This is the very last song that I remember hearing:
12.25.2008
12.24.2008
12.19.2008
Allium Amber
It goes like this:
Chew up a mouthful of garlic.
Now bite down as hard as you can on a nine-volt battery while at the same time you have a very attractive friend who smells a little bit like lavender hit you right between the eyes with the round side of a ball-peen hammer as hard as they can.
When manage to wake up, have your friend offer you a choice of orange juice or coffee. Pick the coffee and pour it down your shirt. Have your friend hand you another cup of coffee and pour some of that one into your mouth and note the existential confusion as your tongue remembers a thing that your brain doesn't:
heat.
Pour the rest of that one into your lap and hand the empty cup to your attractive friend who smells a little bit like lavender.
Your friend is a little too good looking, the way a chick bartender with big tatas is a little too good looking. There's a reason they're both very attractive, you dig? The bartender is very attractive because it helps redistribute some of the wealth in your pocket to her pocket. But why is your friend so good looking? The bartender pays the rent with her looks, see? That's why she has a job like that.
But what do your friend's looks have to do with the job she does, to ask people to eat garlic and batteries while hitting them as hard as she can in the head with a hammer?
It was obvious the very second you met her, remember? Ah, no... probably not. That's the hammer part. Well, if you did remember meeting her, you'd probably remember looking up at her from your wheelchair and shaking her hand when she introduced herself. You'd probably also remember her smiling warmly and looking right at you with her beautiful eyes when you said your name, and then watching her articulate her pretty, light pink lips sweetly as she said your name back to you to make sure she remembered. You'd not be able to remember hers by the way, whether or not she'd been hitting you in the head with hammers.
Then you'd remember, while still holding your shaking hand warmly with both of hers, her asking if you'd like to hop up onto the gurney so they could hook up all the cables they need to make sure you stay alive. You'd remember hopping up onto the gurney, swiveling on your butt and lying back, absently rubbing your wrists under the sleeves of your gown, pensive, wondering when the restraints would make their usual sudden appearance.
And then you'd remember realizing that they'd been there the entire time.
That's why she's so pretty, get it? Do you remember now? Do you remember the garlic zap? And do you remember what you wrote back then? I remember what it was:
"She was worse than a straitjacket, that monstrous woman. A straitjacket robs you of movement, but a pill and a pretty face rob you of will to resist"
You could have just as easily been writing about sirens.
So, to put it under a nice little bow with v-cut tails, here is the question again:
What do your friend's looks have to do with the job she does, to ask people to eat garlic and batteries while hitting them as hard as she can in the head with a hammer?
And here is the answer:
To make sure they'll say yes.
e.s.a.: 2 -- k, ktb
Chew up a mouthful of garlic.
Now bite down as hard as you can on a nine-volt battery while at the same time you have a very attractive friend who smells a little bit like lavender hit you right between the eyes with the round side of a ball-peen hammer as hard as they can.
When manage to wake up, have your friend offer you a choice of orange juice or coffee. Pick the coffee and pour it down your shirt. Have your friend hand you another cup of coffee and pour some of that one into your mouth and note the existential confusion as your tongue remembers a thing that your brain doesn't:
heat.
Pour the rest of that one into your lap and hand the empty cup to your attractive friend who smells a little bit like lavender.
Your friend is a little too good looking, the way a chick bartender with big tatas is a little too good looking. There's a reason they're both very attractive, you dig? The bartender is very attractive because it helps redistribute some of the wealth in your pocket to her pocket. But why is your friend so good looking? The bartender pays the rent with her looks, see? That's why she has a job like that.
But what do your friend's looks have to do with the job she does, to ask people to eat garlic and batteries while hitting them as hard as she can in the head with a hammer?
It was obvious the very second you met her, remember? Ah, no... probably not. That's the hammer part. Well, if you did remember meeting her, you'd probably remember looking up at her from your wheelchair and shaking her hand when she introduced herself. You'd probably also remember her smiling warmly and looking right at you with her beautiful eyes when you said your name, and then watching her articulate her pretty, light pink lips sweetly as she said your name back to you to make sure she remembered. You'd not be able to remember hers by the way, whether or not she'd been hitting you in the head with hammers.
Then you'd remember, while still holding your shaking hand warmly with both of hers, her asking if you'd like to hop up onto the gurney so they could hook up all the cables they need to make sure you stay alive. You'd remember hopping up onto the gurney, swiveling on your butt and lying back, absently rubbing your wrists under the sleeves of your gown, pensive, wondering when the restraints would make their usual sudden appearance.
And then you'd remember realizing that they'd been there the entire time.
That's why she's so pretty, get it? Do you remember now? Do you remember the garlic zap? And do you remember what you wrote back then? I remember what it was:
"She was worse than a straitjacket, that monstrous woman. A straitjacket robs you of movement, but a pill and a pretty face rob you of will to resist"
You could have just as easily been writing about sirens.
So, to put it under a nice little bow with v-cut tails, here is the question again:
What do your friend's looks have to do with the job she does, to ask people to eat garlic and batteries while hitting them as hard as she can in the head with a hammer?
And here is the answer:
To make sure they'll say yes.
e.s.a.: 2 -- k, ktb
11.03.2008
I found another memory today
My brain knits itself back together, bit by bit. This morning I woke up with access to 12 year old memories from my time in Chicago. Ten minutes ago while I was remembering a terrible thing that someone had said to me in those days I suddenly remembered why they said it, and I had a flash of the words "My Cat Charles". I watched myself quickly search google groups for exactly those words in exactly that order as if I knew when I typed them over a decade ago that I'd be typing them again quite a long, long time from then...
RIP for my cat Charles, who died December 31, 1996 at 7:45 a.m. CST.
He suffered a total kidney failure...I brought him into emergency and they
put him on a saline/glucose iv....
The next morning he went into sugar shock when they took him off the
iv...he convulsed and they gave him valium to stop the seizure...
He never woke up. I had him put to sleep about 20 minutes later when his
breathing began stopping for 7-10 seconds at a time...
I loved that cat. He was everything to me.
If I had gotten him to a vet when I discovered some minor symptoms of his
bad kidneys (I didnt know they were bad then), he may have been able to
live. I wondered about his symptoms, but they didnt seem severe at all.
I changed his food and his litter and most of them went away.
Then all of a sudden, it happened. I had masked the symptoms but not the
underlying condition.
Please, if you have any doubts about the health of your cat, no matter how
insignificant its symptoms may be, PLEASE take them to a vet. It may very
well be nothing, or you may be preventing the onset of an acute condition
which could possibly be very serious.
I wish I had done it.
-----yttrx
And here's what some nice person wrote in response:
My sympathies for you in the loss of Charles. Soon the happy memories
of your life together will be what you remember. You have already, with
your warning, done something to ease the pain of your last times your
friend.
And I find now that I really don't have any memories of Charles, except his death, and the mean thing that someone said to me about it. That person is gone now, and I'm the only one alive who knows what she said. How funny and horrible to only remember that.
And as I typed them I felt a loneliness, a wispy distant sadness that was at the same time very close, two ends of it arcing over the decade between. My fingers had a memory of that coldness in them, and it's as if I'd just now finished typing the rest. Here's what I wrote on January 2nd, 1997:
RIP for my cat Charles, who died December 31, 1996 at 7:45 a.m. CST.
He suffered a total kidney failure...I brought him into emergency and they
put him on a saline/glucose iv....
The next morning he went into sugar shock when they took him off the
iv...he convulsed and they gave him valium to stop the seizure...
He never woke up. I had him put to sleep about 20 minutes later when his
breathing began stopping for 7-10 seconds at a time...
I loved that cat. He was everything to me.
If I had gotten him to a vet when I discovered some minor symptoms of his
bad kidneys (I didnt know they were bad then), he may have been able to
live. I wondered about his symptoms, but they didnt seem severe at all.
I changed his food and his litter and most of them went away.
Then all of a sudden, it happened. I had masked the symptoms but not the
underlying condition.
Please, if you have any doubts about the health of your cat, no matter how
insignificant its symptoms may be, PLEASE take them to a vet. It may very
well be nothing, or you may be preventing the onset of an acute condition
which could possibly be very serious.
I wish I had done it.
-----yttrx
And here's what some nice person wrote in response:
My sympathies for you in the loss of Charles. Soon the happy memories
of your life together will be what you remember. You have already, with
your warning, done something to ease the pain of your last times your
friend.
And I find now that I really don't have any memories of Charles, except his death, and the mean thing that someone said to me about it. That person is gone now, and I'm the only one alive who knows what she said. How funny and horrible to only remember that.
10.25.2008
Three Queers
I wrote this yesterday, but I was too high to remember to post it by the time I finished. Instead I went up to the roof and listened to an old man tell me stories.
On today, the day of my birth 39 years ago, I have decided to finally make a list of things about myself which I've suspected for a long time are not normal, so that I can start to turn this weird sort of sketch that I've been working on in my mind into something a little more focused. An inward guide, I guess you could say.
Fuck you. My midlife crisis is MINE and no one else's. At least mine's about hash and introspection and not fast cars and loose women.
Hmm.
Anyway, here:
1. I exclusively think in pictures and sounds, never words or numbers or anything else. When I think of disliking someone, I imagine a tincture of sewage and mud spread out through my mind, flies buzzing over it, and occasionally a bubble or two rising to the surface and popping disgustingly, or something at least in symbol reminiscent of that. I've talked to a lot of people who tell me that they think in language or a combination of language and pictures, sometimes sounds, but I've not met anyone yet who thinks entirely without language. I'm very interested in why this is, and where the probably millions of people are who think in the same fashion.
2. My dreams are four dimensional. I used to think everyone's were, but when I go into a lot of detail about a dream to someone else, I have to explain to them that while I'm moving around from place to place in my dream I'm also going backwards and forwards and sideways in time too. Sometimes there's no time at all in one of my dreams, and I experience all of it simultaneously. I never tell anyone about those, because I can never explain them without frustrating myself.
3. My memory is compartmentalized and associated with emotion and geography. There are quite a few things that I can never recall unless I'm feeling the same way I was when I wrote them to my short-term memory, or unless (slighly less often) I'm physically in the same place as I was when it was pushed to short-term memory. I've gotten very good at dropping myself into different emotional states briefly in order to retrieve an important memory (where my keys are, when I paid my cell bill, stuff like that) and then jumping back out again into whatever my natural state is at the time. However, I've never looked in a mirror while doing this and I'm beginning to think my face might do something a bit untoward during a memory retrieval done this way. I get asked what the matter is a lot when I do it in front of someone.
These things are of course only very interesting to me, which is why I've made this post. I feel like I'm showing off a couple of exquisite examples from an enormous collection of glass telephone pole insulators, apologies to E. G. on that one. Still, I have a cold, cracked feeling about my impending midlife crisis, and my aim is to study the map (which I'm currently drawing) carefully before I take even one step forward.
On today, the day of my birth 39 years ago, I have decided to finally make a list of things about myself which I've suspected for a long time are not normal, so that I can start to turn this weird sort of sketch that I've been working on in my mind into something a little more focused. An inward guide, I guess you could say.
Fuck you. My midlife crisis is MINE and no one else's. At least mine's about hash and introspection and not fast cars and loose women.
Hmm.
Anyway, here:
1. I exclusively think in pictures and sounds, never words or numbers or anything else. When I think of disliking someone, I imagine a tincture of sewage and mud spread out through my mind, flies buzzing over it, and occasionally a bubble or two rising to the surface and popping disgustingly, or something at least in symbol reminiscent of that. I've talked to a lot of people who tell me that they think in language or a combination of language and pictures, sometimes sounds, but I've not met anyone yet who thinks entirely without language. I'm very interested in why this is, and where the probably millions of people are who think in the same fashion.
2. My dreams are four dimensional. I used to think everyone's were, but when I go into a lot of detail about a dream to someone else, I have to explain to them that while I'm moving around from place to place in my dream I'm also going backwards and forwards and sideways in time too. Sometimes there's no time at all in one of my dreams, and I experience all of it simultaneously. I never tell anyone about those, because I can never explain them without frustrating myself.
3. My memory is compartmentalized and associated with emotion and geography. There are quite a few things that I can never recall unless I'm feeling the same way I was when I wrote them to my short-term memory, or unless (slighly less often) I'm physically in the same place as I was when it was pushed to short-term memory. I've gotten very good at dropping myself into different emotional states briefly in order to retrieve an important memory (where my keys are, when I paid my cell bill, stuff like that) and then jumping back out again into whatever my natural state is at the time. However, I've never looked in a mirror while doing this and I'm beginning to think my face might do something a bit untoward during a memory retrieval done this way. I get asked what the matter is a lot when I do it in front of someone.
These things are of course only very interesting to me, which is why I've made this post. I feel like I'm showing off a couple of exquisite examples from an enormous collection of glass telephone pole insulators, apologies to E. G. on that one. Still, I have a cold, cracked feeling about my impending midlife crisis, and my aim is to study the map (which I'm currently drawing) carefully before I take even one step forward.
10.23.2008
empty
I didn't think I'd ever feel this way, but then there are a lot of things that have happened in the last few years that I never thought would happen. It's a very long way between an army of good friends and companions to where I am now, and I've been on the path for a long time.
Hindsight is 20/20. You can't see it starting when it starts. I stepped onto this path with the assumption that my friends are my family and that I would always have them, just as a person always has their family--or should, almost no matter what they do or who they are. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? I've always thought that that was how it's supposed to work, but then again I don't have anything to go on there. I divorced almost my entire family when I was a kid.
Tomorrow is my 39th birthday. Yesterday I picked up a big nugget of brown turkish hash as a birthday present to myself. I couldn't smoke the whole thing in a day, let alone a week. I really like bounty though, so seeing a lot of something makes me happy. There's something profoundly sweet about a thing that won't run out for a long time. I've had the sort of life so far where everything is on a timer. There is no permanency anywhere in it. All things to me are transient and temporary, so it's generally best to not get too attached to any of them. I'll attach to some things though; the things that there's an obviously large supply of, such that I have lots of warning before they're gone.
I have no set plans for tomorrow. I had plans a couple of months ago though. I was to go to a day spa with my girlfriend and be treated to relaxation and de-stressing with her. I've been pretty stressed out lately and it was a thoughtful gift. But between then and now my relationship with her detonated, as I truthfully knew from the very beginning it would, and the gift evaporated.
Tomorrow I'll have my hash and omlette in the morning, and coffee, and I'll feed the cats and watch a little morning news. After that I'll probably go sit in the park by the dog run and watch the dogs play for a bit. I'll have to start pretending it's some other day pretty early on, or I'm sure to humiliate myself.
I really don't mind getting older. But as I do year after year, I see fewer and fewer people around me. For a variety of reasons, but mostly because I've been inattentive and distant, I've lost all of the friends I had ten years ago, and most of the ones I had four years ago. And with the loss of a girlfriend/companion and those environs, I'm looking around now and realizing that I've become quite alone.
Who am I typing at?
No one in particular I guess. I just wanted the Universe to know that this year I will not be experiencing a deep embrace from someone I love on my birthday, which is the only thing I ever want on my birthdays. I understand, Universe, that it's my fault. I've made some terrible decisions and stuck with them knowing that they were terrible decisions. I've been pigheaded and short-sighted and quick with judgements.
Everything that's happened has happened as a result of something I've done. I am not a victim here.
I'm just regretful and lonely.
My cat lately has been curling up on my lap and sleeping--which is something she's never done in almost twenty years of life. She's also been vocalizing strangely, in sort of a needy way and staring at me a lot. She's not eating much. I think she's not much longer for this world, and I think spending my 39th birthday with her might finally be a good decision.
Hindsight is 20/20. You can't see it starting when it starts. I stepped onto this path with the assumption that my friends are my family and that I would always have them, just as a person always has their family--or should, almost no matter what they do or who they are. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? I've always thought that that was how it's supposed to work, but then again I don't have anything to go on there. I divorced almost my entire family when I was a kid.
Tomorrow is my 39th birthday. Yesterday I picked up a big nugget of brown turkish hash as a birthday present to myself. I couldn't smoke the whole thing in a day, let alone a week. I really like bounty though, so seeing a lot of something makes me happy. There's something profoundly sweet about a thing that won't run out for a long time. I've had the sort of life so far where everything is on a timer. There is no permanency anywhere in it. All things to me are transient and temporary, so it's generally best to not get too attached to any of them. I'll attach to some things though; the things that there's an obviously large supply of, such that I have lots of warning before they're gone.
I have no set plans for tomorrow. I had plans a couple of months ago though. I was to go to a day spa with my girlfriend and be treated to relaxation and de-stressing with her. I've been pretty stressed out lately and it was a thoughtful gift. But between then and now my relationship with her detonated, as I truthfully knew from the very beginning it would, and the gift evaporated.
Tomorrow I'll have my hash and omlette in the morning, and coffee, and I'll feed the cats and watch a little morning news. After that I'll probably go sit in the park by the dog run and watch the dogs play for a bit. I'll have to start pretending it's some other day pretty early on, or I'm sure to humiliate myself.
I really don't mind getting older. But as I do year after year, I see fewer and fewer people around me. For a variety of reasons, but mostly because I've been inattentive and distant, I've lost all of the friends I had ten years ago, and most of the ones I had four years ago. And with the loss of a girlfriend/companion and those environs, I'm looking around now and realizing that I've become quite alone.
Who am I typing at?
No one in particular I guess. I just wanted the Universe to know that this year I will not be experiencing a deep embrace from someone I love on my birthday, which is the only thing I ever want on my birthdays. I understand, Universe, that it's my fault. I've made some terrible decisions and stuck with them knowing that they were terrible decisions. I've been pigheaded and short-sighted and quick with judgements.
Everything that's happened has happened as a result of something I've done. I am not a victim here.
I'm just regretful and lonely.
My cat lately has been curling up on my lap and sleeping--which is something she's never done in almost twenty years of life. She's also been vocalizing strangely, in sort of a needy way and staring at me a lot. She's not eating much. I think she's not much longer for this world, and I think spending my 39th birthday with her might finally be a good decision.
10.04.2008
I don't hate you all anymore
It's true.
I'm not saying that I love you either. You don't deserve it.
There's a single line from a monologue in a movie that I'm embarrassed to admit that I've seen over seventeen thousand times. Here it is:
"I spy a family"
Two days ago, probably 20 years after I first heard that line, I was sitting in the Ramble in Central park, looking at the boat pond, watching people rowing. Its meaning wound up and punched me right in the throat.
And today I'm beginning to feel a little sick.
I'm not saying that I love you either. You don't deserve it.
There's a single line from a monologue in a movie that I'm embarrassed to admit that I've seen over seventeen thousand times. Here it is:
"I spy a family"
Two days ago, probably 20 years after I first heard that line, I was sitting in the Ramble in Central park, looking at the boat pond, watching people rowing. Its meaning wound up and punched me right in the throat.
And today I'm beginning to feel a little sick.
10.03.2008
Sarah Palin BDSM
From: me
To: a guy I know who produces hardcore BDSM porn
When am I gonna see a chick in Sarah Palin glasses hogtied and choking on cock?
-----
From: a guy I know who produces hardcore BDSM porn
To: me
Weird, we shot it last night. I don't think the glasses really add the "punishment fuck" angle we were going for at all. Tell me what you think.
To: a guy I know who produces hardcore BDSM porn
When am I gonna see a chick in Sarah Palin glasses hogtied and choking on cock?
-----
From: a guy I know who produces hardcore BDSM porn
To: me
Weird, we shot it last night. I don't think the glasses really add the "punishment fuck" angle we were going for at all. Tell me what you think.
If you've found this place...
then you don't need to know the prices.
This is my real blog, which I've just now decided to create as a homage to the last real blog I had, which was a live journal by the name of "luxxx". I tossed up anything I goddamn well felt like in those days, and have regretted it every minute since.
But since I'm quite comfortable (thanks for asking) living in a very small bucket of regret and ennui and also since I've been denying myself the gratification of *really enjoying them* for a number of years, I've decided that I deserve much better. Therefore this blog, where I may wallow in my own leakage unmolested, except by occasionally perceptive comments concerning my sexual orientation.
I've been getting into a lot of anthropomorphilia lately, by the way.
This is my real blog, which I've just now decided to create as a homage to the last real blog I had, which was a live journal by the name of "luxxx". I tossed up anything I goddamn well felt like in those days, and have regretted it every minute since.
But since I'm quite comfortable (thanks for asking) living in a very small bucket of regret and ennui and also since I've been denying myself the gratification of *really enjoying them* for a number of years, I've decided that I deserve much better. Therefore this blog, where I may wallow in my own leakage unmolested, except by occasionally perceptive comments concerning my sexual orientation.
I've been getting into a lot of anthropomorphilia lately, by the way.
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