.