we love you moose
we love you moose
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September 2002 I put all the pictures from the fair on a separate page since my page layout requires me to keep all pictures about 250 pixels wide and most of the pictures aren't 250 pixels wide and wouldn't look good if I cropped them down so click on the big link below. picturesWhat came to me last night was piecemeal. The dream began with me sitting at a pool under a sun which would put Colorado's sun to shame with its light, intensity and sheer heat. Fortunately when I was under the sun I was under one of those paper umbrellas you find in a girl drink served in a faux coconut with a twisty straw. The parasol was quite sizeable but it'd sink down into the concrete hole a little too far and the shade itself would tilt back and forth obscuring my view of the other bathers. I rose from my corner and went over to the opposite corner which was already shaded because the sun had moved enough to have the wall's shadow stretch poolward. From here I could see the people playing in the water and just beyond them were large wells sunk into the earth covered with concrete. At the bottom of each well was an elderly person smiling up at everyone, hip deep in water, and waiting for the big announcement. When the announcement came I really didn't understand what was being said but I understood it was telling people about the decision of these people to end their lives. At first I was filled with horror thinking each of the people would be buried up to their necks in cement with their faces left for everyone to see as they died but the p.a. system continued about how the wells would be filled with water and they'd drown peacefullfy. I shut my eyes tight because I didn't want to see the bubbles coming up nor the splashing from the fruitless attempts to swim up to the surface to gasp for air, whether they decided that they really didn't want to die or they were just being preprogrammed animals following the instructions to preserve their life at all costs. I stood at a sink and washed dishes, the counter was nearly immaculate except for a few spots of tomato sauce which splatted against the fake wood which drew out the roaches. The bugs weren't swarming just noticeable which was enough to fill me with fury and revulsion but I couldn't bring myself to kill each one. I wasn't going to squash them with my hand nor could I find anything to kill them with. I just gave up and sat in the corner of the kitchen watching the kitchen live without me. Suddenly I realized I had a shoe in my hand and whacked the two roaches something fierce ending their lives. I stood there watching their corpses waiting to see if they'd twitch or come alive again because I didn't hit them hard enough or do what sharks do and bite hours after their death because it's the way their built. The roaches opened their eyes which were now sky blue, did roach things then scurried away never to be seen again. I finished up the dishes and in the background I could hear the radio or the TV or someone talking about memorial services for September 11th. I ignored the droning which covered all the events and points of that day but eventually the resonance of the voice went into my body forcing me to listen. I stood at the sink with the water running and started to cry really hard. This wiped me out and I retired to the other room and sat in a booth for a while looking at the menu. Now and again I'd shake with a sob or just hide my face in my hands instead of the menu. Two girls came over to the table like waitresses but stood there staring at me as if they were waiting for me to invite them to sit and join me for a while. My sad dream self thought that they wanted comfort or to comfort or to commisserate with someone, anyone even if it was stupid old me. My conscious self was emerging and squashed any notions like that then grabbed my subconscious by the hand like a possessive girlfriend dragging me into the waking world because she thought that I had enough time alone and now I had to devote the rest of the day to her. The upside of waking up was a small revelation while doing my morning constitutional. Going poo, that is. I remembered this one time when I met Kinja at Jockey Hollow and got there earlier because my father told me my mother was coming home early for whatever reason. Around this time Devo was working somewhere with an 800 number and she could take calls at work. I phoned her and talked at her about what was going on in my life and I believe she was the second person, after Brian, to learn what I was doing behind Malyss' back. Small aside. Lately I've been screwing up my entries and I have to reread them because I've been writing Malyss' name and Kinja's name among others instead of their online names. Of course I'm just keeping to my particular style, if they said "Oh it's alright to use my name" I'd still continue with this style. I asked Devo what she would do in a situation like this and she told me how she'd point out people to the person she was going to break up with or try to introduce them to those other people or encourage them to go for other people. So one of the things that I realize is that one of the reasons why I get all overwrought is I'm constantly thinking she's trying to get rid of me but still remain friends with me. The other reasons about me getting all overwrought are still a mystery or I don't want to look there until I take the water of life and realize that I am the kwisatz haderach. So one of the things I've been trying to do, and only going about eighty percent, is to show Devo that I love her and I'm someone different than anyone she's known in my life. At least in a positive aspect because lately I've been nothing but a pill to her among other people. She tells me to do what I want in my life and she will still love me and when I hear that I think "Well jeez, I think better of her than that." Sure it feels like shit putting my life on hold waiting to see if Devo will get her life moving at a good clip and sometimes I wonder when she does get under way and actually thinks "spivak's company is a good idea" if I won't be tired or unimpressed. I wonder if my diary is about me or merely being an observer of other people and how I tangent their lives. My life is insignificant, hah short for siggy not that it's relevant anymore, without other people. That's funny since I've cut people out of my life so dramatically from that person who visited in March but my reasoning behind that is everything I liked she hated cut and dried nothing more and if I wanted to communicate she'd ignore me as if my words were irrelevant. A value judgement. Siggy lied to me or she twisted the reality into something convenient for her. Sure most people think I do that with my journal to put myself in the best possible light but she was stupid about it. To my face she said one thing and on her diary she wrote another thing. It certainly didn't smack of what someone I know does with their online journal. This person, who is remarkably private, keeps a lot of stuff off their diary because it's considered too personal for public consumption. I've been told "Oh, you should see my written journal it's so completely different." I haven't and I have asked but either it's still packed, lost or doesn't exist. I'm optimistic so I'm going to consider the latter judgement as me being childish and hurtful and the former two being true rather than me being magnaminous. Plus I knew siggy for how long? Kleenex to her, kleenex to me. Of course one of the greater acts I've involved myself in has been leaving New Jersey for Colorado and eventually trailing off with my correspondence. Sure I still contact Brian, I talk with Buddha on occasion and I try to talk with Tim but Tim doesn't want to talk then gets all angry when I say we haven't talked and he says I haven't been online. The other folks I've tried to contact but it's really been one sided to the point that I just gave up. The same way my mother gave up on me. She told me how when I was little my father and mother would invite me into their room to watch TV with them. My sister would be in there and they'd be watching TV but I just couldn't see myself watching TV in their room with them. It could've been the fact that I didn't want to do what my sister was doing. I'm sure it was the fact I would've felt completely out of place and uncomfortable around them. So my mother is talking at me and says she just gave up on asking me to come watch TV with them or doing anything with them because she already knew my answer. I believe she was going to imply that I was always welcome but that didn't click with me so I figure all of the invitations were withdrawn, spoken or unspoken. Anyway regarding the gaming folks I figure if and when I visit New Jersey that I'll have some new perspective. The only person I really talk with in my family is my father. My sister is second but I do talk with my mother if she picks up the phone but not to keep her happy for my father's sake and save him shit but it's relatively infrequent and I actually find myself having something to say rather than just giving idle chitchat about the weather. I'm a prick. You're a prick. We're all pricks. So I've been reading Fight Club again. What's this, the thirtieth time? I'm not keeping track, I'm just thinking for a few minutes and then rounding the number up a few notches. The whole self-destruction and self-empowerment thing isn't motivating me but I'm intensely focused on the relationship between Jack and Tyler and Marla. Marla loves them even though they're shitty excuses for humans. It's unconditional love without the graspy desperation. Even after Marla sees Jack kill that guy at the murder mystery dinner and he tries to set everything back to zero she still wants to see him because she loves him that much. Maybe to the point of putting her life on hold until he's out of "Heaven". Unfortunately "Heaven" won't let him call her because he wouldn't hang up on her and he'd ask her how is every little thing. Christ, I want that. Fight Club also always makes me feel like starting a garden which I could do now except this isn't my place or my backyard and I'm sure that the rental office would have kittens or shove variances in my face saying gardens are verboten. Still, I have greater chance of starting a garden than having anyone love me. Sunday wasn't a complete waste since I got the broken tooth pain relatively under control with warm salty water and aspirin. I learned a Spanish verb too, orinar. To tinkle. Pee. To tinkle is the literal translation. Yo orino, tu orinas, el/ella/usted orina, nosotros orinamos, ellos/ellas/ustedes orinan. Heh. It seems that I've lost a day because I'm lazy or I skipped an entry or something but there should only be thirty two entries in Aug'02 but it turns out that there are thirty three or at least in my head there are thirty three and last night's entry really should've been dated September 2nd not 1st. Of course I haven't checked the evidence for myself because I am omniscient and my word is law. When I do this entry I write about the previous day under a title or an anchor which reflects the next day. Whenever I've tried to post entries using my archaic wordpad/html system and keeping them for that day this site doesn't look as fresh because folks get the idea they're seeing yesterday's news. My weekend is shot, this week is going to be one that has to count and I really shouldn't have treated myself to that pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream because it's making my digestive system act up something fierce. I'm a day late for some reason and I still don't understand why I am a day late. Is it because the last entries of August were all names rather than the usual MDYY or MMDDYY coding? Anyway I'm annoyed and lonely but my rent is paid. oh yes Please do not contact me in any fashion unless you have any interest in holding a conversation. This means you J.S.. finally What is the deal with Washington D.C. and its outlying areas (re: Maryland)? I can not think of any other area of the United States where the population is ninety percent black. Could there be something in the water? Liberal laws tailored to coddle negroes out of some illusion of "white guilt"? Cheap land? God damn it's like Africa and New Jersey is only three hundred miles away which isn't enough. Speaking of blacks and New Jersey my parents are complaining about the black people moving into the neighborhood. I told my father that when the Jews start leaving then it's too late. It's a great bedroom community, if such a word could be applied to a group of houses inhabited by people who rarely make eye contact with each other beyond Memorial Day or Independence Day, and really quiet. I hope that the new, colorful residents are the kind who cross the street and avoid eye contact when they see a nigga thug hippin' and a hoppin' and a-bippin' and a-boppin' down their side of the sidewalk with the Kodak film and the Jell-O pudding pops drinking a New Coke. "The clouds beneath the aircraft and in the distance were lit up by the powerful flash. The sea of light spread under the hatch and even clouds began to glow and became transparent. At that moment, our aircraft emerged from between two cloud layers and down below in the gap a huge bright orange ball was emerging. The ball was powerful and arrogant like Jupiter. Slowly and silently it crept upwards. Having broken through the thick layer of clouds it kept growing. It seemed to suck the whole earth into it. The spectacle was fantastic, unreal, supernatural." Another cameraman saw "a powerful white flash over the horizon and after a long period of time he heard a remote, indistinct and heavy blow, as if the earth has been killed!" The 50 Megaton Test of October 1961 The U.S.S.R. also claimed to have sixty and hundred megaton bombs in their arsenal and the fifty megaton blast was simply a test of the triggering system used to detonate high yield bombs like this. Of course I want to see one of these babies detonated in my lifetime although at a relatively safe distance and observed by satellites. That would kick so much ass with a bomb like that being detonated in Siberia and feeling the earth shake thousands of miles away and maybe a sunrise where there shouldn't be a sunrise. The detonation of the fifty megaton bomb was relatively clean with 97% of the mass being converted into energy. It would be cool to stand in the glass-smooth crater from that explosion thirty one years ago. It is highly unlikely but it would also be cool if somehow the Tunguska event was a byproduct of that bomb. Both places are too far apart with Tunguska being further south and east towards China and Novaya Zemlya being north of the arctic circle. Screw visiting New Mexico with its piddling, dirty bombs that'd get snuffed out in a stiff wind, I'd want to stand at ground zero of the most powerful bomb detonated by makind and marvel at our accomplishment. I am constant as the Northern Star. In 1992 I looked the same with black shirts and jeans except I wore these combat boots which would eventually go bad and the nails would dig into my heel something fierce. The only difference was wearing ragged plaid shirts that were stained with food or my own blood. I'd pick a scab or I'd cut myself and I'd wrap my wound in the flannel shirt because blood is cool. I'm a piss poor drunk, I got a buzz or maybe I was overacting after one beer upstairs while Jaybird drank a whole bottle of wine while MOOing and watching wrestling. If I were in a better mood I'd log into LambdaMOO and post "I LOVE YOU" on *sc but that would be futile since I only love about three people on Lambda and that's still stretching my dollar. Anyway I'm in a mood of self loathing after talking with Devo on the phone because she was venting about how she hates me conveying her actions as being the sole source of my depression or anger or whatever. Sigh. Look at me I'm doing it again. What a fucking piece of shit I am. funny I said something funny tonight. Jaybird was talking about how he saw a girl with weirdly colored hair and he started getting contemptuous around maribou and she was getting annoyed with him. maribou said, "Oh she's perfectly normal except for the hair. What's the big deal." to which I said, "Yeah if she was naked going down the street she'd be jingling like Santa's sleigh." bi-curious granny wants to swing !!! I fell asleep around eight and slept through the night. When I got up to go to the bathroom I realized that I hadn't eaten all day except for a glazed donut in the morning, two cans of seltzer and three aspirin. No wonder I was feeling so very tired. The only thing planned for Saturday is getting a new driver's side rear tire at two in the afternoon. Everything began with a trip to the mythical third mall of Colorado Springs. There's Chapel Hills and there's the Citadel but until one has lived in Colorado Springs for more than a year they will not know of the existence of the third mall. Jaybird and maribou decided they would show me one of the commercial mysteries of this mountain town by taking me out to see a movie. The mall layout was like all malls except darker as if it was a remnant of the seventies or like the old Livingston mall except it wasn't like the Livingston mall at all. The movie theater was right by the door and we realized that we were an hour early for the showtime. I went off to wander around and check out the sights. My wanderings would take me down one wing of the mall then backtracking to the big court and walking to the theater so I wouldn't get lost. The third run of the mall I took the court had closed off and changed so I couldn't find the theater or an exit. Around me were little black kids, in fact the mall was filled with black kids who were in third grade or less running around with robot mothers. They played in the fountains, scrambled through the plastic plants like it was a jungle and screeched as loudly as possible when they didn't get their way but thankfully since they weren't with real black parents they weren't smacked up in a huge, stereotypical scene. My search for the theater became more frantic as I realized showtime was about to begin. The Birds would go in and I'd be stuck, lost and probably have to sleep here until I was mystically transformed into one of the god damned park rats once the complex decided it was high time for me to feel the eternal sunshine of Colorado Springs. Jaybird came around the corner and raised his hands quickly in exasperation, "We've been waiting for you what happened?" I told him that I was lost and how everything changed so I couldn't find my way back to them. Jaybird turned around and surveyed the location he was in and realized he wasn't entirely sure where he was and he had been coming here for at least a decade. "maribou has the cell and it's turned on. We'll find a payphone and call her and she'll help us out." We marched around going up against dead ends, wandering through back hallways used for maintenance and service, trying shortcuts through stores until finally we returned to the great court and saw it changing so the theater was accessible once again. If we were late was no consequence. maribou was cranky and wanted to go home because some people who were leaving the last showing spoiled the movie for her. In their lavender VW bug, sixties style not the modern bug, we started home. The steering wheel was on the wrong side and the neighborhood reminded me a lot of Brooklyn so I started rambling on and on about how great it is back east and the things I miss about that part of the country. There was a traffic jam along one street which suddenly cleared as cars decided to parallel park and wave dollars out their window. "Oh, that's an old custom of showing one's appreciation to someone or something in New York." Jaybird laughed, looked at maribou, and then held their hands out the window to snatch up every bill being waved in the air. Oh dear. I kept looking out the back window wondering when the drivers would start after us to get their money back but they didn't. Eventually I stopped looking and started napping because the streets became narrower and the trees on either side of the road formed a leafy green tunnel with their branches meeting in the middle. When I woke up maribou wasn't in the car and there were two big black thugs sitting in the back seat talking with Jaybird while we drove towards an industrial park in the middle of suburbia. Jaybird pulled over and let the thugs out who leapt over a big fence into a huge asphalt yard filled with people then drove up to the main gate which was painted lime green with rusty patches. "We're home" he announced. Aw fuck, why are we in prison? The gates opened wide when the two thugs pressed the red button on the inside, saving us the trouble of having to clamber up and over the wrought iron. Over to our left was the solitary confinement facility with our cell wide open and two guards standing by wondering how we got out but not doing a thing about it because we came back to our cell. Jaybird said he was a made man and those guards were paying protection money so they'd never pull anything to jeopardize their health or the sweet deal we had in jail. I sat on my bunk, pulled the laptop out and started writing an entry.
Prison isn't that bad and how I had nothing but time to download mp3s over a dialup connection. Hell if I was going to be incarcerated I might as well commit some crime, no matter how small, and make it something that I would enjoy.
For the rest of the dream I kept picking big pieces of sunburn skin off the botton of my foot wondering how my skin got that way since I wasn't walking much in the dream. There are a few reasons why there are so many homeless people in Colorado Springs. First and foremost the weather here is great, especially for one who lives al fresco year 'round. It's cool in the shade, it's not humid and the winters are just bitterly cold without vast drifts of snow burying everything in its path. Secondly the homeless people seem to stick out like a sore thumb since they lack the natural coloration and attitude of bums, hobos, vagrants back east. See something a lot, get a snap judgement that there must be a whole lot of them. It's classic spivak's razor, people. The third reason was revealed to me when I was last watching one of the college channels with their Colorado Springs history shows. Spencer Penrose was a remarkably affluent philanthropist who ran many interests in Colorado Springs and realized that he should do something with his money so he gave back to the community by building the city hall, courthouse and the Broadmoor. He was also known for walking around Colorado Springs and giving a fistful of hundreds to some bum with the stipulation that they straighten up and fly right. The homeless of Colorado Springs have heard whispers about Mr. Penrose and that on certain nights of the year his ghost can be seen wandering around Acacia Park and other points of interest to vagrants giving hope to the down and out. This seems to keep the homeless particularly friendly though I never make eye contact and ignore them as a whole since that's the tradition in NYC. Bums, park rats and hobos may have elevated Spencer Penrose to fairytale status where anyone could be Spencer Penrose in disguise like a changeling of old and if they're nice then they will reap whatever rewards their benefactor decides to bestow upon them. The homeless that really piss me off are the park rats. From what I've learned from a former park rat, siggy, is the park rats are park rats because the teachers are assholes and don't care and don't want students to think creatively or challenge ideas or themselves but remain in lock-step with the curriculum. What galls me is they have the nerve to ask for spare change. Sure they're not asking for a lot but god damn if you have the gumption to ask for it then go down to fucking MCI and get a shit job there since you're already doubly qualified with a pulse and respiration. a poisonous volume with thinly veiled references and antipathy towards the race of humankind Two entries for the price of one. You get what you pay for, gentle reader. I wrote this during Friday's lunch which was the first time all week that I had an hour lunch because we've been busy with people applying for loans. Processing loans isn't as bad as doing the refinances and associated business regarding the refinances because people on the whole are nicer because they know you're the one who's between them and their money. If I heard "You all have a blessed day" again I'm going to join the National Alliance. Enough preamble, my entry. I wish I was stupid. In my experience the people with the most charisma aren't that smart. Sure they can manipulate or smile a certain way so other people make allowances for their deficiency without a moment's hesitation or pause for reflection upon their actions. Of course this requires talent. A talent developed over the years because nature abhors a vacuum. Hey, I have absolutely nothing interesting to say but if I say it a lot with a great big smile then people are going to accept me. Doubly good if I know they want to have sex with me. My failing in interpersonal relationships is being too judgemental. Oh hey this one chick from March was a Jew and the park rat was a Jew so therefore avoid the company of Jewish chicks because they're all fucking flakes. My lame defense is that I find the rest of the world to be as harsh and as judgemental as I am towards me and their fellows. I have yet to see or experience anything which would contradict this thesis. My other failing is thinking too much. The things I think about are irrelevant to others as a whole because the ideas are so self-absorbed, or my troubling thoughts are my troubling thoughts so tough fucking shit on spivak for being human. If it isn't tough fucking shit on spivak then the greater population has moved beyond the things I'm experiencing for the first time. Everyone else comes across as they moved past these kind of troubles, interpersonal or personal, back in high school or earlier or they never had such issues in their life like dwelling on one's place in their social hierarchy or who's fucking who and why are you low man on the totem pole or was it a one night stand or something more and much much more if you order now you also get a fat free grill if you call the following eight hundred number in the next five minutes. This is why I hate you. You in general, not anyone specific like you. Hate is too strong of a word. It's contempt. My failing is lacking guile. Lacking the capacity to improvise. I lack the guile to get a job being honest with employers that I left my web job because the boss was yanking my chain and not paying me for a whole month. Oh well even though you're qualified we're going to pass you over because you didn't have to tell us that information. I know better now. I lack the ability to come across as if I have all my ducks in a row and nothing in the world bothers me because it has the volume turned down and my word is law and if people don't abide that doesn't piss me off. I lack the capacity to improvise because I constantly plan and run scenarios through my head to see what would bring about the best outcome for all parties involved and once I take the first step everything collapses leaving me scared to continue because I set myself up for failure. Every contingency I thought I accounted for was right but they weren't the contingencies which would actually happen in those situaitons. I also lack the capacity to forgive most people which is obvious to the people who know me or read this site. Recently I heard something that got under my skin. It didn't anger me because I knew something like that event would happen eventually and fuck all that spivak cares about because it was meaningless. So I did something rash in order to come to terms with it and I decided to ignore it and move on with my life because had I dwelled then I would have just kicked someone out of my life. Plus I recently got an email from Rebeka, based on an old conversation, that only served to get my brain running again and wondering about certain things. Fucking slow-acting poison and I drink it like mother's milk. Oh yeah, heaven forbid I talk about it with someone then they're going to say "Good God fucking stop I don't know what more I can do for you." See, proof that I play things through my head so I "know" what's going to happen so I stop myself before anything bad can happen. Which brings me to another topic. I'm done with the entry I wrote at lunch. Good and bad. No matter how good something is, bad will always destroy it utterly no matter how small or insignificant that badness. Goodness is like a balloon. A spider web. Something gossamer and faggy. If one looks at it crosseyed then it'll fall apart and the rubble that remains only makes work for someone to pick up and it's really fucking ugly which makes one wonder if it was any good in the first place if the sum of its parts were so unappealing. I'm running out of steam so I'm going to stop right now. I still think the dreams are the only thing worth reading on this site and fuck you ingrates for not appreciating them. The thesis for Sunday's entry was "You hate me, I hate you" in a nutshell of course with 'hate' also including the concept of ambivalence. I'm glad I wrote out two entries on Saturday morning because it saved me from doing one more thing on Sunday. The weekend was strange, at least once an hour one could see a fighter jet zooming through the sky sometimes in formation with others and if you weren't outside the roar of their engines was loud enough to be heard all the way down in my basement. realization I do believe one of my problems is the fact I do not know how to talk directly to the people who are involved in my life. Of course the word involved would be way too intense since most people are tangential by their own choice or my own. I know when I talk at or to them it's rarely any good. When I was talking with Kylie late Saturday night she suggested therapy again but I told her that my problems are with communicating with people and in order to work those problems out I have to communicate with the individuals who are involved. When I did therapy back in New Jersey it was okay but eventually there was a point where nothing was being done nor was there any kind of breakthrough so I decided that I was finished and went my merry way. The one realization I had was talking to my therapist about my problems with other people was pretty pointless because it'd just be venting or eventually everything would boil down to "Why don't you talk with that person" under the impression I was wasting my time talking to someone else about someone else. It's like that old joke. Polack goes out to buy some kielbasa and pierogies and the store's owner asks, "You're Polish, aren't you?" |
There's nothing going on, just work and saving money and sleeping and procrastinating like a motherfucker. The only thing I have planned is saving money until the end of October then being a spendthrift from November to December getting gifts for Christmas in addition to a little something for myself. Either a new box or a PS2. my joy My joy is having my bedroom become pitch black when I go to bed. Sadly it means I have to unplug my moon nightlight in the bathroom so I don't get a UFO glow filling the room and my dilated pupils. I just wish I had a laser pointer and something big that glowed in the dark so I could fuck around with the glow in the dark properties of the object. Today was a busy day for me. Work wasn't but my life was busy. On my first break I found a little blackbird on the wet asphalt next to a car shivering and staring like he was tripping on acid. The girls from collections told me that the maintenance staff of the building put poison corn up on the roof because the birds shit on the roof. I took the little bird and placed him under a pine tree and left him there until lunchtime. Later on he was still under the tree and he had done the little wing-hop or hobble to someplace else but he thankfully stayed off the asphalt. I did the only thing that came to mind, wrapped the bird in a shirt I kept in my car and brought him home so he'd be warm and safe rather than out in the cold. I put him in the shower, after taking all the stuff I don't want birdshit on out and piling it in my bedroom, and went back to my job. Halfway back I was stressing because I wondered if I left the toilet lid up or not. Most times I leave the lid down because I grew up around dogs, it has nothing to do with being whipped, and I don't want a dog kissing me after drinking from the place I poo. Even worse was remembering I had blue stuff in my toilet instead of regular water. When I came home the shower was covered in blood and the little bird was gone.  Shit. First thing that went through my mind was "Someone came inside my apartment and killed the bird and ate it or stuffed the bird's body somewhere in my apartment for me to find a few weeks later after following my nose." Thankfully the little bird was behind the toilet, which had the lid down, but his wing feathers were stressed out. I went upstairs and asked Jaybird if there was a pet store around here and he pointed out there was a PetSmart over on Academy. I went back two times because I didn't have enough for the cage but I did have enough for the wild birdseed. Now the little bird is safe inside of a cage on some newspaper, the life section which I thought was appropriate, with wild birdseed near him and in the little bucket alongside a tiny bucket of water to drink. He's upstairs in the storage area set aside for my laundry baskets because I figured that'd be the best place to keep him and the easiest to clean without my apartment getting messed up with cracked shells and whatnot. Kinja had two little birds, Unguk and Bunguk (Mutt and Jeff in Turkish), and there was always a mess around their cage from what they were eating.   Sometime this weekend I'll see about going to a wildlife rescue to see what they could do or what they could tell me to do to take care of the little bird. I'm hoping the little bird will be well enough to fly again and not as an angel up in heaven. Christ, I'm pooped from driving up and down Platte. This nightmare bugged me and it had me waking up every two hours. It was a rainy night in NYC, a dark starless sky with a red-purple haze from the mercury lights, and I was leaving the World Trade Center. When I looked up I saw the tops blossom with smoke and debris which got me running for my life. The dust and smoke overtook me and kept me looking back where I could see big chunks of rock and concrete tumbling through the air towards me which were effectively blocked with my arms. Eventually I found solace in a tiny church courtyard that I know appeared in a previous dream. The courtyard was overgrown and unkempt with a black, wrought iron fence that surrounded the area which was about twelve feet by twenty four feet. The church was made of dark granite with large rusty doors that wouldn't open, not that I tried I just knew, and the inside was dark. The fence was like the top of the Empire State Building curving inward like hooks to keep people from getting out or climbing over into the street. At opposite corners were two small, stone benches that were as tall as the grass and almost hidden. Feeling weary I sat down and just started sobbing to myself. Today was cool because I had spam sushi that someone had brought in and it was pretty cool. The one thing about fish is I can't eat cooked fish but I can eat raw fish. Considering the fact that I can't really handle cheese and the raw fish thing makes me wonder if I might've been oriental in a past life if there is such a beast. The Chinese can't stand the smell of curdled milk like butter and cheese. I may get lucky and have some brought in for me or I'll just slip a five or ten to get a decent amount of sushi. It was definitely much better than the poor tamales that I bought a few weeks ago which were a bit odd but I made them fun thinking the woman who made them ground up someone her husband murdered and served them to the office. September 11th is going to suck balls. I'm not going to listen to the radio or watch TV at all because I don't need to be reminded of something I'm always going to remember and feel bad about. Part of me still thinks that those fucking ragheads did what they did last year because I left New Jersey. Now I'm afraid of leaving Colorado Springs for fear that there might be some drunk pilot at the airbase with a nuke or terrorists will nuke the place to kill Cheyenne mountain. the weather Lately it's been dark and rainy much to my joy. Finally some respite from the ubiquitous sunshine and clear skies. It's funny that no one out here knows how to drive in the rain. I'm hoping this weather will continue for a little while longer and then get back to the stereotypical sunshiney Colorado Springs day so I don't crash that hard from lack of sunlight. The little bird passed away last night around nine or ten. I do sincerely hope that the little bird felt some sort of comfort and safety. When I caught the bird in his death throes there wasn't anything dignified and I felt embarassed having caught the little bird in his final moments. Something so deeply personal that should be unseen by anyone, even one's closest and most beloved, though it's a nice sentiment to be there for whatever reason. He kept flapping around the cage, getting his beak stuck between the bars on the bottom of the cage then finally lying on his side to die. That's how I found him in the morning. I buried him in the backyard and apologized to him over and over again for not being able to save his life. Later on I took the cage back to PetSmart for a refund since the money would help me. Unfortunately I brought the wrong receipt and being tired and lazy I went home, dug out the right receipt then sat on the little stoop out back to talk with Jaybird who came outside to smoke. it's been done before I remember waking up to the telephone last year on September 11th and it was my sister all hysterical on the other end. "Haakon! They blew up the World Trade Center!" The first thing that came out of my mouth, "It's been done, why are you calling me this early? If they really did it then there's nothing to worry about because the towers ain't going anywhere." She started sobbing into the phone telling me how she just saw the first tower go down. I tried to calm her a bit then cut everything short so I could get my bearings to see if she was overreacting. I waddled over to KRCC but no one was answering to my knocks and then I went over to the 7-11 to ask if there was a news radio station around here since I was used to 1010 WINS out of NYC giving 'round the clock news. They seemed unimpressed and acted like it was going to be a normal day. The curiousity was killing me so I went to wake Jaybird, he was working nights and was sleeping in during the day, so I could see what was going on their TV. Nothing but two quarter mile tall smokestacks in downtown NYC smouldering with the anchor atop a roof with smoke billowing behind him telling everyone about the morning's events. Eventually CNN showed the footage everyone's seen about a billion times, nine million of those being on September 11th, of the plane crashing into one of the towers. In retrospect I was wondering why they weren't showing it in slow motion with John Madden freezing the action now and again to write on the screen giving color commentary on the piloting skills and the physics behind the jets crashing into skyscrapers. They showed the event from so many angles it would've been appropriate but at the time I'm sure they were trying to be tasteful about their reporting. tired That seems to be a recurring theme lately in this journal. I've been in bed around eight p.m. and asleep by nine thirty or earlier in my lovely dark bedroom. I know I dreamt last night and it was an eventful dream except when I woke up my brain wasn't entirely coherent then the steamroller of consciousness killed the fragile web of thoughts and events which kept me entertained while my body replenished its energy. Tonight I talked a bit with maribou and I figure Jaybird listened, not that I care, getting some stuff off my chest which felt alright except once I started going downstairs I realized how pissed off and on edge I became or those feelings decided to come out of hiding. I am sad about the little bird dying, I was in a quiet and reflective mood all day considering last year's events and finally showing the thorns in my paw to maribou and a lesser extent Jaybird. Now I'm going to sleep with Blackbird by the Beatles stuck in my head for various reasons. it's always one last thing T MARIBOU I PROMISE TO MAKE MY DREAMS LESS COHERENT, LINEAR AND ACCESSIBLE SO YOU CAN SKIM OR IGNORE THEM WITHOUT WONDERING IF THEY MIGHT BE OF ANY INTEREST. ALSO A AHLU GALUHG GHLUHG There's one thing that I'm looking forward to engendering in the minds of the various delivery people who visit this building. The Birds and I frequent the same takeout places because we have similar tastes in food and on Wednesdays and Thursdays when I'm visiting upstairs we usually order out. I usually order out if I figure I can budget it in or I'm just in a tired fuckoff mood that requires warm to hot food. When I order for my apartment I get the door since there's no one else around here to answer the door. When the Birds order I answer the door because Jaybird's too busy with *cur or other lists and maribou's tired and cranky from working all day. I hope that the delivery people start wondering, "Shit, is this place filled with clones of this guy?" or "Does this guy rent all the apartments and split living between each pad through the week?" Should the little dream of Olympics guy moving out, Jaybird and maribou moving into the main floor apartment and some other MOOer or friend moving into the attic apartment then my plan would be complete. I'd be seen on all floors at various times throughout the week. Of course I'm probably projecting too much creativity or imagination on the deliveryfolk or I'm selling them short, either way I'm being way too judgemental which is par for the course. Today's joy is brought to me by the fortysomething bucks I got for returning the bird cage and thirty minutes spent at Safeway. Aw yeah, two twelve packs of soda for three bucks and two pints of Ben and Jerry's for five bucks in addition to lots of french fries and hot dogs and cookie dough which I'm eating raw right now while I'm typing this because I'm so fucking fat. Tonight's only going to get me even fatter with making my pigs in a blanket for the first time in forever with french fries. I still have the eight dollar a pound roast beef left over for lunch tomorrow and there's ten bucks plus change in my pocket. Everything's gotta tide me over until Monday when I get paid but I can hack it. Shit, I'm thinking about waddling over to 7-11 and buying three Cup O Noodles to eat as well. When I was filling my fridge it finally looked like a fridge that was lived in with enough to feed me rather than just being a cooler for seltzer. I could cry because I'm so happy and hungry with anticipation of all I'm going to eat for the next couple of days. Of course being lame I'll probably fall asleep around eight on Friday and wake up at nine on Saturday. Lately I've been dreaming but part of me thinks these dreams are merely rehearsals for upcoming dreams. My subconscious hits the erase button so I don't remember the bleeps, bloopers and foul ups that would completely ruin the dreamness of my dreams. Maybe the dreams are just too intense and go by so quickly that I'm not remembering them at all because I'm overwhelmed by the imagery and symbolism. serious mood swing "I have a pain upon my forehead here." For those who have an understanding of Shakespeare or access to Google the meaning will come through. It's one of many things bothering me. One does wonder can one be considered such a victim if there is no other or no other who will have honorable intentions towards the victim. I'm fucking tired of feeling like this. I'm fucking tired of the feeling of frustration, the feeling of rage, the powerless feeling because it just eats me up on the inside and I just want to howl with rage and thrust my fist through things until my knuckles are bloody and my digits have hairline or compound fractures. To pound on something until my muscles and bones ache that I can only fall over and fall asleep. A little death. To paraphrase another impotent man, "I want to breathe smoke." May sleep and dreams give me peace of mind. I got up on the wrong side of the bed on Friday morning and it stayed with me all fucking day. I'm thinking about getting another domain name. No, it's not going to be some faggy TOP SECRET DOMAIN ONLY FRIENDS !!! If and when I procure the domain along with hosting for it then I'll post about it on heptapod.org. As for this domain, I want to have two search engines. One that searches dreams and the other which searches the entire site since lately I've been wanting to check back on old dreams to look for patterns and recurring themes. For the site search engine I'd like to have something that searches by month with the smarts of Google since the search engine I have here is a bit clumsy but serviceable if one has time on their hands. Most times I find myself trying to remember phrases or unique words to narrow down the search results. This site also needs a new way of presenting its content. A way to show entries individually rather than the dense monthly archive pages. Of course this would allow me to change the sizing of images instead of keeping to my rule of keeping images 250 pixels wide. I doubt if I used something like Moveable Type it'd allow me to keep the current conventions of different colored text for different content in single entries. Putting all the entries into a new format would be a herculean task considering there are 900 plus physical pages and half a million words written over the course of three years. I wouldn't have the luxury of putting all the text into one file, stripping the html and doing a word count or page count. Last year I didn't make any real changes besides adding white for the titles. The three year aniversary will be thirteen days away on Saturday. The office at work was fairly dark, people's faces lit by the glow of their monitors. Something dire happened which made everyone leave work and go to their respective homes or responsibilities leaving me. What surprised me about this dream is the dream wasn't about working, the workplace was just the setting. Back at MCI, and to a lesser extent my previous jobs in New Jersey, I'd dream about answering calls and issuing credit to customers. I left and walked over to a supermarket so I could stand in line. In front of me were a Chinese couple or a Mexican couple who were haggling with the cashier over something in their native tongue. I toyed with the items which hadn't been scanned yet and peeled the foil off of a disposable aluminum chafing dish. Lying in coagulating grease up to its shoulders was a chihuahua which had its hair burnt off with the intent of having it cook evenly. I shouted at the folks in front of me, pointing my finger accusingly, drawing attention to them and their dog-eating ways. Each time I stopped to catch my breath I looked at the poor dog who wasn't aware of his surroundings because his eyes were blinded from being in an oven at 300 degrees for an hour and thirty minutes and the skin of his ears had painfully melted against his head. I left the store through the back and moped around the neighborhood in the rain. i forgot I forgot, I didn't notice or it just wasn't relevant but today was Friday the 13th. There's going to be another in December. I just feel all strange that I didn't realize today's date had something special to it. It's irrelevant now since it's almost over. two hundred by two thousand three I found myself embraced by a woman with enormous tits, my arm around her middle and the other squeezed between her melons and using the term melons would be an understatement. We lay quietly in the dark, she was staring at the wall and I was staring at the silhouette of her shoulder. The whole room had a slight bluish glow like indirect moonlight filtered through a window. When I opened my laptop I noticed the LCD screen was bendy and when it was bent or left a certain way the screen would turn black or simply click off with an afterimage of broken glass. "Damn it, I can't have anything nice" I thought as I gently returned the device to the floor atop a pile of books. The big breasted woman rolled over and told me to take a look outside. The room was a bit lighter and I could navigate my way through the clutter which was on par with Deanna's place at its worst. Outside was the tarmac of a playground at night. There were a few figures in the shadow but they never came into the light to be seen. One person was squatting in front of a tripod putting bendy animals on a plywood stage, he noticed me and stared at me until I had passed by so he could return to his super secret work. At the other end of the playground was a crawlspace going back into the big, brick building that I had exited with a ruddy, painted wooden door that was wormeaten. Something shambled from nowhere, a human figure about eight feet tall with drooping, rugose flesh. The impression I got was this thing didn't have a front or back and it simply moved in the direction that was rewarding for it. The creature opened its mouth, disproving my theory since the mouth is always in the front, revealing its teeth from beneath the folds of skin and jowls. It wasn't going to harm me but I certainly didn't want to be anywhere near the creature so I pushed the rotten bolthole open and went back inside the building. Crawling between kindergarten desks and kindergarteners. I knew if the teacher saw my scrambling bulk in her class there would be hell to pay. Thankfully the kids were helpful and didn't giggle as I crawled past and distracted them from learning to count into the triple digits. Unthankfully the teacher decided to start pacing the room while she instructed the kids on IMPORTANT SKILLS THAT WOULD BE USEFUL IN THE REAL WORLD making my progress towards the opposite trapdoor much slower and more dangerous. The forest of desks became thinner and soon I was in danger of being discovered but thankfully the teacher started showing a filmstrip giving me cover under the darkness. Unfortunately I was nowhere near the trapdoor but by the door into the hallway next to the teacher showing the filmstrip. The kids suddenly got to their feet much to the teacher's irritation and started gathering around my area to provide cover. The teacher started yelling at them at the top of her lungs until she opened the hallway door and let the principal into the classroom. I quickly stood up hoping I could dash out into the hallway but the lights came on and the teacher and principal smiled at me. "Haakon, we're so glad to see you here" they gushed genuinely as their attention was drawn to me and the kids slunk back to their places to pretend they've always been good and the teacher was clearly out of her mind or just on the rag. I spoke briefly with the authority figures then dashed into the adjoining classroom where the other trapdoor led. Only impression I had about the school was the fact that it reminded me of the one in Silent Hill when it wasn't a rusted, bloodied nightmare filled with knife wielding, flabby, three foot tall zombies. The other classroom was nearly dark and I felt my way around until I was behind the teachers desk feeling under the blackboard for the final trapdoor which would lead me back to the woman I was with at the very start. It slid up with a satisfying thunk and I pulled myself through into the clutter of her hidden room. She just sat on the bed, still nude, with her thick black hair flowing down her shoulders over her breasts and back but I couldn't make out her face. We sat together on the edge of the bed for quite some time while she told me about the world outside her apartment. Have I mentioned yet that I really want to see One Hour Photo and I am regretting my choice of becoming a flyover? I've been reading lots of reviews since it's not about to be released in Colorado Springs theaters anytime soon and I've called The Peak to see if they were going to get it but they had no clear answers for me. The reviews hit me strangely because Sy Parrish is someone on the outside looking in on a world where he doesn't belong or isn't invited for participation. Sure, there are the few concessions and acts of pity which take away the observed's guilt and are done to soothe the observer's emotions but only serve to encourage the observer to continue on their particular tack. I feel like that when I look at what's on my computer and when I consider most of my site. An entire directory of photos dedicated to Devo. A directory stuffed away in some obscure library that has Makonan's pictures. Entry after entry about other people and their impact on me, positive or negative. What makes this any different from having an entire wall of photographs to gaze at in my apartment? I feel like I'm on the outside looking in on people who matter in my life by my own choice, not their choice. Their actions simply convey, "You're just wonderful there" or "I'm not ready for you, stay there and don't think of moving for both our sakes" or "Keep away". Sure this is all in my head built on a foundation of feeling unworthy of their love or attention but god damn if it's not reinforced by the absence of love and attention. I really don't feel like covering this ground right now or ever again. More proof of my lack of writing talent. Today I was dicking around with Moveable Type. Take a look. So far it's cool but I'm not that keen on the default templates or styles. When I have the time and motivation I'm going to make my own template that won't use crappy javascript with pop up windows and all that kind of stuff. The only idea I have for Moveable Type on my site is to present my dreams and nightmares to my disinterested readership. Migrating nigh two hundred dreams is much more reasonable than a thousand entries of questionable merit. If I were unemployed or a man of leisure with income to support that lifestyle then I'd migrate one month a day and be done in about two months. Or just acquire some amphetamines and do it all over the course of a single weekend. When I get my other domain and hosting I'll probably just set up Moveable Type there and see what I am going to post or share on that site. I have no idea at this time about what kind of content it will have since everyone and their third cousin thrice removed has one linking to news articles from other sites with commentary. Right now I have nothing creative to say that couldn't be covered by this web site and I seriously doubt I shall in the foreseeable future. I'm just enamored with the domain name and want it for my own. I am hoping to have 200 dreams by 9/27/02 or 12/15/02 since the former is the day I started this journal and the latter is the first archived dream. Such an achievement would be a good omen because I met a goal based upon a random experience. Arriving at this goal by the 27th of this month would be the best. If it was before or by December 15th then that would be akin to a silver medal, just respectable in my estimation. Before the end of 2002 would be third place but anything beyond that would be unacceptable in my estimation and would surely be a portent of disaster. something nice The nice thing about being out on my own is the fact that I can laugh out loud with impunity. Of course common sense and courtesy does keep me from doing so late at night for fear of waking up the neighbors. Also walking around the apartment all day in my underwear. something bleh Once again I feel weary. I still have to wash the shower and take care of the dishes in the sink from last week but I've been too preoccupied with my own thoughts and desire to do absolutely nothing. Tuesday is the big night and I am not that psyched about going to watch the Smackdown taping at the World Arena. Maybe it's because the Birds won't be there and it just won't be the same. Maybe I'm just tired and mopey, big surprise. So last night I was thinking about some of the things I would like to do before dying.
Also there's only one material possession that I want to own. First Snow. Anything else is just wanting to be materialistic and spend money for the sake of spending money on myself. There's stuff that I need which would give some niceties around here like a microwave or a loveseat, for lack of a better term, or a decent computer desk and chair. I'm not that hot on acquiring those items because I keep relegating to the list of things that I want not need for existence. I'll post pics from Smackdown sometime tomorrow night or later. It all depends on how wiped out I feel from being around all those people. pawn shops All my life I thought pawn shops were simply plot devices in movies or cartoons. There aren't any pawn shops in New Jersey, New York, Philadelphia or Delaware. They're everywhere out here like McDonalds. I didn't sleep too well last night. I got up because nature called followed by waking up again much later because I thought I smelled smoke and kept hearing a sharp high-pitched pip that I knew was the smoke detector. Of course it only means I need to get a new battery and there's no fire hazard. Anyway today was spent in a daze but a productive daze where I did everything I could and looked busy enough to avoid unwanted attention. When I did sleep I had a dream about shaving off my beard with the intent of disguising myself from people I know and I am acquainted with online or in real life. I think it went so far as to go into shaving my head but I mostly remember my beard being gone. Wait, I think I did shave my head too because I remember being self conscious about all my chins and the fat folds on the back of my neck then worrying that the fat would start caving in around my eyes. I'm off to Smackdown. I'm going to be so tired tomorrow morning. I'm hoping this will be worthwhile. So the other night I had a particularly strange dream. What made it strange was the casting done by my subconscious. Also it's the only dream where I recall laughing in a dream. Let us start from the beginning. I was in a big sunny office with wood panelling, a hunter green carpet and a glass ceiling. I was sitting around a computer with a few people discussing the fact that I was going to switch to OSX (pronounced oh ehs ecks) because it had to be better than Microsoft. I raved about that new game Photoshop which must be a kickass FPS since that seems to be the only app Mac users know is worth buying in the first place. I rambled on, laughing and making the others laugh, that the AI in Photoshop must be the best one since Daikatana and the multiplayer must really put all other multiplayer games to shame. Eventually I stopped rambling and joking and went back to the hotel. The hotel was beige-yellow on the inside with a green rug and lights along the sides of the walls which reminded me of torches you'd find in a dungeon giving sporadic circles of light between the darkness. At the end of the hallway near the ice machines I ran across siggy which took me entirely by surprise. We were civil towards each other and went back to my suite to talk for a long while. The conversation's mood reminded me of talking about someone dead for a year with their loved one who is finally coming to terms with their loss. I grew tired and excused myself to sleep on the balcony which afforded a good view of a dim Colorado Springs skyline. I wouldn't have figured that siggy would have appeared in any of my dreams but she showed up anyway. I just wish that I knew or understood what was going on behind the scenes. Speaking of her I recently received an email from her that I haven't read yet. I'm figuring she's bitching about me and something I wrote here and how I have everything ass backwards being the fuckup. I didn't sleep too well last night much to my irritation. I woke up about five times in the night and just lay there with my eyes closed in the darkness waiting for sleep to come along again and scoop me back into her arms. Those semi-awake times were interminable and I'm sure had I been able to get a full forty winks that I would've been refreshed rather than feeling bland all day. wrestling The WWF started off the show showing the Poppy retrospective montage video. Hogan, Rock, Austin and Andre got the biggest pops. My seat last night afforded me a unique view of how wrestling is choreographed. The first match was between the Big Valbowski and some redneck guy who loved doing that arm motion which conveys fuck you to the audience. Val Venis won and the redneck limped up the ramp after him but as soon as he reached the curtain his limp miraculously vanished! I couldn't stop laughing at this. They filmed some matches for Velocity where Hurricane Helms beat Crash Holly both of whom got big pops from the crowd. Mark Henry did a tag team with some OVW guy and they won against Buff Bagwell (i think that's what the b.b. on his shorts stood for) and some other bald clone guy who was tagging with him. I don't remember many of the other matches. I know one of them featured Shannon Moore. Smackdown began, I don't remember many of the first matches except when Stephanie came out to say she accepted Bischoff's bet for Unforgiven with the Chuck & Billy vs. The Island Boys. I don't see how Bischoff could lose since if he wins then Stephanie has to do lesbian stuff and if Bischoff loses he has to kiss her ass. Unfortunately they telegraphed on Smackdown that Bischoff would kiss a McMahon's ass so I'm figuring it won't be Stephanie's keister getting smooched. Angle is the most valuable player in the WWF stable. Heaven help Vince McMahon should Angle decide to take a year to train for the Olympics. Brock beat John Cena. Didn't they do this pairing last week or was it Randy Orton? Anyway it still garnered the "Gooooooold-berg" sing-song chants. Hurricane Helms lost a Smackdown match. Rey Mysterio (not Mysterioso, maribou) and Tori (or was it Trish? those blondes all look the same) battled Jamie Noble and Nidia but I don't remember who won that match. I think Rey Rey lost or the blonde got the pin on Nidia. Nidia's a piece of JAP ass pretending to be white trash. Huff huff. Angle got teamed up with Chris Benoit against Chuck and Billy with Chris Benoit getting pinned much to Angle's chagrin. Seconds later Benoit put Angle in a cross face crippler. Edge and Rikishi went up against Eddie and Chavo and summarily got their asses kicked and Edge bladed when he got smacked with a STEEL CHAIR. Edge bled pretty well getting Rikishi's bleach blond hair respectively reddened. Unfortunately they were walking too fast for me to get a picture of Edge all bloodied. Matt Hardy came out and wrestled someone who I don't remember and won after trying to rile up the Colorado Springs crowd by telling us how much we suck ass compared to whatever Carolina he hails from originally. Fortunately this only got everyone chanting "You suck dick" and "Matt fucks Jeff" which was genius. Oh shit, there was another match for Velocity where the other Japanese guy who does the interviews went up against Albert with everyone yelling "Shave your back" to Albert. The show ended with the Undertaker coming to the arena to face Brock for making his wife go into false labor. Unfortunately the CSPD put Brock in handcuffs and drove away with him while Paul Heyman shouting "protective custody" at a pissed off Undertaker. So Taker did what any wrestler would do, beat up Matt Hardy who was crowing about beating Taker at last Smackdown which I don't recall happening. I think that Chuck Palumbo said something about how he's bisexual too but I couldn't hear over all the shouting and my section chanting "drunk guy rules" because this one guy was so wasted and he was yelling the craziest shit. Anyway I'm too tired to fuck around making a picture page of the twelve or so wrestling pics which are somewhat presentable for the public. They'll be up by the end of the week. |
Well I might be stretching here to fill up the quota of dreams but last night I had a recurrance of the Japan theme from a few months ago. The dream involved driving through tunnels at a high rate of speed until I came out into a Japan populated by facist peace officers intent on nabbing any gaijin and exacting the most extreme punishment. Thankfully most of the dream took place in the tunnels which were four lanes wide and squared on each side. The interior was made up of yellow pipes which would've been covered with tiles but the architect thought some industrial kind of scheme would be more aesthetically pleasing to the drivers who have to endure hours underground to reach their destination. This dream came back to me while I was on break zoning out looking at the mountains and flashed past my eyes in a matter of objective seconds but took forever in subjective time. So it's good to have the Birds back in Colorado Springs. It was fun watching Smackdown with them and doing gay Kurt Angle and Chris Benoit with Chumky's boyfriend and Mr. Owl then pointing out nakedguy in the apartment across from their apartment so Jaybird could watch. Shit, this week isn't over yet and it's going to be busy. Sunday will be the PPV which always sucks time since we leave at three because we have to otherwise we wouldn't get any good seats. I love going to PPV because there's a whole group who shows up, the two guys from Jaybird's job, maribou, Jaybird's friend and me and I remember the PPV after my trip to Tulsa there were three other people who I didn't recognize but it was still cool. We were all there because we wanted to see wrestling. Plus I told maribou and Jaybird what I did while they were away, how I would tromp upstairs and gleefully use their microwave to have hot ramen soup in five minutes rather than twenty minutes when I have to boil the water the old fashioned way with fire instead of elegant and postmodern microwave radiation. Check out this picture. So I've been thinking about learning to code better with PERL because Python is for GNU/fags and PHP is not ready for prime time though it lets me do the little updated tag in the upper right corner of this page. I'd like to make some sort of web interface that will automatically post shit from a list on a MOO to a web page. Either a MOOer can @nn through the messages or just check out the weblog of messages at the end of the day. Jaybird says that *cur is already working on something like that which was a bit disappointing because then my idea isn't that original. Also I'd like to make LambdaMessenger which lets people who aren't connected to the MOO talk with connected MOOers without connecting to the MOO. one more thing Today had to be the most fucking gorgeous day I've ever seen in my life. The beauty of it struck home while driving to work how the sun was coming up over the east making the clouds this magical kind of gold which I've never seen before in a sunrise or sunset. The day was slowly revealing herself to me, opening her eyes slowly and drawing her first breath. When I went out on first break and lunch to zone out I was taken by the way the mountains looked with the snow on them. Good fucking lord there's a whole different visual geography to the mountains when there's snow and when there isn't snow and when they're shrouded in mountains and the late evening mist and I certainly hope to never see the mountains completely bare of trees even though that would truly be a sight to behold. Oh it was so beautiful that it nearly broke my heart. Nearly because I know they will be there tomorrow morning and have something completely different to offer. It's like Grand Theft Auto: Vice City where it's basically the same game but just prettier this time around with new cars. Did you know they're going to have a hearse? Yes, there's going to be a hearse. That fucking rules. Bedtime, and I mean it this time. You got the piss and vinegar, the eyes full of wonder, earnestness and a dream. I was robbed of my superheroic destiny. I was given a name which gave me the initials of H.S. instead of S.S.. All superheroes worth their salt have first and last names which start with the same letters. Of course had I been given the initials of S.S. I would've ended up being a supervillain considering the historical weight behind that particular initial. My tooth is starting to hurt again but I'm going to nip it in the bud after my dinner gets here. My current desktop background. I was an observer of a league of superheroes. Not surprising since I had superheroes on the mind yesterday considering my entry, I watched Justice League on Cartoon Network andI fell asleep reading a superhero anthology. This league of superheroes was made up of Marvel and DC character, mostly Superman and Spiderman with a few others you might remember as extras in the old JLA comics or one shot characters who only appeared in the Secret Wars. There was talk about a mission to one of Saturn's moons back in the seventies where a mound of regolith topped with a blue diamond shaped object and Superman had just received some information which made him want to visit that formation. The city we traversed was much like Liberty City in GTA3 except I had a motorcycle and bore a tin foil wrapped skull which allowed me to tag along with the supers. A villian I never saw before fiercely ambushed Spidey, whacking him in the chest with both of his fists sending him hurtling down the side of a building smacking his temple against a second floor window followed by the top of a streetlight which surely shattered his spinal column then the dull thud of pavement against the rest of him. The other heroes stayed behind to finish off the dastardly evildoer. Superman tells me how he is going up to one of Saturn's moons in order to drop the liquid on the diamond shaped object for some reason. He flew up into the sky while I zipped under a replica of the shiny black probe which landed on each of Saturn's moons which made me catch up with him. Superman knelt over the mound, "He told me three drops and no more" as he the fluid drip onto the blue diamond. "Oh wait, and he said one more along the side" he whispered as he let one more droplet slide along the right hand side of the diamond. I backed away not wanting to be blinded or killed by whatever Superman was doing in his slowly falling cloud of dust. A set of institutional doors stood incongruously out of the alien surface of the moon and I pushed my way in finding Superman talking with two young girls. At our insistence he put himself up against the door to shade our eyes from whatever blast of light may occur from his experiment. I straightened my shoulders and did my best to block the other window. Eyes shut and tensed for whatever may happen lots of things ran through my head. Nothing happened. The girls went back to their class and I left Superman at the entryway to follow them. The classroom was an institutional powder blue, desks were placed haphazardly and some were leaning against walls because they were missing legs. Towards the back was siggy sitting at a circular desk. I sat down on a tweed couch in the back next to this other girl who was siggy's friend in the dream. We talked briefly, most of my words being translated from English into English to siggy since I was unable to communicate directly with her. siggy was telling me about how livejournal was implementing a new feature for baby announcements and how this guy she's stuck on got his female friend pregnant and bore a son. That's the only part of the conversation I can remember. Throughout the conversation I had an impression they were pulling those cruel girl games that society allows girls to play and get away with because they are girls and there's nothing which can be done to stop them without making one look weak or like a girl themselves. Her friend sat behind me and rubbed my shoulders then tried for my nipples which lead to the deeply ingrained Malyss reaction of blocking them with the ensuing high blood pressure. She grabbed my balls and squeezed them lightly then scooted away to the opposite side of the couch nearer to siggy. "You're no fun, you're evil" she whined at me. "You're not playing right." I was feeling mean and I went over to feel up her tits with my face. Fucking ouch, her nipple piercing scratched me right under my eye. That was the last straw and I got up and left with my tin foil skull tucked firmly under my arm. It was daytime now while I walked through the streets of Liberty City, the road was lined with bazaar like tents with folks shilling all kinds of goods. A small time hood in the shadows decided he'd mug me for whatever was in my tinfoil and started running after me. Fortunately and unfortunately the cops saw this happen and made after the thug and me. Unfortunate for me since the tin foil was wrapped around a human skull which the cops would insist on seeing followed by arresting me for whatever crime caused this once former person's head to become a detached skull wrapped in aluminum foil. I just dropped the package and kept on running. When the package was dropped I acquired a mylar wrapped pig's head that kept the police from thinking I was ditching evidence. I hopped on a yellow motorcycle and zipped over the bridge from Staunton Island to Portland. I came in through the kitchen door at the old place in New Jersey. Everything was dark, no one was home and I knew siggy was renting my sister's room but she was still at school. My new package didn't contain a pig's head but a suckling pig which I figured I would cook rather than letting it go to waste. The beast was cooked for a long time on low heat until it was a deep brownish red with scabby overcooked parts stuck to its skin and the pig looked awful tasty. I knew it was done cooking when its skull fell out of the bottom of its head onto the oven floor. Every bone had melted leaving just the good parts to eat, nothing to get in the way. Now I noticed there was a vicious wound along the pig's side, apparently this is what killed the pig, and a yellowed softball smeared with thin blood fell out. When I opened the oven the pig leapt out and started running around the kitchen completely oblivious that its dead. I tried to grab dinner and put it back in the oven to cook even longer so it'd be dead but the pig's body was boneless and let it squirm out of my embrace like a half inflated innertube. Small pieces of cooked pork were left between my fingers which I tasted and it was bland. Realization hits me, the pig's not dead because I didn't use any barbeque sauce and since the pig's not delicious it's not going to be dead or understand that it's dead anytime soon. So the pig is running back and forth between the door to the dining room and the door to the stairs, peeking in at me wondering what I'm going to do next before running away if I approached it. I'd snatch at the pig and pull away a chunk of meat which I'd use to tempt the piggy over so it would eat itself. Maybe the pig would think it was delicious and eat itself putting a stop to its undead, overcooked rampage. That's where the dream ended and I woke up thinking I had a nightmare except the only nightmarish part was cooking the pig and that was absurd enough to avoid getting marked as a nightmare. So it's odd that I dreamt about siggy again. Part of me thinks its my way of apologizing and another part says this is purely random. As of right now I need six more dreams to make my September 27th deadline. seven minutes What the fuck is wrong with the bagel place downtown? I go there for two bagels with butter and it takes seven minutes? In New Jersey it'd be three minutes tops not counting futzing at the register or waiting for the old lady to count out her pennies for her gifilte. I want in, I want out, don't fuck around. The funny thing is they ask, "Do you want it toasted?" My kneejerk reply is "No, I don't have a fucking hour to wait around" but I remain mature and refrain from such comments. I understand when I have to wait that long because one has to cook something, and they don't make the bagel sandwiches that I like they just make faggy shit, but just to butter a couple of franchise bagels? Of course they have their "Best of the Springs" sign they bought from the Independent. If they didn't buy it then they have that little placard because they're the only place in Colorado Springs that makes bagels since Colorado doesn't have any Jews and the government isn't about to force the state to start bussing them in unlike the fact they have to bus in blacks from neighboring states. transcribing dreams Most times I write the dreams at the end of the day after writing down the few plots and events on a sticky note earlier in the day or if I had time to do so by coming home for lunch. When I absolutely and positively have to transcribe a dream after waking up then I lurch the laptop onto the bed followed by opening up Text Edit from Haxial for the simple reason the background is black and the text can be a subdued gray. Nothing I hate more than typing bleary eyed or with my eyes closed in front of a big bright white screen. When I do the latter I avoid punctuation and capitalization which forces me to edit the text all over again which is tiresome and tedious. Jaybird was Very Sick and PPV was cancelled. Yes, I know that I could've gone to PPV by myself but it just wouldn't have been the same. Stupid as it may sound I do feel a bit off having gone to Smackdown, an event which comes once in a blue moon to Colorado Springs and something that the Birds have hoped for and looked forward to, without them. At least I can sit home and read quietly. Last night's dream really made me angry at my father. Everything started out with a woman's name being written three times on notebook paper, my entire field of view was filled with the white paper with blue ruled lines. The letters were the same color of non-photo repro blue in Courier, God's font, and underlined like web links. I read the name and understood that this woman was influential in my dream. Underneath the repeated name was another name slowly emerging, at first it was black then it'd turn the same light blue before fading into the white paper. I walked out of an institutional building and got into my father's 1966 Ambassador. He floored it and sped out into the cold, formless night giving form to the void with his headlights. The car went faster and faster, the engine roaring relentlessly with the sole intent of breaking every speed law and concept of safety. My father was calm about his driving, taking amazing risks while I sat petrified in the passenger seat with my eyes riveted on the road as if my sight would lend to his own sight in case he happened to miss anything important in the road. He turned off the road and started through a dark wood of thin, decade old birches stripped of leaves crashing into them or barely scraping between the trees like they're natures safety cones. Around this time I started shouting at him but I was shouting that woman's name over and over again like a word of power from the Qabalah. Eventually he stopped for a white car parked on the side of the road, someone was rummaging around in the white car's trunk and my father felt it was his duty to help. I looked at the individual and it was that woman. She was flat, gray and formless but I knew the name was hers. I shouted something angry at my father, something from deep inside my gut, and stalked away into the darkness with my hands thrust into my pockets. I'm nowhere near getting two hundred dreams by 9/27. Okay, so when I went to Tulsa back in July I got to meet Moose and Gaki for the first time. I paid special attention to Moose because I knew he was a special needs cat since he's losing his teeth, had to be on a special diet and he had other things troubling him. In my own way I did my best to treat Moose special like how breeders fawn over a newborn like they've never seen one and OH MY GOD DID THAT COME OUT OF YOUR CUNT IT'S SO CUTE !!! I'm hoping that Moose is still around but I'm not sure he is because he has stones in his urethra which was making him incontinent. The operation would've cost seven hundred dollars but the chances of success were low. Sadly there's another option. When I heard about this I kept thinking "I have seven hundred dollars" and sending it over but I held back but the thought still crosses my mind. Oh yeah, did you know that by October 1st I'll have one thousand dollars? Whee! Oh yeah, those Smackdown pics will be up soon just like I'll see you in church and the check's in the mail and I won't cum in your mouth. First and foremost, if you can't beat 'em then cheat. I have every intention of cheating because I found some old notebooks with longhand diary entries which included dreams. Hooray for dicks! Now I should think of some color scheme to represent old dreams so they stand out from the newer, fresher dreams. Just think, a whole new class of text that you, gentle reader, can skip right over in hopes of reading the latest in "HURR DEVO NO LOVE. HURBLE DURBLE MONEY. GABBLE FABBLE DICKS AND OTHER ITEMS FROM THE GROCER'S FREEZER". I still don't understand why you folks rather read the entries rather than my dreams. Was at a huge, beautiful mansion at night. The prominent feature of the estate was a large fountain in the middle of a pool. The lights were off and so was the fountain with just a single rusty pipe sticking out into the air. Behind the fountain was a huge patio with steel furniture and stairs leading up into the building. I remember a large statue being awakened to walk around the mansion but I do not remember what the reason was behind animating the stone giant. I couldn't go down the steps of the mansion because there was something fearful about the statue. Inside the mansion were dark rooms with stained wood panelling on the walls. The whole dream turned into a videogame for a while or at least took on the appearance of being a videogame. Keys, kites, lights and little black objects (tiny sketch, a circle with a dot in the middle and over it is an asterisk or an inverted star) which I had to shoot in order to pick them off the floor. I left the mansion once the statue went away. I walked towards the woods and a bald man with black eyes grabbed me. I knew he was from Venus and he told me something then pushed me deeper into the forest where I found another mansion. Something happened. I wrote that I didn't remember but then I go on to describe what happened. I was at grandma's house where I was in bed with a huge blue skinned woman who wasn't that bad for a woman with three fingers and a thumb. I woke up. That dream is from February 1995. oh boy another I dreamt that my Dad and I went with mom to a subway station because cousin George was acting really weird. Dad got me all angry and asked me to kill George. George is retarded because when he was born the umbilical cord strangled him for a couple of minutes. We went to his room above the subway with our guns to speak with him. George's room looked like my sister's room and her iguana was scampering around loose and thinner than he ever was in reality. His feet were acidic. We talked about something pointing guns at George then I left thinking the buildup to killing him was taking way too long. I walked past a crummy OTB place then to a bathroom under a hall where I let Katie and another dog, a german shepherd pup, out to pee and poo. I got back to mom who asked me if we iced George since Dad's been gone for hours. Dad showed up and says that George killed himself then took me back upstairs to show me a big pad of paper with my cartoons drawn in red ink marker. George wrote "You're good may you have success for centuries. I even shot myself so the puddle wouldn't cover your work." I saw the bloodstain was nowhere near the original art. There was a small angry corner in charcoal and pencil to my Dad. I was so sad. I dunno when this dream took place but most likely it was early 1995 and after the previous mansion dream. There was a beautiful sunset over the eastern horizon behind the Hagia Sophia which would put the sunsets of Celephaïs and memories of Kuranes to shame. I was filled with a desire to watch a jetliner piloted by wacko Muslims crash into the Hagia Sophia and demolish it, killing everyone inside the landmark. I was afraid that the dome would be too strong or the faith of those inside would be too strong then all would survive on the inside and the act of terrorism on Muslim lands would be shrugged off with folks going about their merry way. Later on I was at a bar called Nowhere Special with mirrored doors, swanky brass fittings and stained hardwood panelling and bar. I was sitting on a high stool at a tall table near the center of the establishment talking with a few folks who I really didn't recognize although one person reminded me of the computer guy who maintains the network. There wasn't any real discussion but it was just a feeling of gathering together because of familiarity even if it is on a very thin level. I excused myself and went into the back room which I discovered was exactly like my father's business that I was familiar with before he moved in the late eighties. The place was silent and lit like everyone was going to come back from dinner at any moment. Very eerie. I stalked quietly past the chairs and exited through the front. My car was parked on the opposite site of the street. What was interesting about it was the fact it had monster truck wheels. I instantly knew that I had monster truck wheels on the car because they were leaky to begin with and since there was more air I'd have to refill the tires less frequently. I hopped in and drove off into the night. No such luck. The tires went soft really quick and I was stuck with four flats outside a closed bus station. I tried making a call on a payphone to get a ride but the operator kept telling me that I should put in more money even though I was pumping quarters like a twelve year old playing Ghouls and Ghosts back in the mid eighties. Frustrated I started shouting into the phone that I was ten minutes from New Jersey and I hadn't seen anyone in New Jersey for fifteen months and that operator better god damn well connect my call right now or I'll continue yelling and dialling zero to shout at the operator. I don't remember much else about the dream except a feeling of sad helplessness sitting in the darkened bus station hoping I might recognize a car driving past and bumming a ride off them. can you fucking stand it ??? one more !!! Written the day after one of the huge blizzards which were the hallmark of late 1993 and 1994. The date is 2/12/94, a Saturday Last night I dreamt that there was a dead gray rat person. He opened his bright, shiny eyes and opened his mouth revealing a maw full of dangerous lion teeth. He spoke about his vanity as dust and hair fell from his body and how looking good was his sole purpose for existence. I left him and went through a darker passage leaving the rat man in his dark place save for a shaft of light which illuminated his countenance. In the darker passage I came across a twisted human. It was terrible with teeth jutting out everywhere, eyes without lids staring wildly. In the light the human's form refined itself into a weird human (apparently weird is a step up, an evolution, from terrible. heaven forbid it was monstrous) with a hump like a brahma bull, a single black horn, four legs, no arms and it was black and white in a world where color is a possibility. Also it was covered in long, sleek and almost oily fur. Around us was an old stone city of gray-brown granite, the blocks were very bulky, chunky and geometrical having been finished by whichever ancient stonemason who wouldn't dare insult a city with natural rocks and boulders for a foundation or walls. The sky was vast filled with fluffy clouds which zoomed quickly overhead despite the fact there was not the slightest hint of a breeze. At the center of this mazelike city were two creatures like the one I ran across but they were more equine. The beasts fought in slow motion. I discovered a kirin, the closest term I could ascribe to them, with a startlingly humanoid face wearing a backwards, green baseball cap. She leapt over me several times smiling a smile meant to express silent laughter. I got away from her but ran into two more in the midst of sex. In my mind I knew if the male wasn't persistent or didn't finish the female would surely kill him. Through the twisting corridors until I was outside once again in the snow. It was snowing but the flakes were joined by long, thin things which were falling from the sky and at the same angle as the snowflakes. I was filled with a desire to save those long thin things, to save them from the snow and hitting the drifts. Face down in the snow were turtles, their tails and rumps stuck out of the drifts and made me think they were kirin nymphs which fell from the heavens and if I dug one of the turtles out something bad would happen. A great insectoid anteater came and started feeding on everything in the snow. Anything that would fit up its clear, chitinous snout was fair game to the monster. There was a kirin nymph in its nose which I tried to save from the beast's clutches. I wrestled the nymph-eater and it grew larger and larger in response to my attempts at heroism. I passed out. When I came to, I was on a long street in the heart of winter. Night time. I knew that everyone hated me, they avoided me or bumped me with their shoulder as they passed me in the street. I went into a 7-11 or Rite Aid feeling afraid because I forgot why I was there. This was more confusing and scary than the other bits of the dream but most of the memory had become blurry or forgotten. I really felt alone. When I awoke again in the dream then went downstairs I saw that the snow was almost completely melted away. The newborn grass was long and wavy, its waves in the wind seemed to take on the same shape of the now-melted snow dunes. That's when I knew I was still dreaming. Wednesday morning wasn't that bad because when I got up NPR was playing an instrumental "Beyond the Sea" after a story of a Vietnamese fisherman drifting down towards Costa Rica after his main staff broke in a storm and his outboard and radio dying and being discovered three months later by some anti-drug patrol. I drove to work listening to myself hum that song and "Summer Wind" rather than Frank DeFord's take on sports. tv Good fucking god, TV on Wednesday night with Jaybird and maribou was one of the finest nights of television that I've ever had. Fucking Insomniac with Dave Attell was genius in Tijuana, it was great watching him wander around half-baked at a cock fighting ring and hanging out with the wetbacks getting ready to cross the border. The Daily Show was embettered with George Stephanopoulos playing good cop to Jon Stewart's bad liberal cop. Trigger Happy TV was on next which was great because it was comedy with charm and something that would have never flown over here but it's not highbrow or stick up their asses enough to be on PBS like Benny Hill. I wish that I didn't have to go to work in the morning so I could stay up all night. There had better be a second season of Insomniac because that show fucking rules. It sounds like autumn and I love it, if only there was a little more bite of cold in the air. The scuttling leaves making the world sound emptier than it really is, the wind blowing through naked branches without the comforting rustle that would lull someone to sleep out in a hammock one late summer night. Christ, I'd love to have a hammock. Just go outside and set it up then fall asleep in the hammock in the backyard just for the sake of sleeping outside. Beautiful thing is there are no bugs. No fucking bugs at all. Life is beautiful. what a thursday We went for Chipotle which was lovely and when we came back there was a white and black kitty who was following us for no real reason. maribou fawned over the kitty, Jaybird wanted to please maribou and I was getting into overprotective mode. Jaybird opened the door and the kitty just went inside like she owned the place. Chumky and kitty didn't get along that well what with the hissing so Jaybird started pouring water on the kitty to give her the idea that she wasn't welcome. During the commercial between the Edge and Eddie Guerrero match, where I missed the brilliant Booker T and Pete Rose commercial, I went downstairs and saw the kitty lying on the landing as if we were going to let her back in. I talked at her saying "Yeah, you know I'm a fucking mark dontcha" then went outside to have quality time with the kitty. She's declawed and her tummy hangs like she's been spayed. She just had to forcefully push her head against my wrist. Damn it. I went back upstairs. Ten minutes later I went to check on kitty and she was gone. I walked around the house looking for her because damn it I'm not going to go to my car in the morning and oh look there's a squashed kitty in the road. I scooped her up from the bushes next to the clinic and brought her downstairs. I'm grateful to the Birds because they gave me some litter to put in my aluminum broiling pan so kitty could have a shitter. This weekend I'm going to go around the houses and see if anyone's missing a kitty. If I don't find anyone missing a kitty then I'm going to have to make flyers and put them around town just in case. I don't want a dead kitty but I don't want someone sad because their kitty has gone away being unknowingly kidnapped by some big hairy guy. Of course I was thinking aloud upstairs and mentioned how I brought home a bird and now I have a cat and by December I'll have an elephant. Jaybird went off on, "Yeah and I'll come home and go 'Why is there a dolphin in the backyard?'" The size of whatever animal ends up here, temporarily or not, became bigger and bigger. I know I've seen this kitty around here going into the garbage of the house behind the Birdhouse. maribou thinks that whomever owned kitty moved away and forgot about kitty because they're assholes. dream? There's a small convention that I follow when I remember my dreams and write them down for your entertainment, gentle reader. I'll take the major plot points of the dream and write them down in the order they occurred then I'll use those hooks to stoke the remaining embers of memory to transcribe the morphic events. I used it for this one dream which I'm about to commit to HTML.
I was in the NYC area walking past women who were standing around wearing lingerie in the street, wandering among the traffic and on the stereotypical corners. Of course they were hookers. I kept walking past this one whore, waving at her for some reason. I wandered through the neon mazes under the bowels of crumbling basalt buildings until I reached the street level again dodging speeding traffic and trucks barrelling towards me, tiny cars with blazing headlights bearing down on me with intent. Everything was soaked from the steady rain, the street shone like a bar's men's room. Out in the street I kept running into this one kid who knew the hooker that I kept trying to wave at and get her attention. I avoided him thinking the hooker was giving mercy sex to the kid. I found refuge from the rain in a darkened shop. In the far back of the building was my mother and some doctor who was asking about getting a job where my mother was working at the time. I stated not even my mom, as much as she wants me to work and her maladjusted feelings towards me, wouldn't want me working at her job because it sucks so much dick. I turned and left, running into the hooker and the kid. She wore a smock over her undies this time. The whore invited me back to her place which overlooked the Atlantic. The ocean was stormy, black and oily waves rising, falling and undulating in the night. When we got to her third floor apartment I looked down and saw the ocean begin to spill into the street. Two people were overcome by the encroaching waters and slipped away into the vaster, darker entity of the stormy waters. Set on the windowsill were some Flaming Carrot comics which piqued my kleptomaniacal urges and when I thought about stealing the comics I felt like I stole them but the comics remained on the windowsill unmolested. I started rubbing the hooker's neck which was quite long, but not as long as the chicks who stack rings around their neck pushing their breastbone down to give them a giraffe-like countenance. She purred like Malyss. My mouth opened and closed saying absolutely nothing. I winked at her before going to look out the window again to check on the storm's progress. A small yellow house across the way began to succumb to the waves. The house was a piece of shit so it was no loss but when the ocean took away the house it only took away the old skin of the house leaving a newer and nicer version in its stead. I could see a couch, a rug, sleeping people who slept through the driving rain. The neighbors woke up and were blown away by the wind. I sat in the kitchen, sat a while then went into the back room. When I turned the doorknob to go back there I felt my hand become slimy. Standing in the darkness were the kid and the hooker. The kid was wearing a yarmulke. I had caught them in the midst of getting dressed and they told me how they were going to a motel. "A motel? In Wildwood? Color me shocked!" I rolled my eyes at them. Before they left she told me there was free money, enough for all of us. When I checked the bag that she said had the free money I was suddenly surrounded by other people who were out for some free money too. The cash bore Superman's symbol in lieu of a dead president. On the reverse side was a cartoon animal, mostly cats, playing football. I jammed as much as I could grab into my pockets. I found one that was called Cat Family which had the image of a wide mouthed cat with text bars in its mouth with football terms written on them. Touchdown being at the top, pass, kick and punt being at the very bottom. There was a guy standing at a podium in the clutter of the backroom and I asked him how much this money was worth. "Roll a d6, get a 6 or 7 then you'll get the big money" he said before rambling on and on about how this was funny money until white foam from a cylinder began leaking from his right nostril. I stood up, angry, and went over to the window. Outside it was still dark, even the old yellow house was dark so I shined a lamp down to see what I could see. There was a kid from that house. Floating beside him, about a foot in the air, and pumping madly was a ghostly bicycle. The kid biked around in the air for a while, I followed him with the spotlight. Very strange. have i mentioned three years? What's happened in the past three years? I had a girlfriend. I cheated on her. I gamed. I dreamt. 200 of them, damn it. I was in therapy. I met Devo. I moved out to Colorado Springs. I've been better at remaining employed. I got pulled over for not having insurance. I've lost a friend or two or I've just cut them out of my life. All this and much, much more. I guess. Good night. Why are ghosts such good listeners? It's probably going to be a while until I start posting old dreams again in my journal. So count your lucky stars those of you (aka u) who studiously ignore my dreams. Plus I'm getting a domain w/ hosting because I want my dreams on a separate site where I can search for them without getting hits from non-dream entries. Atomz.com is okay but one gets what one pays for. this is cool Turns out that Google is exactly one year older than my site. kitty Kitty is the only reason I'd consider turning on my webcam. She's doing fine but it seems that I'm not giving her enough attention. For a kitty she's awfully friendly. What sucks is I have to see if she belongs to anyone around here and make up flyers to tape to poles. Also the batteries in my digital camera are dead and I blame Vince McMahon. Was re: Smackdown. Did you hear about the sickly Jedi? kitty a.k.a. spot Having kitty around is scary because there's this little living being who requires love and attention and me keeping a job so I can continue feeding her and filling up her litterbox when she clumps it up too much. Kitty is very friendly and I'm glad of that but I feel it's because I'm the only person she sees and she doesn't know any better. meaningless headers Hooray for kitty. That is all. Only thing of interest that I did was bother my father to have him mail me two wooden hangers from New Jersey so I could hang my leather jackets properly. My plastic hangers bend and twist when subjected to the weight of my leather jacket and long coat. I am happy to have kitty's company, sometimes I feel bad because she's home all alone in my boring and dark apartment while I'm out slaving away ensuring enough kitty kibble and wet food will be available should the other shoe drop and I get fired yet again. No, I'm not thinking I'm about to get fired but it's been such a pattern for me that I am expecting some sort of cycle to start up. Work four to six months. Unemployed for two. Work four to six months. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Something that I've started doing at work is keeping a wall up or keeping my distance from other people by constantly reading or just being so involved in processing and contacting people's employment that I might as well be the only person in the room unless I need to ask a manager if the denial is valid or not. Also I've been all self-conscious lately, been considering how I act even when I am on an even keel, and being self-conscious eventually leads to harsh self-judgement projected on people who wouldn't give me a second thought. |
