Pretty cool

The Gun Dude: hes pretty cool
DMsqdMn17: I'm pretty cool.
The Gun Dude: This is a man so cool even his sperm smoke unfiltered Camels.
DMsqdMn17: hahaha.

Personal Rebellion

Today's blog will be unencumbered by pretense or preface. Just imagine me reading it in the tone of voice you use to speak to friends when you get routed to their voicemail answering machines.
Don't Do What You're Told
We Don't need to. We're Young.

"That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is. Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending - performing. You get to love your pretence. It's true, we're locked in an image, an act - and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image, they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it, they feel like you're trying to steal their most precious possession." -Jim Morrison
Don't Sell Out
there's no one buyin' it pays in this world to play out your passions.

There was once a young cellist playing in the orchestra. Nineteen years old he had signed up for the paying gig, fresh out of school, lured by the prospect of touring the world. From Italy and Europe he visited the Americas traveled from one exotic city to the next. He was good, but young, and in the old-school mindset of those among the orchestra's ranks he not given his due chance to shine. Until one night. They were scheduled to perform at the opera house in Rio de Janeiro. The production was of Verdi's Aïda. But before they could begin their conductor was booed by the audience and forced to leave the podium. He took the music with him. When a replacement failed to arrive, the young cellist filled in, proceeding to conduct the entire score from memory. That young man became the great conductor Arturo Toscanini.

Providence. As they say, your ship only comes in once. But once you catch that ship.... who's to say what ports may call?

The way the strange city breathed
smelled like crayons.
full-breasted tulips heaving daylight through the towers
in luscious gasps of life

some people let the road lead them. Others take hold of the wheel.

Turn off your computer
have an unprovoked conversation. That's real life.
SuppleSextusCinString signed on at Thurs Mar 29 13:58
SuppleSextusCinString: o what ar youup to?
DMsqdMn17: I'm at work. U?
SuppleSextusCinString: I acually was, uh, thinkn about not goin to work
SuppleSextusCinString: They fucked up my schedule so I can't take classes... they put me on secund shift..
DMsqdMn17: shit.
SuppleSextusCinString: and I need some a dvice. i would just drop the classess... i know thats the kinda thin you always advocate... but I think we jus passed the Drop Date and so if I drop...
SuppleSextusCinString: my gpa will go down so far that i'll never be abel to aply to another 4yr instiution agin
DMsqdMn17: Under any other circumstances I would say fuck school. But you caught me right in the middle of writing today's blog. And following with the theme I would say it'd only be right to stick with the classes.
SuppleSextusCinString: I've already paid so much money to this damn school
DMsqdMn17: And there are plenty more jobs out there
SuppleSextusCinString: right
DMsqdMn17: It's uncharacteristic of me I know. But its the truth. Stick with the classes. The rest will fall into place.
SuppleSextusCinString: ok we'l see. thanks for the advice oh yeah, I've got a grea t bandname for yo Lumpy Oatmeal Phenomenon
DMsqdMn17: No Problem Man. Good luck.
DMsqdMn17: Anything else you'd like to say on the blog today?
SuppleSextusCinString: oh yeah, I've got a grea t bandname for yo
SuppleSextusCinString: Lumpy Oatmeal Phenomenon
DMsqdMn17: HA!
SuppleSextusCinString signed off at Thurs Mar 29 14:11

The Masqued Man
Tellin' it like it is. With class.

"Now get your fat ass in gear" -Confuscius

Time’s Pollution of our Chrysorrhoas

May we receive unquenchable light from You
so that our darkness will be illuminated
-Saint Columbkille

Totally made myself go for a swim last night. Heart wasn't in it and since I sprained my ankle two weeks ago it was really tough to get in the pool but I did it! I had that really accomplished glow all evening, and this morning I have that day after "trim from the swim" feeling. Like a rebirth.

It's one of the best feelings. And I can say I've honestly come to a point in my life where I care more about how I feel than how I look. The only thing I really miss about my former self is the way I used to write.

More specifically, the way I used to see the world, paint it with words of wide-eyed wonder. I miss the ways my words came out, so colorfully descriptive, lyrical. Miss that easy flow from eye to mind to pen to paper, the magic I saw, I felt, I wrote.

I really don't do that anymore. Now that I'm "grown-up" I’ve jaded. Colors lack luster and music sounds lackluster. It’s all so very bland.

The surface is green and the dark interweaves in a lonely iridescence
It's terribly deep and the cold is complete and it only lacks your presence
-Gord

I found some pictures of me from a couple years ago when I was really fit and kept telling everyone that I needed to lose weight and now I know why everyone would roll their eyes at me. I really didn't need to lose any weight! I looked great! But it's just funny to me how we have our self-image... and then the truth. Some of that has to do with seeing reality for what it really is, and for the most part, reality seems to suck. Suck the colour out of you..

At one point in my laps my arms started to cramp I could feel my muscles start bringing me downIn a moment of trepidation, the gloomy light fading all around me, a rare pain came over me. Harking back to my animal nature, some sort of psychological or physical reaction to the darkness of the water, my inability to move. Babies flooding from the oceans of their mothers wombs in wailing tides, the light overtakes them screaming.

Open your eyes to the truth. You are all gorgeous creations. Enjoy it! Twenty will be here soon enough, then 30 and Forty is the new 30 with liposuction… but that’s about perspective. Truth, vs. Self-image. And our 'self-image' is unreliable. Day after day we dive into our lives, thinking we’ve seen it all. Flooded with images, murky with doubt and apathy. Of course everything starts to look the same.

We can’t be who we were, but we all become who we are.

quello che tu sei io ero, quello che io sono tu sarai
-Neopolitan Proverb

__Here's __ a yay_ Game day_
Rent boats at Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park, throw everyone overboard, play Ophelia.
Also, the botanical gardens are there, the Japanese tea garden and the Shakespeare garden.
Golden Gate Park! Bring a picnic! Dress up and have a tea party in Shakespearean dialogue.

Some days you've just got to dive in. Not because you have to, but because you want to. Keep swimming, and when you come up for air the light will overtake you like a million pictures of yourself. Savor it.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee
-William Wordsworth

I feel great. Cracking myself up here. I think I got too much sleep or something. I'm feeling a high on normally functioning serotonin. Everything is bright. I slept like a baby last night and I feel so good today it's fulfilling.

So what if I used to write 'better'? So what if I used to look 'better'? That was then. Today I will dive in to something new and entirely original, and wonderful.

Don't let the waters get you down.
Swim with it,

swim with it,
swim…

-DMM

the part of the human family that isn't related to me

Caution: This Blog will most definitely take your mind out back behind the middle school and get it pregnant.

What begins with R and ends with Age?

I'm not sure I can stand much more of this.... they're at it again in the room above me!
I think that's 4 times in the last 36 hours that I've heard it.. and remember I'm out of the house most of the day!

*commence junior-high-style fits of giggling*

I've been stewing in this indescribable presentiment that has left me in an awkward funk the last couple days. And not the Mothership Connection kind of funk. The bad kind of funk.

Harriet Tubman was not a member of Grand Funk Railroad.

wish kids would concentrate on what goes into their brains
and not what goes through their MP3 players.

I need to vent about something, and you may have just stepped into Old Faithful geyser folks because I'm steamed na rearin' to blow.
This is the place. The one thought I have that is forming all this steam into a rant...

christ how i hate young people.....actually wait no....im young.....
i mean teenagers....all fuckin' loud and brash....crude and attention seeking.....rude, disrespectful
Want more?

I've come to realize I don't have I don't actually hang with anybody my age....well maybe a select few... but in general I get mostly irritated at them. I am generally only interested in non-college age kids, give me 30+ anyday... and if it is someone my age then guys are preferable.... since I can't be dealing with all those bitchy back stabbing women.....getting fed up watching big mouths on American Idol on TV on my own bored and lonely.....ok, I got a little off topic there,
but the point is that Young People think they rule the world these days and TV has gone to shit because of it. They don't know anything about history, geography or science and aspire to be on Reality TV shows as if that's a viable career alternative. I'm sorry (no I'm not) but listening to silly kids calling each other every name under the sun like its just a normal everyday occurance is not what I call quality enterainment......I wouldnt let anyone call me a "fucking stupid bitch" or say "I hate you you wanker"...Don't think so, especially from the people who are meant to care most about you...

And then they listen to the crappiest music ever created by the vocal chords of man, and exalt these pig-voiced "artists" with heaps of money and praises.

you all just don't know any better.
poor little things.

Which reminds me. This Sanjaya fellow. He will be getting kicked off tonight or he will be voluntarily leaving after his family bursts into flames from listening to the firing swords he calls notes issuing from his vocal chords. Opposition to him falls on deaf ears of course because teenage girls love the shy guy, love to roote for the underdog. But this guy is so bad... the best comparison I can imagine would be to say that watching him is like watching Dick Cheney and Michael Jackson tag-team sodomize a goat in a bed of cochroaches whilst whilst November Rain plays in the background and Maddonna's 1987 pointed brassiere poke the eyes out of a naked and making-out Phil Margera and Don Vitto, while Don Cherry does the play-by-play
Creepy? I think so!

Grr. Young people.

Ok. Dear God.
I can't stand this any more..... they're at it again.
Who are these people?
I'm gunna go up there and find out.

This has been your Daily Whine, brought to you by NAASCor. You may now resume your regularly scheduled life.

Spock Day

March 26^th, Today is Interstellarly Recognized as

Spock Day

(He's the one in the middle)

Celebrate by walking around and simply saying "fascinating" to everyone you see.

Gold Latch Motor Inn

I agree to meet with Doug at the Gold Latch Motor Inn because I am a fantastic human being and his girlfriend just left him. More because his girlfriend just left him. A bit of emergency apathy, apparently. He called me up at the end of last week and told me what was going on. Being the good friend that I am I told him we should go out and talk and maybe do some stuff, “just because.”

He sounded miserable, and not too keen on actually seeing me in person. I guess I didn’t so much “agree” to meet him, as “con” him into coming along and talking to me about his personal problems face to face. Whatever. I was in a great mood. Partially because I had a date that night. Also my good mood and optimism towards the prospect of walking into the emotional minefield that is my friend Doug had to do with the good weather we've been experiencing here. Typically springtime in California is dreary but lately sun. It's amazing what sunshine can do for a person's mood. The drive out to that place, normally a pale and lonely muddle of mists and raindrops spreading little puffs of death steam as they hit the ground. Is today a testament to the beauty of the natural world. Tall pine trees vomit into the sky, the bronze sun smiles on the land making every dewdrop in the trees and on the road sing with melodiously sparkling diamonds.

When I arrive, Doug is already there. He’s sprawled out on the bed. Plopped, actually. I’d wager he hasn’t moved since he walked in the door, except to grab the remote. The room smells like disinfectant, cigar smoke and starched blankets. It’s bathed in brown and orange light that blurs the edges off of everything, which actually does the room justice since I notice that the moldings in the corner are crumbling.

“Nice room,” I say. Doug does not look up.

“Fancy. We could’ve gotten one rather less sumptuous I s’pose.“

Doug, for those of you who don’t recall,

is a buddy of mine who is a scientist, or some sort of engineer. I don’t really know what it is that he does but I know that he has told me on multiple occasions. Most of those occasions involved me not paying attention to him because I was trying to drink enough liquid courage to go and talk to some foxy redhead over there. And this, in spite of how discourteous it sounds, it is probably this that Doug likes about me. He thinks of me as a bit of a Don Juan. A braggadocio. I think of him as a really good excuse to stock up on throw-away lines like “a zero dimensional one-vertex point has no mass, and its size is undefined.” Physics, Mathematics, and Astronomy. They’re all Rocket Science to me. But Doug’s a cool guy to have around. Even if he is looking a little chubbier and pastier than I remember him. I try to bring this up to Doug but he is lost in TVland.

“I really like the Pause/Unpause concept they showed off in How I Met Your Mother - wouldn't it be fantastic to implement that into arguments in a relationship?”

“Watching a lot of TV lately Doug?”

“Oh a bit.” I imagine that in his briefcase is a graph that Doug has prepared for himself displaying his hourly distribution of time utilization. The red area represents a startling 32.4% increase in Television viewing over last week.

“You know you watch too much TV when the primary concern you exhibit whilst all your main shows are on hiatus for the next couple weeks is profound relief that you can actually catch up on your life.”

He flips through the channels erratically. Pausing briefly on a local news segment before finding an animated clip demonstrating some science principal on PBS.

“Now that's elegant science,” he says as I instantly begin to lose interest and daydream. “Create one pair of entangled photons, then send one immediately to a particle-wave detector and send the second through a delay, about fifty meters per second I’d say, to a second detector that can force the state to be either particle or wave, and see if you can also force the first photon to be the other one before the delay alters its twin.”

I daydream about the girl I met two nights ago who told me she is a chimera. (Speaking of twins...) said her name was Momo. We got drunk out in the valley and smoked some Mexican Pot that she had. Good shit, a little too good. I passed out, had a dream that we loved and hated. Death and resurrection, Genesis and Apocalypse and a huge white redwood tree that reached through the canopy to the stars where two meteors brushed past it and landed in a plate of late night vomit omelets at an electro-shock lit Denny’s out in Contra Costa. One of the best blowjobs I've ever gotten in my life, I think. I don't quite remember. Doug is still talking.

“That’s just elegant science right there,” Doug says, oblivious, nodding his head as if in approving what he is saying. He needs to get laid. “Elegant. Simple. Outstanding.”
“Aw cut the bullshit Doug what the hell are we doing out here?” He flips the channel again.
“What, you wanna go back to watching Sportscenter? That more at your level?”
“No! I mean here. What is UP with you? You date one girl for like three weeks and then just let yourself go all to pieces?”
Doug frowns and mutes the TV. He is about to say something good. Something important. You can tell because he is thinking about it seriously, and Doug is the type of person who is normally serious even when he is joking.

"I think it's a matter of priorities? I have willfully devoted my life to the quantifiable analysis of the world around me in its many perfunctory processes. Science always made the most sense to me, so I paid the price to devote myself to Science. I paid to study under the brightest minds in the world, in fact the last of my college loans I’m still paying for! But now it seems like the real price was in human relationships, in love and compassion. Having been so focused on explaining things for so long these inexplicable concepts seem oh so very foreign to me…"

"She broke your heart.”

He frowned again. “

It is difficult for me to categorize these feelings. I tried a mere scratch-the-surface investigation into my feelings on Thursday and in conjunction with fear and despondency I found multiple additional types of transient emotions that I could not even begin to classify.”
“So you gave up?”
“For now.”

“We all lose it sometimes man. I am angry and violent. I punch things and pinch myself so hard I sometimes bleed, which is ironic because I used to talk to kids about being against cutting. I trust no one. I wear a freakin’ mask everywhere. Some days I wonder what it must be like to connect with people. To feel genuine compassion.”
“It is not rational. Plain and simple. It does not make sense. And I find myself in a place where I can’t explain what is going on around me, which is a very new experience.” Doug is courteous enough to overlook the fact that anything I say in the way of long and well-meaning diatribes are not at all relevant or helpful. Whenever we hang out together I notice that he does this, and I always forget when we are apart. He is much smarter than I am, and yet he comes to me for advice. Advice I valiantly try and gallantly fail to provide. I open my mouth and say these things that I think sound smart and then after I finish, he takes a breath and sternly plows ahead where he left off, as if I haven’t said anything. When he's very serious he frowns. Most of the time he smiles. It’s a nice system we have. But I can see why I always forget how it works, because for all his gracious civility it’s kind of condescending.

"I think you are intelligent and eloquent enough to explain yourself,” I say.

“I have to slow down though. When I do work, I'm too fast.”
“Like, you don't have enough to do? Or you’re sloppy?”
“I might be sloppy. I don’t know. But on top of whatever it is, my motivation has left me so I’m taking some time off.”
I suggest offhandedly “Try having an tryst with an older woman,” then remonstrate “it'll perk you right up!”
Doug raises one eyebrow like Spock. “How do you seduce an old MILF? How do you do these things?”
“Give her what she wants. She'll pay you in sex.”
“What does she want?”
“Depends on the woman. Like any woman, you just have to see what it is that she is looking for.”
“That may be the problem right there. Because in a man there is always some rational explanation for why he is doing what he’s doing, women don’t seem to follow the same framework. I have no idea what they are even looking at, let alone looking for!”
“They like a guy who can make them laugh,” I say, thinking about Momo again. Running through the parking lot in the rain. A downpour, racing. In the moment we reached the car together, our hands touching, the sky cleared and we were terrified, but then laughed again because it was amusing, it was fun, and sometimes all you can do is look absurdity in the face and laugh.“You know Doug, the cosmic and the tragi-comic need not be mutually exclusive. Just tell her something impressive and perplexing about fractal geometry or Einstein’s preference for coco-puffs.”

“This isn’t string theory! Women are abstruse. (Abstract?) I can’t even create an abstract positing their abstractions, they’re so abstract!”

“Beginnings are always the hardest, don't you think? I mean, silence is easy. So just take the time you need but not too much. I’d say about another episode of Mythbusters and then go out and actually

saysomething to someone; C'est difficile. But worthwhile.”

Doug smiles at me and then sighs, staring up at plaster flaking from the ceiling. I am not helping. I know I’m not helping.

Doug is more didactic than I make him out to be. He’s really not the easiest guy to get along with. But then again I’m not the kind of guy most people turn to for problem resolution. It tore me up to see him like this though. All bunched up inside his head, obviously putting on a lot of weight lately and not able to pin down a girl. I wasn’t being very helpful. I mean, I know of course I was but normally I am terrible company, I can be a joyless little rain-cloud. Or "distributions of atmospheric gas," as Doug would put it. But that’s exactly the point here. He’s pretty set in his ways and try as I may to be cheerful and helpful it’s not going to be some clockwork answer I can give him that will help him out of this rut. I’m not being helpful because I can’t be helpful. There is nothing I can tell him that will help him to go out and be appealing to the ladies. Nothing I can tell him that will save him from the churning blender of emotions switched on after a breakup. He’s dense, he’s a scientist. He will always see the world his way.
If I can’t control how he processes information, I can control what information he is processing.

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, and I’ve thrown on my coat before he can even stammer a protest.

“But.. but…”

“You like Hooters? I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat.” Maybe we'll meet a girl for him. Maybe he'll lecture me on the chemical make-up of pancake batter and feel better. In any case a change of scene will do him good. I shove him out the door sunlight flooding into the cheap motel room and I feel a sudden swell of un-accounable dizziness that takes me instantly back to last night.
“Better keep it quick though, I've got a date with a redhead tonight”

That Guy

We started this week with a botched plan and hit the ground running.
It turned out okay. I suppose most things do.

Now we’ll end the week with some quotes
from last night’s phenomenal episode of
(and promise you won’t shoot me)
Grey’s Anatomy

Meredith:
The thing about plans is they don't take into account the unexpected. Sometimes we're thrown a curve ball -- whether it's in the O.R. or in life -- we have to improvise. Of course, some of us are better at it than others. Some of us just have to move on to Plan B and make the best of it. And sometimes what we want is exactly what we need, but sometimes... Sometimes what we need isn't a plan.

Sometimes.

Beneath buildings that scrape the sky
Around Five I watch the passersby

Rarely making eye to eye

Men in suits, poor women who cry

Skateboard punks, the happy hour barfly

Do they see me as I spy?

Do they ask “Who was that guy?”

Who was that guy?

I'm the guy with the uncombed hair.
The guy who's coat is unraveling and jeans aren't torn because its the latest hipshot from the canon of fashion. They’re just torn.
I’m that guy. The guy who doesn't matter as much as you (or he) thinks. I'm that guy.

Sometimes.

Every day has had this weird haze of melancholic nostalgia over it.
Sometimes I think I dropped out of school last week.

But when I look at my friends I realize it was so very long ago. So much has happened.
I like making new friends and I miss the old ones who are away. So much has happened.

diffusion of heat

smoothing of irregularities

tangents of your space

equipped, defined around

an inner product of mine

expand negatively curved regions

each deformed metric

my fingers trace over

sectional curvatures

when various notions such as

volume and area

emerge and diverge

with nothing to do with physical time

we coexist as a function

sufficiently bundled

in geometric revolution

as geometric evolution

I met her in a moment that instantly changed the plan.

In my life right now the girl does not factor herself in. A coordinate just off the grid.
A plot twisting right off the binding of the book. Onto the desk, through the window, to a new state.

In a state of mind that he suffers from. A dark state of mind that breaks over him like oil.
I am that guy.

Counting squares on the sidewalk and cross multiplying diamonds in the chain link fence. I’m that guy.
When he speaks he does not look up. Frightened, perhaps, by the flat sound of his voice in the thin morning air. I'm that guy.

And to think I was all like, "Man look at me. I'm rockin' out on the radio!” But plans change. So much has happened.
So many words that could never have been said.

Words I want to say to you.
Words that shrivel in my throat and die before ever breathing the light of day

Izzie: Messing up... It's what makes a person. It's how we learn. Where we find joy in the things you didn't plan for... things you never see coming

I want to be who I was. Back to Plan B, no, before it then past it. Call it plan C, where I learned everything you taught me without you ever having been here.

Where you ever even here?

Sometimes.

The kid who sat in the back of class and made slouching seem impressive. The kid who shrieked with genuine joy at really bad puns and made the name "jerk-off" sound like a compliment. I was that kid. I am that guy.

I can be that guy.

DO or DIE

"On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero"
-Fight Club

So with that in mind, prepare yourself for a
marathon of suffering!
It's Game Day MuthaFucka!
Yay MuthaFucka!

I have reluctantly orchestrated the finest Game known to man.
It's all for you. I do it all for you.

Did i mention i saw a
shooting star this morning?
Overwhelmed.
Sorry, I'm like a ferret on Red Bull
Okay, maybe my mind's more like a ferret on Mtn. Dew, or simple syrup, but it dont take much to devolve into new trains of thought with only minor tangents.

On an ultimate scale, nothing is wasted

OK: GAME!
OK! YAY!

RuLeS:
1) DO IT NOW. DON'T PUT IT OFF
2) Failure is just success rounded down
3) Don't be a product or a victim. Just do what yer told.

InStrucTions:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open it to page 161.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence as a coment
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find.
Do what's actually next to you.

Remember....
Time is running out
And Thus, Everything Collapses And Dies.

Don't Forget Your Towel

Whoever invented even the idea of Tuesday should die a long, slow, gruesome, and painful death. The kind that's full of knives and torturous devices applied in sensitive areas. They can also burn in hell after they die.

Look sky, stop raining.

So here I sit-- in my little filament cubical, sipping my hot water sans tea and smelling all the offices' breakfasts in the break room, and thinking how overrated rainy Tuesday mornings are...
or perhaps Rain in general.

"Explore the realm of catharsis... in real time.
Rain fell through the night. No dress rehearsal. This is our life"
-Gordon Downie

Escapism helps. When Noah felt that his life was getting bogged down in the shit tedium of monotonous existence he thought it'd be a good idea to march off into the desert and build himself a boat.
Granted, a bit extreme (tho it worked out pretty well for him what with the Flood and all) my brand of escapism comes Three-fold.

1) I write
2) I wear a mask
3) I dropped out of college

Writing usually helps. But I gots to be more prolific. 3 posts a week. C'mon! Stephen King has already written 20 pages before he takes his morning dump, and then he thinks so little of what he's done that he procedes to use the various pages of his first draft as both toilet paper, and rolling paper for his mid-morning blunt.
Quantity over Quality. Too much of a good thing is more good.
How're y'all to live vicariously if I ain't writing?

Not for lack of words to say, Never enough time in a day.
Work gets in the way, and I need the bosses' pay.

But I still need a way to escape this dungeon this morning. Something to dive in to. And if writing doesn't work perhaps I should play-up the dual identity angle.

“I have never used steroids, period.”
- Rafael Palmeiro

Sometimes we lie. Because a lie can be like a mask and we all need something to hide behind. Not always. But days like today when the workload piles up in a deluge and you would be soaked in an instant if you set one foot outside...

The world is a lot darker and sadder than it seems, at times. The scene is my little cousin, now nearing the beautiful delicate cusp of womanhood at 13, watching a home movie of herself. Smiling carefree girl in a pink dress dancing, dancing. So pretty, and yet an unescapable sadness haunts everything about this scene.

Solitude is not cowardice, its okay to run away.
Recently it occured to me while watching cartoons and anime on TV, that in most of these shows when the main protagonist or hero/heroine encounters a foe which they cannot defeat with their current powers, they usually exiles themselves to some place far away in order to meet a master, a teacher or a person that would help in developing the neccessary skills or powers in order to defeat the previously unopposable foe.
Exile, the pursuit of knowledge, the return. It's part of everyone's story.

Hiding behind a mask for years needn't be my defeat, if in the process I am accumulating the skills I need to carry on with my life productively.

Otherwise, a disheveled future awaits me. I’ve been through my share of demons, and I don’t particularly wish to dig them out of their graves. But lately I've been thinking about going back to school.

"our society are presently being eroded by a rising tide of mediocrity"
-Glenn Seaborg

Not that getting me back into school would halt the fall of Rome. But I'm smart. I just need to find some way to focus. I can't even calculate how much time I've wasted shooting shit with the Dude when I could've been studying. I don't want to be one of the losers in the back of the classroom drawing rude pictures on the desk anymore. I'm older. There is money for tuition, expenses, life, and pleasure... I could make it work.

Drowning in the harbor of regret. Surrounded on three sides by uneasy plateaus of incredible proportions, invading and assaulting my quivering mind left cold and destroyed, out of sight in a fragile churning riptide of sad blasting sea.

I've got to get my mind organized. Don't want to wind up another island of diluted reason in a sea of hypocrisy.
Want to make my voice heard. Want to be a bright white light. Maybe school is the way to do that.

Shit. I've got to just do something. The rain is coming down and all around me the waters are rising. I should just pick an avenue of recourse and dive in.

Hope springs eternal, but so does my overflowing toilet. Just because you hear a bubbling liquid doesn't mean you should dive right in. A gurgling caldron of shit awaits.

-The Right Reverend Masked Man

Change of Plan B

There was a plan.

At one time, a plan was in place.

But like so many other plans, my plan has given way to reality.

The reality that comprises today's Monday afternoon blog.

First some news. I cut my hair and died it green for St. Patty's Day. It was pretty long. I have included a before and after shot comparison. Here. click it

In other news, getting older is a depressing part of life. Whilst out driving yesterday with my brother a song came on. I started singing along, headbanging a bit, etc etc, insert your own breakdown cliche here... he stares at me blankly and goes, “Who the hell is this?”
Dude. “It’s Natalie Imbruglia!”
“Huh?”

Since when did the songs of the nineties become classic oldies radio station cannon? I’m only twenteen, it should surely be another ten years before I’m faced with this hard-hitting truth of growing older?

Plans Change.

Plans Change.

The plan for this weeksworth of blogs on The Masked Mind Revealed was to do a StoRY WeEk! 5 days. 5 different short stories. I got about half a story done this morning before realizing that wasn't going to happen. Please leave a comment discussing the topic of some future week which may still salvage the concept of Short StoRY WeEk. Or perhaps I'll start doing Short Story Tuesdays, much like the tradition of Game Day Wednesday (yay) or Stuff it out your ass ear Fridays.

Or maybe some of you intrepid readers out there who are also writers would like to join me in my effort
How about it guys?
Let's dedicate a day to everyone posting an original short story on their blogs?
Eh? Eh? Eh?

Just don't plan on it. Plans change.

Sometimes for the better. After bumming about my brother not knowing shit about the 90s I passed this Red Toyota Tercel on the right that had two girls in it. I saw them out of the corner of my eye... and by them I mean... BOOBS o_O We got flashed!!! ... hehe. Maybe it's a sign that good things will happen? I dunno. XD

-DMM

Beatsperminute

"Happy Ides of March,"

Judas jabbed as he passed all 180 lbs of my meaty frame

A gold bracelet around his ankle and a ring in his nose
Telling stories to you and yours about his hitchhiking trip through Italy
"Make sure you Stand upright," he told me, smiling widely

with a grin three thousand miles wide

Lonely rucksack bum with his buddies and their swiss Army knives

Like comedians, stabbing me with punchlines

Waiting a beat for the laughter to subside

Nineteen or Twenty Beats per minute

before Plunging me with another. I can't breath.

With a grin three thousand miles wide

Across our great president's land

from fog entrusted red and rusted Golden Gate

to Lightning Strikes atop the Empire State Building
Standing Proud like a god
Thunderous Thunder thundering
like ancient Titan's mythos or
heartbeat of a hummingbird
One thousand, two hundred and sixty Beats per minute
Steady like a freight train roaring sounds of speed
while railing at the speed of sound

theoretically, as that mad Jew Einstein posited
"Am I going mad?" he asked through gnashed teeth
running calloused hand through that shock charged crown of whitish hair
"Sometimes I think if I had my way
I'd sit around naked watching porn all day.
chocolate, cholesterol and chocolate

until my lips turned blue

or my balls fell off from the dead beating of hand over hand masturbation"

three hundred and eighty four Beats per minute
Sitting there like Buddah laughing
Or Goin' out for 4 AM cigarettes one two or three
vicodin for four five six hours, days, years, lifetimes...

"And wine of course" chimed the coarse whine
"and wine to dull the pain of pleasure"
Not virulent but reflexive ventures
Because I never wanted heaven in a pile of pills

little boy who wanted to grow up
standing upright, eating chestnuts

swimming in rivers and drinking goatmilk and talking to priests

Able to amble fields, mountains, valleys working farm to farm,

All zen and toy tractors

Like those Beat Poets growing out in the Oklahoma prairie somewhere

Like noble blades of wheatgrass, standing upright

blowing in the breeze but being blazed over by

gas guzzling federally subsidized motorized mowing monsters

two hundred Beats per minute.

And things go apace.

When you think of how truly great and wise

must be the
rumbles, that rush
Pseudosentenced to a dog-sled chain gang, Mush!

A cymbal has one third the brass of a tuba but
turns more heads when it crashes.
Eight times per song, 2 times per measure, one time per beat
One hundred and twelve Beats per minute
Empty noise with the obscure

allusion to and illusion of importance

Not unlike my art. All technique. No soul.
When I finally do grow a soul
I may just sell it in a sweepstakes
to save up money for my Harley
Open Envelope Now!
You may have already won!
or some such nonsense.
That day I told you about synecdoche
Hoping to impress and bed thee

When all you heard was my prediction
"They're gonna rip off your heads--
Your aspirations to shreds"
Not meant to hurt you

a little because you were a better writer than I.

Beat away at those statues standing upright in

Your honor. Reduce them to ruins and beat you down

two or three Beats per minute

Until by tearing down something great

I have built myself up out of the rubble of ancient stones
Standing upright with a grin three thousand miles wide

Your personality's laced with addictive substances

Every junction of your letters

Leaves a legacy behind
eternity means forever, you know
and Your pride can keep you company
long after I have gone on
mumbling some story about
every letter you ever received from me.
How you first regarded each with caution
opened slowly and with great care
You can tell they are my envelopes because
they, too, are sensitive to disappointment