Well...
It's Day 3 of my exile in Fort Lauderdale. I'm working, sort of, at my Dad's grocery store; about 12 hours a day. I screw around on the computer. This is a dreadful business to be in. But I get to eat all the free filippino food I can stand.
It's Day 3 of my exile in Fort Lauderdale. I'm working, sort of, at my Dad's grocery store; about 12 hours a day. I screw around on the computer. This is a dreadful business to be in. But I get to eat all the free filippino food I can stand.
~ CHAPTER 103.7 ~
"Cowboy Mike revisted"
In addition to being somewhat obsessive-compulsive, I am a model procrastinator. Which means I'm totally dedicated to doing shit at the very last minute. This is a condition I had to grow into. At six years old, I often collapsed on the floor in foaming-at-the-mouth discombobulation if faced with too many choices.
I figured out how to recognize (other) crazy people when I was very young. Confrontation between loonies sometimes has a sobering effect on at least one of the parties involved. However, all rules go out the window when multiple nutcases from the same family put their heads together.
None of this has anything to do with Cowboy Mike. Cowboy Mike isn't really crazy, per se. He's merely the ultimate cracker and, unfortunately (depending on how you look at it), he's the closest thing my Uncle Donkey Kong has to an actual friend. Uncle Donkey Kong isn't crazy, either. He's certainly out of touch with the nuances of reality, though. Together they are enablers, pushing each other to new heights of psycho-fucking-babble. I'm compelled to stoop down and gasp for fresh air near the floor when trapped in their combined presence.
Tonight, I was witness to their analysis of the new immigration law. Wisely, I held my tongue. I may have been just too road weary to protest anything that was said. At some point, Uncle Donkey Kong excused himself. Perhaps the spirit of the moment inspired a massive dump. I was left alone at the kitchen table with my former employer. There's always one more story to tell, apparently. And tell it he did. It was rubbish.
When it was over and done with, Cowboy Mike was unusually cordial to me when he took his leave. Almost as if he were grateful to me for hearing him out. And for a brief moment, there was some sort of clarity.
"Cowboy Mike revisted"
In addition to being somewhat obsessive-compulsive, I am a model procrastinator. Which means I'm totally dedicated to doing shit at the very last minute. This is a condition I had to grow into. At six years old, I often collapsed on the floor in foaming-at-the-mouth discombobulation if faced with too many choices.
I figured out how to recognize (other) crazy people when I was very young. Confrontation between loonies sometimes has a sobering effect on at least one of the parties involved. However, all rules go out the window when multiple nutcases from the same family put their heads together.
None of this has anything to do with Cowboy Mike. Cowboy Mike isn't really crazy, per se. He's merely the ultimate cracker and, unfortunately (depending on how you look at it), he's the closest thing my Uncle Donkey Kong has to an actual friend. Uncle Donkey Kong isn't crazy, either. He's certainly out of touch with the nuances of reality, though. Together they are enablers, pushing each other to new heights of psycho-fucking-babble. I'm compelled to stoop down and gasp for fresh air near the floor when trapped in their combined presence.
Tonight, I was witness to their analysis of the new immigration law. Wisely, I held my tongue. I may have been just too road weary to protest anything that was said. At some point, Uncle Donkey Kong excused himself. Perhaps the spirit of the moment inspired a massive dump. I was left alone at the kitchen table with my former employer. There's always one more story to tell, apparently. And tell it he did. It was rubbish.
When it was over and done with, Cowboy Mike was unusually cordial to me when he took his leave. Almost as if he were grateful to me for hearing him out. And for a brief moment, there was some sort of clarity.
Hey kids.
Well, it's taken a while but it looks like I'll finally be headed to Florida, I booked a flight for the 10th. I'm ignoring the voice in my head that tells me it's a bad idea. But I need a change of scenery.
Well, it's taken a while but it looks like I'll finally be headed to Florida, I booked a flight for the 10th. I'm ignoring the voice in my head that tells me it's a bad idea. But I need a change of scenery.
I have ... arrived.
Well, actually, no. But - by the time anyone gets around to reading this, and who the hell knows when that could be, I probably will have ... arrived. I will have arrived, in ... some kind of ridiculous La-La Land of my own design. Nevertheless, I anticipate arriving ... wherever, let's just call it an unspecified state of being from here on out, will be better than where I've been. 'Cause, at heart I'm an optimist.
I understand how this could seem like bullshit. You could be accustomed to dealing with liars and ne'er-do-wells on a daily basis - on the internet anyway. But - I hate the internet. I really do. I wish I'd never gotten hooked on it. And I'm also ... naive, I can admit that. I am given to trusting complete strangers at their word. Uh, now I'm not being an optimist, am I?
Duality is not a pretty thing. Neither is anal seepage. I have arrived at the conclusion that duality leads to indigestion which leads to things coming out ... unexpectedly. Yes. I ... arrived at that just now. Urgh.
Well, actually, no. But - by the time anyone gets around to reading this, and who the hell knows when that could be, I probably will have ... arrived. I will have arrived, in ... some kind of ridiculous La-La Land of my own design. Nevertheless, I anticipate arriving ... wherever, let's just call it an unspecified state of being from here on out, will be better than where I've been. 'Cause, at heart I'm an optimist.
I understand how this could seem like bullshit. You could be accustomed to dealing with liars and ne'er-do-wells on a daily basis - on the internet anyway. But - I hate the internet. I really do. I wish I'd never gotten hooked on it. And I'm also ... naive, I can admit that. I am given to trusting complete strangers at their word. Uh, now I'm not being an optimist, am I?
Duality is not a pretty thing. Neither is anal seepage. I have arrived at the conclusion that duality leads to indigestion which leads to things coming out ... unexpectedly. Yes. I ... arrived at that just now. Urgh.
My 40th birthday is not too far off, and I'm not really bothered by it. In the past, getting older was always a subject of despair and neurotic immolation, with a bit of intoxicated ranting and drooling thrown in for good measure. Now, for reasons I don't care to analyze, I'm at near total peace with myself.
If there is one lesson in life I'd like to impart upon the more youthful of you, it is this :
Try not to take anything personally.
If there is one lesson in life I'd like to impart upon the more youthful of you, it is this :
Try not to take anything personally.
I just received some distressing news from back home... an acquaintance from ASU shot herself at her mother's home in El Paso last weekend. She'd been in a deep depression for several months. Apparently, it was a condition she'd struggled with for a significant portion of her life. She was only 23. There were some who saw this coming, including myself, but it's still a terrible shock.
All in all, Stockton was actually kind of nice, but there wasn't shit to do. So, out of boredom, I trekked to Sacramento where I did a bit of sightseeing. That lasted about an hour. Strangely, I didn't encounter a single living soul all day long (which was also kind of nice). Eventually I found my way down to the river and smoked a joint. I skipped some stones (badly), pissed in the water (which was hard to miss), and tried to commune with the Cuckoos (who had a "locals only" kind of an attitude).
I think I've had my fill of the place.
I think I've had my fill of the place.
Howsitgoin?
I'm in Lodi, California - you're not missing much.
Generally speaking, the scenery is lovely; then again, I'm from the desert. I have a thing for trees.
White women won't give me the time of day (no surprise there). The rednecks are a bit like the ones back home. The stoners here are altogether different, though. I bought some chronic from a kid with a tie-dye yarmulke. See? Different. Chronic is scarce in Arizona. Oh yeah, jewish hippies, too.
Later this week I'm driving to Stockton (Boring).
I'm in Lodi, California - you're not missing much.
Generally speaking, the scenery is lovely; then again, I'm from the desert. I have a thing for trees.
White women won't give me the time of day (no surprise there). The rednecks are a bit like the ones back home. The stoners here are altogether different, though. I bought some chronic from a kid with a tie-dye yarmulke. See? Different. Chronic is scarce in Arizona. Oh yeah, jewish hippies, too.
Later this week I'm driving to Stockton (Boring).
Spring has sprung in the bush. Here, It's bright enough to burn you and cool enough to shiver in the shade; nearly everything is green and invariably sweet-smelling. It is so damn beautiful my eyes are watering as I write this. Life, in forms that I don't even want to imagine, erupts from the desert floor in all its nauseating glory. I like to think it's eternal somehow. Nirvana for little birds. Like mental butter for english muffins on the spiritual plane.
I'm dragging my feet on the Florida move. Any sense of urgency has dissipated, I figured out there weren't as many strings tying me down here as I thought. My connections are purely sentimental. The last thing to figure out is the insurance situation. On the guitar nut front, I arranged to have my new Marshall Class 5 ( the delivery of which I'd been awaiting since early November) shipped to my Dad's in Ft. Lauderdale. So now I have to go.
I'm dragging my feet on the Florida move. Any sense of urgency has dissipated, I figured out there weren't as many strings tying me down here as I thought. My connections are purely sentimental. The last thing to figure out is the insurance situation. On the guitar nut front, I arranged to have my new Marshall Class 5 ( the delivery of which I'd been awaiting since early November) shipped to my Dad's in Ft. Lauderdale. So now I have to go.
