Thursday, June 30

On My Planet

Yesterday I took my kid to a local waterslide park and spent literally HOURS chasing him around, riding slides, and ingesting pool water. It was a total blast and as planned the combination of sunshine, chlorine, and overpriced hotdogs had him happily passed out like the drunkard in some early Irish novel in the car on the way home.

But the whole time we were there I kept thinking to myself -- why can't this be more beneficial?

I mean sure -- mathematically speaking I had to have burned off some decimal points worth of calories, but there's really no way to argue that standing in line with throngs of summer camp kids waiting for the chance to slide my butt down modified PVC piping did me any sort of weight loss favors at all.
..and honestly, that sucks.
The workout regimen I try to keep up with at home leaves me feeling good when I'm done, but it makes me feel utterly FAT and OUT OF SHAPE while I'm doing it. It's a sensation reminiscent to the humility that highschool presidential fitness tests would always bring -- where not only were you always left hanging there trying to will a pull-up out of yourself so you could at least say you did ONE, but you had the added hell of knowing that eternal-crush object Cathy Mortensen was standing somewhere nearby witnessing this failure firsthand, eternally relegating you to backrub-only status.

I think that's part of why I always crash and burn on my exercise kicks. No matter how much I do these things to get myself in better shape, they always make me feel like shit about myself while I'm doing them. Weekly regimens of crunches and curls might be doing me some sort of good in the long run, but each one I attempt still feels like a little part of me is dying -- and after a while that gets old.

I mean, I understand that getting in shape takes time and that the reward is worth the struggle, but really and honestly -- every time I go to work out there's a voice in my head that says:
"Oh man, are we really doing this again?"
[Listening to: OTEP, "Battle Ready"]

Wednesday, June 29

Scylla Charybdis

It's been raining here a lot lately. Sheets of wind you can see coming towards the glass; puddles on the side of the road all too tempting not to want to drive through. It seeps through the seals of the old pickup I drive and drips onto my face -- and when the water gets to be too much I have pull over and stop for a while.

After all this time, you'd think I'd be used to it.
But I'm not.
So I spent a shadowed couple of days customarily overthinking, wondering about the costs of caution despite inhibitions weakened (weekend?), and the animal inside that seems to only howl at pictures of the moon.

All these questions about Ori no aiteiru Tora and the Odysseus line.
The messages unanswered, the ttyl moments,
the calls that appear every 300 miles or so..
It shouldn't be so confusing,
But it is.
Because I'm not average Joe. I'm not Prince Hamlet, nor was I meant to be..

But all these messages I'm getting seem to be saying the exact same thing -- that there's enough of a difference to decide and declare, but still too much distinction to completley let go.

And whether anyone means for it to or not -- it leaves me hanging. Catches me between extremes and puts me right at the heart of the question. It's where I probably need to be, but it doesn't make the answers any easier to find.

I spent two days looking out a window at sheets full of wind.
And I don't want to do that any more.
[Listening to: Miles Davis, "Blue in Green"]

Tuesday, June 28

The Girl in the Gauze

You're still too easy to find, because I'm still too eager to look.

And if I'm ever going to get through this,
..that's going to have to change.
[Listening to: Cibo Matto, "White Pepper Ice Cream"]

Friday, June 24

Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos

Some advice giver I am. Music cranked to the gills, pacing this floor wondering why it's so easy to tell it to someone else when I can't even get myself to practice what I preach. Just crank up the music, hitch up the amplifier, and watch these dark clouds roll in while you play out your oh-so-important indignations all alone under lightning-filled skies.

Three chords and a stag bottle.
I'm gonna regret this tomorrow.
But you know what? I like this song.
[Listening to: Hed PE, "Darky"]

Thursday, June 23


Apple Beach Cay, Cloudless and Overflowing with Stars
In the shadow of moonlight,
where cinnamon colored sands grain
and paint themselves to the skin
What would
   one night






      and mouth

against that


of skin

that lives just across
the crown of your shoulder

in that

    your neck
    slopes outward
    towards the length
    of your bare, quivering arm
that place




someone else's




            your back

                 until it reaches your




[Listening to: Dishwalla, "Candleburn"]

Wednesday, June 22

I ♥ Fuck-A-Bees

The moon was so bright in the midnight sky that you could almost see blue sleeping the night away in the skies above the blackness. Below the slumber shaded grey clouds rolled northeast while the whitecaps on the water became luck dragons rolling slowly shoreward on their sides.

It was alone against this humidity of memory that I ventured out. Restless in my skin, I couldn't really find a way keep myself at home, only to realize once I got somewhere that I didn't really want to be there either. Stray smiles sent my way were nice, but it was like there was a distant voice whispering in my ear. A sound that was too quiet to decipher, but just loud enough to make me wish that I was somewhere else entirely.

So I walked the beach for a while. I watched the waves and the tiny lights of the fishing boats off in the distance. I watched a memory of myself, only a few weeks ago when this wasn't a walk by myself at all. My feet in the water, looking up the shore at the ghosted images of a silent moment that I can't help but feel sure was yet another clear opportunity missed -- just like so many green-eyed others that ended up walking away against the snowfall when I wasn't quick enough to take the hint...
It happens.
I'm beginning to think that sometimes I get so focused on 'staying in my lane' that I keep missing my own exits -- even when it was the promise of those untraveled paths that started me out on these roads in the first place.
Try as I might, I guess
I can't deny what I am.
The night was still young enough when I found my way back from the shore that I decided to try for a "plan b" -- only to be accosted for the second time in as many weeks for not smiling by a woman I didn't know. This time it was a waitress, but the message was much the same: that someone looking like I did shouldn't have any reason to frown (which again I wasn't really aware I was doing).

But what I couldn't (and in a lot of ways, didn't want to) explain to her over the din of the music and the men with their cel phone holsters and buckets of beer was that all day and indeed all night long it felt as if I had been running away from an unnamed feeling. Despite the best efforts of friends old and new, this shadow still stays with me, darkens the door, and for better or worse ends up as islands of myself across the bedcovers.

..Then today I spent most of my time watching this movie where everyone talked too fast for the subtitles to keep up (or perhaps the subtexts were too distracting for my DVD player to keep focused on it's task). I don't know if it was really all that good or not; but it certainly gave me plenty of pauses to think. Lots of places to consider and ponder; thoughts like circles spinning round and around until the kernels could no longer handle the heat and forced themselves into brilliant death blooms to fill up the bag with steam, instead of finding purchase in fresh soil to begin life anew.
Popcorn = Death?
Too many thoughts to run through
Too much excitement for me to focus
Too many shadows to ever truly outrun..
[Listening to: Queensryche, "Neue Regel"]

Monday, June 20

I Saw Canada First

My Sexual Personality Is: Mr/Mrs Greedy

Once you get it into your head that you want someone, you move full steam ahead in pursuit. You do not give up your quest easily. You are nurturing and caring. If someone has a problem, this turns you on. You are highly sexual, passionate, loyal, and intense in your involvement, sometimes possessive and jealous. Sex to you is a pleasure to be enjoyed. You are stimulated by the eccentric and unusual, having a free and open mind.

Find Out Yours at: GreenDezireDotCom
[Listening to: Chevelle, "Don't Fake This"]

Sunday, June 19


A perfect still life of the Luft brothers; taken from a liquor store parking lot conversation last night
He: "Hey, isn't that one of the new BMW Z4's?"
Me: "I didn't see, I was checking out the chick in the drivers seat."
[Listening to: David Bowie, "Look Back in Anger"]

Friday, June 17

Separate Zen

Why do they always give you two fortune cookies?

I mean, maybe if I'd ordered two entrees I could understand the fortune cookie kommisar assuming that two people are eating, which would clearly call out for dual-cookie action.
But it's just me.
Just another lonely dood calling for chinese food in the middle of the night.

Seeing two of them there of course called the easy reminder of all the other times when there needed to be two cookies there, when you'd play those silly games and put them behind your back and ask her to pick a hand, or you'd take turns standing up and reading them out loud in your best Tony-Curtis-as-Dr.-Lao accents.
She always asked me to
order food on the phone.
I never really knew why, but it was always important to her that I be the one to do it.

PENNY slowly opens the bathroom door
and looks at BUCKAROO as he speaks.

BUCKAROO: ..but that's all over now, and she's gone,
and that's about all there is for me to say about that

Last night I didn't want to go there. Last night I just wanted to eat my food and laze out. It hadn't been all that bad a day at all, really (certainly not like the one before). So I didn't open them. Didn't take the second to make any more of the connection. I mean, why bother going there at all?

But then the morning comes, the coffee brews, and staring back at me from the countertop while I wait are these two fortunes. Two wisdoms. Two sets of lucky numbers. Two Chances to LEARN CHINESE
Blue: Lan-se
Your own,

I was gonna make a joke when I started this. Something corny about two fortunes contradicting each other, or of a scene where I open one cookie and the note says "No, Read the Other One First."

..Something corny like that.

But here I am again. Taking it somewhere else. Not letting it go. Not getting the message that even a friggin' cookie seems to understand better than I do...
[Listening to: Living Colour, "Pocket of Tears"]

Tuesday, June 14

Star Wars Alone

That sucked.
...and the movie wasn't all that great either.
[Listening to: Say Anything, "Every Man Has a Molly"]

Monday, June 13

Things You Didn't Want to Know About My Cat

Aja, holding down the um ..fort.
She does this every time.
[Listening to: The Blood Brothers, "Rats and Rats and Rats for Candy"]

Saturday, June 11

Page 73 Girl Doesn't Even Know I'm Alive

Rainchecked and moneybroke. Double-overhead neurotic, running from the sleep that only brings more and more of these wonderfully torturous coffeebrown dreams that seem all too real when more and more anymore he know's they're not, and may never be again.

Peek in at me and read my Heart is a Lonely Hunter S. Thompson Hat manifestos and hear the Mike Ness chords I strum aimlessly inside the sheltering skies of this top left apartment that shakes and creaks whenever a truck roars by.

See, baby doesn't know any better so she swipes at my curling toes while the rantelopes run loose and unchecked across the veldt that I crouch along the edge of - hoping with instinct hunger for the sick or the young; but finding instead nothing better to do but to get rustbucket drunk on jager, tequila, and whatever else it is I've poured into this cup (?!) whilst I sing at the top of my lungs lyrics that do nothing real but seem to make everything better, even if it's just for a little while...
Nothing makes sense.
So I won't think about it
-- I'll go with the ignorance
Eat, sleep, fuck and flee;
in four words, that's me
I am full of indifference.

What do the old people teach us
but how to die die die die?
what do those hissy fits teach you
except how to cry, pussy, cry?

The futile, the futile,
it outweighs the beautiful.
Futile, the futile,
it outweighs the beautiful.
Futile, the futile,
the futile

I have no taste.
I don't like these tiny portions
or your artful abortions
of sound,
sealed with a kiss
slathered in the sauce sarcastic.

What do the old people teach us
but how to die die die die
What do your hissy fits teach you
except how to cry, pussy, cry!?

Yea the futile, the futile,
it outweighs the beautiful.
Futile, the futile,
it outweighs the beautiful.
the futile
the futile


I'm eating rat poison for dinner.
Pull the cord from the phone -- I am dining alone
Tonight - Rat poison for dinner!
Pull the cord from the phone -- I am dining alone
So goodnight

I shall not love,
yet I'll still sing about it
I hope it covers the ocean in SLIME,
the drama and drool
I'm leaking the blood of a fool
(I'm full of it, I'm full of it, I'm full!)

Rat poison for dinner,
pull the chord from the phone - I am dining alone.
Tonight - Rat poison for dinner!
Pull the chord from the phone - I am dining alone.

Oh I am dining alone
               --Say Anything, "The Futile"
So come home from your clubs and your festivals and your mystery weekends, get off the goddamned boat-shaped cross I've let you nail myself up to and sing the fuck along with me for a while. Maybe after a couple of choruses your breath will smell like paint thinner too and then we'll pass out on the couch until the phone rings and someone needs me again.
Someone take this glass away
I'm not myself again, I'm someone else again..
[Listening to: Hed PE, "Crazy Life"]

Friday, June 10


A longtime friend of mine recently came to the conclusion that I've been hacked. She's basically convinced that whoever it is that she's talking to is most definitley not me, and that I should get off the line as soon as possible so D can come back.

The strange thing is, this isn't the first
time the idea has been suggested to me.
Rae used to say that there was "Happy Dan" and then there was this other guy that she didn't really like as much, and she never much understood where one went when the other came out.

On the surface of things, it's easy for me to shake my head and dismiss it as nothing. Moods misread as masks, some sort of simple confusion like assigning the character on the screen to the actor in the supermarket.

Somehow I'm taken back to this celebrity couples interview thing I flipped by on TV a while back where Barbara Walters asked, "So Monica, what do you like to do in your spare time?" -- and David Arquette rolled his eyes and answered,
"Her name is Courtney dammit!"
But then as I started to think about it, I kinda got wrapped up in the idea of this duality (plurality?) people claim to see in me. Bouncing around ideas maybe I shouldn't have, examining past actions and mistakes as if they were some Harvey Dent flip of a coin.

I mean, there's no doubt that I am, and will probably always be an intensity junkie. Seeking passion in anything, looking to drain marrow from whatever source I can find. But if that's true then there's really no way I could stand here at all and try to deny the inverses that stare back from the mornings' mirror:

Put Upon
Drama Queen.

I suppose everyone has a little of all these things both good and bad inside of them, and it's not too hard to consider that we all might lean a little more towards particular sides of the diamond once in a while. But is it possible that the missteps and broken windows that have plagued the past few years of my life are nothing more than the result of my own masking off of the entire picture so that only one reflection could shine through at a time? Choosing to be something I'm not instead of trying to figure out or at least face who I actually am?
Cusack the chauffeur
or Cusack the killer?
I don't know. Lately so many things seem cloudy. Like I'm flying kites in the rain, trying to keep the strings from getting entangled. The good times and the lonely nights, the excitement of new friends and the holding on to the past. --All these places in my world where the thing I really want to do most of all is sit you down and say "What's going on? Is everything ok? Are we good?" -- yet knowing that simply asking the question is tantamount to turning on the houselights, breaking the glass, and stopping the ride.
Intensity junkie... yeah right.
Here's an idea -- Lets stop every two days so we can examine what's been happening, ESPN replay everything to death and try to figure out what everything's supposed to mean instead of just living out loud and making every moment the very best it can be. Lets smell the flowers once and then stay home forever while we try to find the perfect words to describe how cool it was instead of running out with the next starshine to find more flowers, more aromas, more life to share, more passion, more love for each other and days that no one else but us could ever have...

There's a ring on a chain that's hanging on my wall.
There's a phone that shows the name when you call.

Here's a thought
     I shouldn't be thinking.
I shouldn't be thinking at all.
[Listening to: Deep Inner Voices, "Duality"]

Thursday, June 9

Hsaw Aknow

I am Strawberry Pocky

Your attitude: fresh and sweet
Comforting, yet quirky ... quietly hyper
You always see both sides to everything
[Listening to: Say Anything, "Alive With The Glory of Love"]

Wednesday, June 8

Coldplay Must Die

Nothing is ever what you expect it to be. Forecasts for rain become sweltering heat, and the things that seem to be right in front of you don't always look the same when you finally decide to open your eyes.

I suppose the problem is this false sense of safety that comes from the expected. This idea that things are all happening the way that you thought they would, that you're somehow in control or at least able to forsee the adaptations you need to make as you go along.
I don't want that sense.
That's not why I'm here.
But it's an easy trap to fall into because it's so comfortable, because it's so known. For example, if the lights were to suddenly go out and I had to find my way to the door, I would know where to step. I mean, if my portals were to move around and shift during the blackness of night, I might never get out of here -- which makes me want and perhaps actually crave that sense of knowing where things are and assuming that's how they're always going to be.
But at the same time.. what if this door isn't really the way out at all?
I mean, if I were somehow able to move the door anywhere I wanted, then it would make sense that I would be going to a totally different place every time I stepped through it. I would have a totally different direction
I would be a totally different me.
..Perhaps that's what's so frightening about it.

I think that's in part why even as I covet these changes, even if I do want the unexpected -- I still find myself relieved in the mornings when that door is exactly where I left it the night before, you know?

And yet there are so many different doors with so many different shapes. It's what makes life exciting. It's just that it's been a long time since I've felt strong enough to go through them alone. What's worse, I'm not even totally sure I'm actually at that point yet.

That doesn't mean I'm not going to try, though.

Hopefully your day has been a good one so far. Hopefully it will keep going like that all through the night. If you get the chance, send me a message to let me know how it turned out.
I'll read it when I get back.
[Listening to: Herbie Hancock, "Butterfly"]

Sunday, June 5

Brad Hates Red States #7

I've got a lot of crazy things running through my mind at the moment.
Unfortunately, this isn't one of them.
[Listening to: Machines of Loving Grace, "If I Should Explode"]

Saturday, June 4


The path looks the same in the dark no matter which way you go. It's scattered with canopy trees and Christmas light condominiums that snake around corners and wash out the stars. The restaraunts that race by all have names that sound like Conquistadors or Pirates, and there's hardly a streetlight to be seen anywhere. There's a certain mood to A1A; a relaxed kind of energy that seems to sweep you up into it's arms as you ride ahead under the light of the cloud-shadowed moon.

So I trusted my instincts, and I went with the feeling of your head on my shoulder and the smile that rested on your lips as you slept. And even if it was just for a little while, it was nice to not have to think about shadowed roads that surely lay ahead of me.

Or at least it was -- until the treeline broke and the Atlantic Ocean inexplicably appeared on the opposite side of the road, telling me in a sinking flash that
I was going the wrong way.
[Listening to: Floetry, "Say Yes"]

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