Its odd, because everythings here. Its all in intervalslight, sound, light, soundyou focus too long it gets black, all except what yr looking at. The music makes yr heart beat into yr throat.
The times here, it ticks by faster, then slower. Faster, then slower. Faster, slower, faster, slower, fasterbut it always comes out even.
Driving with this, maneuvering in any fog is difficult, this is especially bad. You drive slower, but it seems like a reasonable pace20 miles an hour. Ive got movies to return to Blockbuster, and driving there sounds simple enough.
Its cold out, like 38. Ive just bathed, my skin is still damp. I step outside and the air hits my arm and it lights up my fingers.
In the car, I roll down the drivers window half-way and back out of the driveway carefully, slowly.
I get to the first intersection, Im turning left.
No need for a signal, they know where Im going.
Driving feels slow, everything is moving slow, but it feels a reasonable pace20 miles an hour. Not too fast, not too slow.
At twenty, its no problem keeping my eyes on the road, the lights dont blind or distract, theres no one behind meIm keepin it between the lines.
At twenty, my hairs are on end and being tickled by the cold air. I go thru the ghetto, rolling slow, listening to a Mindless Self Indulgence mixIm out inna tick.
I remember Hazel telling Sheila that You dont live there, youre just passing thru. I dont see anything out of the ordinarybesides the obligatory creepy, limping, homeless man with a caneand before I know it, Im in college areaand this is where the weird shit happens.
Either the bars are letting out or the frat boys just ran a train on some drunk sorority girlthe streets are abash with emyelling to one another, walking about it in packs, arms thrown over one anothers shoulder.
I could almost swear one of em kicked my car and called me a fag.
Either way, campus town is ahead, Im almost half-done.
Im not paying attention when the drunk pulls out and almost hits meI had just noticed that I was passing my entrance when I heard the horn and saw the lightsbut the swerve I make, the angle I hit, it takes me 5 minutes to right myself and pull into campus town.
At this point, I notice the cop pulling in behind me, watching me closely.
That drunk put the swine on me.
Now I have to drop the DVDs in the night-box, now I have to get out of the car.
Act sobre, walk casualdont dance, whatever you do, dont dance.
Because when youre acting casual, when youre acting natural, and sobre, and perfectly not-high in any illegal way, the last thing you wanna do is dance. Thatll surely set em on ya.
But every step I take, it feels more and more that Im wearing platform shoes. Before I know it, I feel myself bouncing.
I drop the movies in the slot and bounce back to my car. As I pull out, the cop pulls out.
I can feel the swine crawling up my back and I start feeling twitchy.
I pull onto Moss Ave and the cop pulls right behind me. Im feeling faster, Im going 40 in a thirty. In a residential area. In an upper middle class residential area. The cars on my right, if I scratch one, Im dead.
Ive got four blocks on the cop, but if he was ever to catch up with me it was at the light.
I hit it and seconds later its green.
I pull onto Western, then turn onto MLK. Behind me, the car thats been following me, it goes straight. And as it passes, I see that its a black something or other. Not a cop car.
I wrote this Saturday night, a little buzzed (I went back and corrected the MOST repetitious bits, the most glaring examples of my not-rightedness).
Other notes that I hurried down whilst not right:
The more I watch commercials stoned, the more I notice the food commercials are tailor-made for stoned viewers.
Enter your filling in the center cavity! Riii-ight. *giggle-giggle*
The Betty Crocker cake-pan-set-thingie seems a brilliant invention.
I dont want what I cant haveits easier that way.
Thats it. Also some stuff about watching Requiem For a Dream and doing nothing lately.
The ten bucks I gave to AJ last week, Ill be getting another bag Thursday. I dunno if I want it or not.
Its been a while since Ive had weed of my own. Since I actually bought it and had it for personal use whenever I wanted to use it personally.
Weed fucks my habits up. This is my typical regimen whilst smoking:
Get up, 230pm, take a hit. Sobre up a bit, go to work 4ish. Get home 9ish, smoke a bowl or two. Sobre up a bit, take a hit, hang out with Greg at midnight, home by five or six am. Smoke a bowl, asleep by 7am at the latest (Monday and Tuesday).
Get home from work at 9ish, smoke a bowl, over to Gueys by 11. Back home by 3amsmoke a bowl or two, asleep by 5-6am (Wednesday and Thursday).
Friday, wake up by 5pm, smoke a couple hitters, find a sandwich, eat it. Sobre up a bit, get high again. Maybe catch a nap. Go to Ss, hang out till he goes to work, come back home and get high again. And sleep. Before 3am.
My Saturday schedule would have prolly been the same, but other things came up. I smoked a hitter before noon, but was back straight by whenever. Seven-ish, stoned again. Midnight, finished the bag off. 1am, drove to Blockbuster, came back, wrote the stuff abovefell asleep before I posted it.
Or, maybe I finished the bag off Sunday. I cant remember.
Js giving talk about quitting. Last week he was talking about how much hes looking forward to his new supervisors position. His quitting talk has put me on edgemy job would be unbearable without Jerry.
So, job change for me.
Security Guard has a certain appeal to it.
I can prolly get in at the place I work now, UIC.
Itd be a state job which means brilliant job security, benefits, and nine-plus-bucks an hour.
Third shift, even. Midnight to eight am. More money, less workId be able to edit and work on other such shite whilst Working.
Id need a laptop, thoughsomething super-duper powerful (Consult Guey, Sammy, and Miles on this).
Need to talk to Steev and Greg about it before I start planning anything.
How am I less of a man because I dont pay for affection?
Im gonna ask that again: How I am LESS of a man because I refuse to pay for affection?
Because Im not desperate enough to pay for someone to ACT LIKE theyre interested in me?
I dont see how my manhood is in question simply because I feel no need to pay a female for either her attention or affection.
How is my manhood in question? It might be because my position threatens my attackersmy detractorsmanhood.
My very existence is an affront to their way of life.
A bit dramatic, no?
I have a reoccurring nightmare about driving around and being caught in a tornado.
From the fifth floor I schedule my meeting with the moon
Stress, let it go so it don't completely consume
When the vegetables bite back, and the grass starts to sting
I yell up to heaven to get me the hell out of this dream
I fell out of my stream of self-consciousness
And I got welts on my mind to signify all my accomplishments
No matter whose math you use to count the dead
Progress will never rest, in the hand that has no head
Bought my brain a cane and asked it to be my pimp
You know, to make sure I don't get stuck up in my fuck ups
A little overanxious I was, to bust nuts
And find the answers making love
Out of a canvas full of touch-ups
I dip my brush into what I've wept for
And wonder out loud as I can, how long I've slept for
I should rob a pet store, let the dogs wild
I should close all the schools just to make the kids smile
Sieze the limit, let the sky be the moment
Put the key to the ignition, I'ma ride these donuts
And when it breaks, lock the door, walk away
Won't be nothin else to talk about, nothin else to say
**UPDATE**
Talked to Greg tonight, theres a goodGOOOOOOOOODchance that Id get the position if it ever became available. Still need to talk to Steev about ithes the guy in charge. Im in good with both Steev and Greg, and Greg said that if Steev wanted me in, theres a brilliant chance that Id get in. So good.
Only snag, really, is Id work weekends Id get, like, fucking, Wednesday and Thursday off. Damnit.
The times here, it ticks by faster, then slower. Faster, then slower. Faster, slower, faster, slower, fasterbut it always comes out even.
Driving with this, maneuvering in any fog is difficult, this is especially bad. You drive slower, but it seems like a reasonable pace20 miles an hour. Ive got movies to return to Blockbuster, and driving there sounds simple enough.
Its cold out, like 38. Ive just bathed, my skin is still damp. I step outside and the air hits my arm and it lights up my fingers.
In the car, I roll down the drivers window half-way and back out of the driveway carefully, slowly.
I get to the first intersection, Im turning left.
No need for a signal, they know where Im going.
Driving feels slow, everything is moving slow, but it feels a reasonable pace20 miles an hour. Not too fast, not too slow.
At twenty, its no problem keeping my eyes on the road, the lights dont blind or distract, theres no one behind meIm keepin it between the lines.
At twenty, my hairs are on end and being tickled by the cold air. I go thru the ghetto, rolling slow, listening to a Mindless Self Indulgence mixIm out inna tick.
I remember Hazel telling Sheila that You dont live there, youre just passing thru. I dont see anything out of the ordinarybesides the obligatory creepy, limping, homeless man with a caneand before I know it, Im in college areaand this is where the weird shit happens.
Either the bars are letting out or the frat boys just ran a train on some drunk sorority girlthe streets are abash with emyelling to one another, walking about it in packs, arms thrown over one anothers shoulder.
I could almost swear one of em kicked my car and called me a fag.
Either way, campus town is ahead, Im almost half-done.
Im not paying attention when the drunk pulls out and almost hits meI had just noticed that I was passing my entrance when I heard the horn and saw the lightsbut the swerve I make, the angle I hit, it takes me 5 minutes to right myself and pull into campus town.
At this point, I notice the cop pulling in behind me, watching me closely.
That drunk put the swine on me.
Now I have to drop the DVDs in the night-box, now I have to get out of the car.
Act sobre, walk casualdont dance, whatever you do, dont dance.
Because when youre acting casual, when youre acting natural, and sobre, and perfectly not-high in any illegal way, the last thing you wanna do is dance. Thatll surely set em on ya.
But every step I take, it feels more and more that Im wearing platform shoes. Before I know it, I feel myself bouncing.
I drop the movies in the slot and bounce back to my car. As I pull out, the cop pulls out.
I can feel the swine crawling up my back and I start feeling twitchy.
I pull onto Moss Ave and the cop pulls right behind me. Im feeling faster, Im going 40 in a thirty. In a residential area. In an upper middle class residential area. The cars on my right, if I scratch one, Im dead.
Ive got four blocks on the cop, but if he was ever to catch up with me it was at the light.
I hit it and seconds later its green.
I pull onto Western, then turn onto MLK. Behind me, the car thats been following me, it goes straight. And as it passes, I see that its a black something or other. Not a cop car.
I wrote this Saturday night, a little buzzed (I went back and corrected the MOST repetitious bits, the most glaring examples of my not-rightedness).
Other notes that I hurried down whilst not right:
The more I watch commercials stoned, the more I notice the food commercials are tailor-made for stoned viewers.
Enter your filling in the center cavity! Riii-ight. *giggle-giggle*
The Betty Crocker cake-pan-set-thingie seems a brilliant invention.
I dont want what I cant haveits easier that way.
Thats it. Also some stuff about watching Requiem For a Dream and doing nothing lately.
The ten bucks I gave to AJ last week, Ill be getting another bag Thursday. I dunno if I want it or not.
Its been a while since Ive had weed of my own. Since I actually bought it and had it for personal use whenever I wanted to use it personally.
Weed fucks my habits up. This is my typical regimen whilst smoking:
Get up, 230pm, take a hit. Sobre up a bit, go to work 4ish. Get home 9ish, smoke a bowl or two. Sobre up a bit, take a hit, hang out with Greg at midnight, home by five or six am. Smoke a bowl, asleep by 7am at the latest (Monday and Tuesday).
Get home from work at 9ish, smoke a bowl, over to Gueys by 11. Back home by 3amsmoke a bowl or two, asleep by 5-6am (Wednesday and Thursday).
Friday, wake up by 5pm, smoke a couple hitters, find a sandwich, eat it. Sobre up a bit, get high again. Maybe catch a nap. Go to Ss, hang out till he goes to work, come back home and get high again. And sleep. Before 3am.
My Saturday schedule would have prolly been the same, but other things came up. I smoked a hitter before noon, but was back straight by whenever. Seven-ish, stoned again. Midnight, finished the bag off. 1am, drove to Blockbuster, came back, wrote the stuff abovefell asleep before I posted it.
Or, maybe I finished the bag off Sunday. I cant remember.
Js giving talk about quitting. Last week he was talking about how much hes looking forward to his new supervisors position. His quitting talk has put me on edgemy job would be unbearable without Jerry.
So, job change for me.
Security Guard has a certain appeal to it.
I can prolly get in at the place I work now, UIC.
Itd be a state job which means brilliant job security, benefits, and nine-plus-bucks an hour.
Third shift, even. Midnight to eight am. More money, less workId be able to edit and work on other such shite whilst Working.
Id need a laptop, thoughsomething super-duper powerful (Consult Guey, Sammy, and Miles on this).
Need to talk to Steev and Greg about it before I start planning anything.
How am I less of a man because I dont pay for affection?
Im gonna ask that again: How I am LESS of a man because I refuse to pay for affection?
Because Im not desperate enough to pay for someone to ACT LIKE theyre interested in me?
I dont see how my manhood is in question simply because I feel no need to pay a female for either her attention or affection.
How is my manhood in question? It might be because my position threatens my attackersmy detractorsmanhood.
My very existence is an affront to their way of life.
A bit dramatic, no?
I have a reoccurring nightmare about driving around and being caught in a tornado.
From the fifth floor I schedule my meeting with the moon
Stress, let it go so it don't completely consume
When the vegetables bite back, and the grass starts to sting
I yell up to heaven to get me the hell out of this dream
I fell out of my stream of self-consciousness
And I got welts on my mind to signify all my accomplishments
No matter whose math you use to count the dead
Progress will never rest, in the hand that has no head
Bought my brain a cane and asked it to be my pimp
You know, to make sure I don't get stuck up in my fuck ups
A little overanxious I was, to bust nuts
And find the answers making love
Out of a canvas full of touch-ups
I dip my brush into what I've wept for
And wonder out loud as I can, how long I've slept for
I should rob a pet store, let the dogs wild
I should close all the schools just to make the kids smile
Sieze the limit, let the sky be the moment
Put the key to the ignition, I'ma ride these donuts
And when it breaks, lock the door, walk away
Won't be nothin else to talk about, nothin else to say
**UPDATE**
Talked to Greg tonight, theres a goodGOOOOOOOOODchance that Id get the position if it ever became available. Still need to talk to Steev about ithes the guy in charge. Im in good with both Steev and Greg, and Greg said that if Steev wanted me in, theres a brilliant chance that Id get in. So good.
Only snag, really, is Id work weekends Id get, like, fucking, Wednesday and Thursday off. Damnit.
I am always facinated with comercials their so crazy