People Come And People Leave I Know!
Monday, July 27

Tk took me by the gym today to tour around and get a feel for the place. I'm thinking about signing up soon. I can't live in this husk anymore and there's much envy for the hermit crab right now. "Fuck this shit, this one's better." I've gotta get in situ, fix THIS and keep everything else the same. Someone said something really smart to me, "You know, PT would probably help that." PT being physical training and this in reference to why I'm so damn on edge in public. I'm so uncomfortable in my own body that I don't want anyone else to interfere with it. They might mess something up and ruin the "illusion" of normalcy. Can't draw attention, oh no, I've put too much work into this illusory demonstration that I can't have some rogue poke or prod ruin it all and shake me up.

You have your mother threaten, no - insinuate, that she is going to leave the family and it'll make you so mad that you want to burn the fucking world down and start over. I can't be a kid when the adult who taught me to be an adult is acting like a kid. Nonsense. There are two things you should never find yourself arguing with: kids and women. Tangential mudslinging, irrationality, tears. That's the breaks, but that's how it works. My father is 13 years older and totally holding his shit together. He never went crazy, he never lost his pieces and threatened to abandon the family. Why is that do you think? Because men don't get menopause and that's the fucking truth.

MAN GOING THROUGH MIDLIFE CRISIS: "Baby, I NEED this motorcycle. It makes me feel young again."

WOMAN GOING THROUGH MIDLIFE CRISIS: "NOBODY RESPECTS ME OR LOVES ME OR CARES ABOUT ME. ME ME ME ME ME. I'M GOING TO ABANDON THE FAMILY BECAUSE EVERYONE'S TAKING ME FOR GRANTED!"

Baaaaawwwwwww. Fuck. We get it. You can't have babies anymore so you feel old, ugly, and worthless. Shit sucks. Get a hobby. Work on being a decent PERSON. Are youth, beauty and fertility the only things worth living for? Apparently in "The Dungeon" they are.

Women with Middle-Aged Bitterness will forever remain the cancer that is killing the logical world.

 

She Gonna Be Rolling All Night?
Sunday, July 26

As you may have noticed by now, there is a GIANT GOD DAMN THING to the left here. This is my Twidget. It's a Pokeman. I don't know what it does, what it's weaknesses are or why it won't eat anything that I give it. It shows my "tweets". Goddammit I hate that word. Like "blog". Guuuuuughh. Makes my anus spasm. So if you don't use Twitter or you check back here to see if I've updated then you can get a general sense of what's going on. I assure you, most of them are stupid and sincerely ignoble.

Have I worked on Death Face? I think I wrote two lines, maybe. I came up with a great one this morning in the bathroom. Isaac turns to Nixon as they both remark at the destruction they've caused and Isaac calls it a "wildfire". "We're a wildfire, mate, devastating yet crucial to our natural habitat. Wildfires clear the weak and pave the way for stronger growth." I love the line. A bit scienc-y, and I could trim it up so that it sounds more in dialect but it's a great premise. He's a cosmicist, just another group of atoms and molecules crashing into one another. No different than anything else. I want people to pick this up, I want them to adopt this philosophy. To hell with this god nonsense, placing all your ignorance in the Faith Fund. Pick up a book, take something apart, question the fucking system. Find out what it's up to, where it's going, how you can make it stronger or how you can exploit those weaknesses. Integrate, assimilate, associate, desecrate.

Hoo-Rah.

Anyway, here is some shit that is seriously fucking funny that'll make you smash your god damn face. I hope they make you as happy as they made me.

 

Yeah, To The Crest.
Thursday, July 23

If this time capsule weren't set in place I would have no recollection of how this booming drum of dread sounds to me right now. Birthday is on the horizon, I'm probably going bald, life is cycling around me, why can't I make it stop? It should be a crime against nature for a human being to recognize the persistence of time. Our short bursts of life, the indolent crackle behind the pinholes in the blackness of space, are infinitely small within the vastness and we should never come to know that. Animals know nothing of their looming futures. We are not but unlucky animals.

This shudderingly bleak notion to the ignorant that religion is not only a right but a refrigerator magnet to live and die by nauseates the rational peoples of this world. I can't think of anything that infuriates us more than to hear a teenager refuse to abort because it would be wrong in the eyes of god. The joke is on the human race. A generation of malnourished children raised by children will march into this world with the understanding that their role models are only role models because they made a mistake. What a great precedent to welcome an infant onto the Earth with. "I hope to raise you right. I believe that I've gathered enough information and understanding of responsibility in my mere eighteen years of life that I can imbue in you a true sense of understanding with this world." Are their lives so worthless that they have to spend the majority of it trying to create one that isn't? There's no god in this. Children need resources and most importantly; icons who have faced the elements and harshed the worst of the world. God isn't raising that child you fucking primate, you are.

I will not understand the disrespect the religious have for the Earth as a whole. Making abortion illegal is plainly, one of the dumbest jokes I've ever heard and not making abortion CIRCUMSTANTIALLY MANDATORY is the second dumbest. Disagreeing with that is further evidence that moral delusion leafs all aspects of understanding. Even the simplest.

Now to vent hatred with bullets and philosophy.

 

Poison In The Juice Carafe.
Thursday, July 16

Wrongfully so, I just downloaded the leak for "No One's First and You're Next". Well, maybe not necessarily wrong since I won't be sharing said album, I'll be too busy listening to it on loop for the next two years. Or until MM releases an LP. Man, the money I would pay and the blood I would spill for a way to fast forward to that world. No more mom shit, no more melancholic drifting through the ether that holds these molecules. I want to stand, braced, behind a wall of glass and watch the world speed by, change, fall apart and then abruptly stop on the release date of the next album. I would stow away in the gut of a cargo ship set to sail and drown with Modest Mouse letting me know that SOMETHING in this world is flawless. Brilliant without yield. Like the glitter of an ocean beach built from the dust of diamonds instead of sand. Sunlight crackling like sparks from the reflections and bouncing off and on the waves.

I've got a knack for seeing things bleakly, like I'm looking through the scratches in an old window, painted over. I've been sick to my stomach for four straight days.

In Buffalo Wild Wings of all places, a friend of mine named Chris invited me to join him and his friend Joe for beers and appetizers. I invited along Scott since I'm more comfortable with backup. Soon this two-dollar pint night turned in to one of the most richly layered conversations of theology, philosophy, religion and the foundations of the universe. Something that Wally and Andre would've been proud of. There was honestly not an inch of ground not touched upon, the ground was so damn covered, in fact, that we stretched the colloquy out into the cosmos and onwards to the scraping, crawling edges of all that ever will be. These were sane, well versed, profound men and we were having such prismatic dialogue that you were left with the daunting conception that the we personally accept whatever theory makes us feel like waking up the next morning. Chris favored the Men In Black understanding, the universe is both infinitely small and infinitely large in comparison to the neighboring bodies within and beyond a far greater plane of reality and that were just point along this whole thing. Be it at the beginning, the end, or somewhere randomly throughout. Scott prefers a world where our purpose, even if accidental, was still the product and responsibility of a separate entity (possibly alien) somewhere in either the future or the past. I prefer the universe where there is no time and that everything simply exists at the same time, just another place. The Plate. We're a coil of sequential celluloid amassed upon a plate, time being merely a format for us to understand our stages, phases and progress. We are merely a fraction of an infinite spectrum of light and each color and it's singularly dimensional representations of shade are planes of existence. In this moment, at the exact point you realize that you're realizing there is a neighboring dimension of existence between you. Between your atoms, within the powerful, universe founding resonance of energy.

Oh yeah, Futurama. Modest Mouse and Futurama are always there to protect me.

 

You'd Be Home.
Tuesday, July 14

If you aren't extremely careful, and happen to have a hideously short attention span, you will start a Google search for indietronica and end up on the Wikipedia entry for Risky Business. Now this is something I have to live with, I actually read that fucking thing. I've never even seen Risky Business. That damn movie has something to do with transvestites and crystal eggs? What the fuck? The real ending was supposed to be him getting accepted to Princeton? They refer to this ending as the bummer ending? What the fuck? This is why I never watched it. I'm now completely concrete in my judgement that Risky Business does not possess the credibility required for me to watch it.

If you aren't extremely careful, and happen to have a hideously short attention span, you will start an entry about how you accidentally wandered onto the Risky Business wiki and then write elaborately about the thing you wanted to avoid reading about in the first place. Then you'll want to scream and piss in a McDonald's. Just because you want to be as angry and upset as possible.

The before mentioned careless person probably also wasted a lot of time watching internet videos at work. Oh yeah, one of the Mobile guys came up to me and handed me a customer with an iPhone e-mail problem. Her Yahoo! wasn't sending mail. And, no, that is not a sex joke (but seriously what would a girl's yahoo sending mail even look like?). So I talked to her a bit about the iPhone mail client and deleted the account so I could recreate it. Everything seemed to be in working order, all she needed to do was test it by sending a picture through e-mail. So she backs away from the counter a bit and starts scrolling through pictures and says, "Hmm, to test it I could send you one of the pictures I sent my ex. Heh." I just smiled awkwardly and kinda "Heh"'d back at her. Finally she found one that she wanted to send and sent it to my e-mail. This is probably where she should've said, "I didn't actually send you a nude photo of myself. That was a joke." because then I kinda tilted my phone away from other customers waiting in line and kept hitting refresh. How am I supposed to know? Fuck. Maybe this crazy bitch was trying to get "nudely" involved. Ding. I had one new message, and what do you know, it's from Natmar. Let's take a look shall we?

Why Natmar, you dirty girl, you look A LOT LIKE A PIECE OF CHOCOLATE FUCKING CAKE.

I was totally believing that this nut was going to send me a naked picture of herself before I had a chance to say, "Uh, kid, that's not a good idea."

"Mail works. Good job. See ya later."

You don't threaten n00dz if you ain't happenin' with the n00dz, ya hear? Whatever with you woman.

I hope that I can get back as strongly as before with Death Face. I have almost twenty minutes written already and this was something that just poured out of a general idea. Things just kept getting better and better and better. I've got a theme, I've got an ending, I've got chapters and tension. I guess the script would be pitched as an action movie, which 70 percent of it is. The dialogue is what's important however. If people want to see it just because some stuff blows up, then good for them. They get a healthy dose of that as well. The pulp is what I want to be admired, the reasoning and sense of personal justice. It's catharsis. These three men are hell bent on teaching these people a lesson in fear. Nothing is accomplished without fear. Children went to bed at night, went to school the next morning all because there was this "God" hanging over there heads threatening to destroy them with a flick of the finger were they to stray from the path. When the children lost their God, the men who created God created the Devil. Now there was a response to either reaction. People need this, and now we live in an age of growing antitheism. God's been out of the picture for far too long and people aren't thinking up things to be afraid of as fast as we can think up ways of destroying these things that scare us. So you need something real now. No more gods, no more hell, no more imaginary diseases and unexploded atomic bombs. These guys are going to take something ordinary, a Plymouth Duster and enough ammunition to put down an army and they're going to speed across country over 48 hours and they're going to wreck the place up. The police can't stop them because the police have been outsmarted. The world will wake up two days later and realize that someone got away with it. That this person may still be out there and people just like him. There will be real change, real revolution, real victory. A life of tv sedation and drowsiness from side effects will be far over.

More picture fun!

HULKOMANIA!

Why wasn't this the six-letter word to win the game?

 

Now Pet Her Feet.
Monday, July 13

I'm making a promise to myself, right now. I promise that if I ever have children I will only have them with one intention in mind, to inform them of and invest in them the time I've spent here on Earth. People are their own entities and their own forces for which to reckon. All they need are the resources required to grow and then they must be set free to burn in the Earth their own path. Knowing and understanding this is the only reasoning I have to procreate. I have no religion, so it is not expected of me. I have no expectations, so it is not required by me. I have no requirements, so it is not important to me. One's legacy is defined by their own actions and their own words here. If you were not pertinent enough, profound enough, then you and your memory will perish. It does not and has not ever mattered as to how many children you have, just as you know nothing of your great-grandfather, your great grandchildren will know nothing of you. We must stop seeing children as vessels and life rafts. There was a time where people were most likely going to perish without a trace and that time has passed, we are in a far grander age now. We can communicate with every end and every alley of the Earth with ease and simplicity. We no longer have to reach and hope for the best, we can now effectively grasp that which we aim to have. The hard part is over, the work has been done for us. This is where we take our time and savor the bountiful details riddled within each splendorous drop of life. Children can't be forced to grow up just because we don't want to take the time to step them through it. Let them know what needs to be done, show them how those things being accomplished is why they're standing before you today. Make life seem important! Make life sound interesting and worth living! There are no rules to your life, just an understanding instilled in you by your parents that this is the only chance you have to get things right. We're alive for the first, the last, the only time and it's hard to remember that our lives are such a long time. It's even harder to remember that our lives are such a short time. With so many people, we're running out of space. The least we can do is give them the room to grow.

Just gotta keep my head on what's important. She'll die alone, broken and sad. There's no greater revenge than that, there honestly isn't. She'll have burned up all the respect any of us had for her and, being a stupid person, will remain steadfast in her resolve. Even faced with the obvious perils of treating your offspring like they're less than human, she continues to believe that this is what she needs to do. There is no cure for being a terrible person, no solution to lack of self worth. Only vengeance through the jealousy that you feel to see those around you being happy. Why do I have to live with this? What am I asking? There is no why. Nothing has a why. Only the rapid exchange of molecules and the transfer of valence electrons drive this rock through space. These thoughts and feelings have been felt before, they've churned for ages. Even if man changes the face of it all, it still rests stretched over a grinning hollow skull. People are the same aren't they? Oh man that hurts to realize. I'm wasting my life trying to understand something that doesn't know it doesn't make any sense.

 

Fuck, Housekeeping Drank My Ginger Ale.
Tuesday, July 07

All I was doing was blowing bubbles in my iced tea. That's what I remember the most. There was a sudden moment of dread and delirium that started to churn at the base of my neck and I kept thinking about jolting up from my seat and burying my fucking steak knife into the chest of the guy behind me. Some slightly older-than-middle-aged balding redneck dipshit. The kind of guy who thinks everyone else is an asshole when in reality it's just his own raging asshole eminence that he's reading. The one with an ugly wife and a risky paycheck who really doesn't belong in a nice steak and seafood restaurant like this one. He kept eyeballing me when I was sitting on the other side of the table. So much so that I finally stared back and locked eyes with the scalpy limp-dick until he lowered that cro-magnon forehead of his and went back to "reading" his menu. There weren't any pictures so I'm pretty sure he blurted out "Chicken Fingers" when the waiter came back around. Anyway, this shit bubble stared at me so much that I was almost absolutely certain that he was going to ask me out. I could see it happening at any moment, he was going to look down at his silverware and smile to himself trying to psyche his own body into letting it happen. On the count of three he was going to get up, lumber over to my table, extend his hand and say "Hi, my name is Captain Cocksucker and I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining me on the high seas of gaydom." Just to avoid some kind of coming-out-of-the-closet freshman rejection embarrassment I swapped sides of the table and tried to keep my body language at a "red threat" level, steering that cold shoulder. Anyway, my fingers were itching and the constant string of thought; "Would anyone really miss him? Could I say it was self defense? How long do they keep you if you plead insanity." kept running through my head.

The evening ended with my brother calling the guy's wife a fat-ass.

WHY can't I be a mutant? The only power I would want or need is reality altering capabilities. Kinda like Scarlet Witch, just turn it on and off at will. Someone sneers or aggravates the shit out of me, deader than shredder. Nobody's tough when you cave in their skull with a pipe wrench. Then, watch in amazement as the world falls apart around me when the sheep recognize the wolf in their midsts. Gets too hairy? I'll piece back together the way it was before the wrench and break the guy's legs with my mind or something. Make it so he gets a call the next day from his doctor, the results are back, you've got AIDS or anal cancer.

Everyone needs an ass-kicking to clean them up. That guy would have been straight laced for the rest of his life were I to bring the hammer down on his ass out in the parking lot. Put a gun in his mouth and make him suck it like a dick, do you insult random strangers ever again? Someone makes you give a gun a blowjob ONCE and the next week you're a librarian helping some kid find out more information on ancient Aztec culture.

Fuck that dude, his wife WAS fat.

 

Okay, What Was My Number?
Wednesday, July 03

Nightmares, are uncontrollable scenarios invented by your mind to take advantage of a select group of fears. The situations all go wrong immediately and there's a looming sense of dread until you wake up and are comforted by the sights and smells of reality. So, for one to say that they had been through a living nightmare they mean that they were present throughout an uncontrollable situation that turned terrible immediately and separated them from reality for the duration. That is exactly how I would describe the events that unfolded immediately after I woke up.

What I can recall first is how awesome this dream was that I was having. I always dream but it's about the mundane, so it's quite a treat for my psyche when I'm able to immerse myself in the absurdity for once and really get to know my inner workings. The dream was pretty much a retelling of Roger Rabbit or Space Jam. There were cartoon characters that were living amongst humans. There were only three left and they were hiding from some insidious short dude hiding out under a cloak. He was able to broadcast messages and hate propaganda to the cartoons via some mirror device. Eventually the cartoons rally up and use fighter jets to combat the evil institution forcing them to hide in the first place. I have absolutely no idea how everything was resolved, I just recall thinking how badass it was that cartoons were flying fighter jets through Earth's major cities and having all out dogfights in the middle of the air.

Then came the banging. My father awoke me with a villainous pounding at the door that snapped me right out of my slumber and crashing back into reality. "C'mon Dex! We gotta get stuff done, we go to vacation tomorrow."

The usual spiel when some big event is coming up. Whatever. Douche doesn't need to break my door down though.

So, I make my way upstairs to find my father standing by himself and contemplating. Nobody is working, nobody is moving, nobody is around. That's when my father turned to me and said, "You have to help your mom, 'cause she's gone and she's in the house." I really wish my father had a more keen grasp on the English language. He would've stabbed an emphasis on that "gone" part and surely would've alluded to the beartrap I was about to stumble into.

To make a long story short (tl;dr) my mother had a legitimate nervous breakdown. And what we can piece together from the different accounts of the incident is that it happened sometime between last night and this morning. Somewhere, while she should've been sleeping, my mother broke away from the mental tethers that hole nearly all other human beings to the Earth. She then floated away and found herself on one of the many moons orbiting Neptune. There she learned that she was actually the soul apparent of a different species of lifeform, one that should never settle for this grievous life we're forcing her to lead down here on Earth. Early, pre-dawn, my mom began shoving random things hectically into garbage bags. Clothes, supplies, utensils, shoes, and even food. It was "Throw shit away" time in my mother's head and NOBODY ON THIS FILTHY FUCKING PLANET was going to stop her. Not even my father and sister who were minding their own business playing around on the computer and trying to figure out how to pay bills online. This is when my crazy, bat-shit crazy, mother grabbed the computer monitor (probably because they were ignoring her mentally unstable ass) and hurled onto the floor. Realizing now that they were dealing with a whack-job from which there be no escape, my father and sister continued to use the computer as if nothing had even happened. Next went the CPU. This psycho grabbed the tower itself and scooped it off the desk and onto the floor. And in my father's defense, what he said next makes total sense; I just don't believe he knew the kind of regrettable shit he was getting himself into. "Betty, can we use the table for right now?"

"OH YOU WANT TO KEEP THIS TRAAAAAASSSHHHHHHHH?!?!?! RRRAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHLLLLLLLLLLLLRRRRAAAAHHHNNNNNNNNNN!!!!"

Please try to drool a lot and cross your eyes while you read that last sentence to yourself. Hand gestures and gurgling sounds are highly encouraged. Somehow this "woman" took that remark as an attack on her character and a slur upon the sacred name she's built for herself in the fine community of Spotsylvania. This man was now insinuating that she LOVED to live amongst filth and bathe in the waste we accumulate every week. She then proceeded to remove the garbage bags full of garbage from the garbage bag area right outside our house and hurl them viciously into the house spilling the rot and sewage that was packed inside. Nobody is going to ask to use an obviously good desk that doesn't need to be thrown away in this house! NOBODY!!! The next three hours were spent hiding and evading the tirade my "mother" set herself upon until it came to those last faithful seconds right before my father began beating down my bedroom door.

The present is where I found myself. What had happened? We're supposed to be going on vacation tomorrow. Florida and theme parks await us, wasn't she cooing about the beach in Clearwater this entire week? What could've possibly set her off.

Logic and Reasoning would suggest: the overwhelming pressure of trying to finish the house by the time we went on vacation was looming over her head so she grew frustrated and tired and thus unable to perform at regular house building capacity. As the vacation steadily approached she found her labored hours showing fruitless and therefore she would, most likely, not be fulfilling her dream of coming back to a beautiful home and not a trailer that has recently slipped into a devastating state of disrepair.

This is, however, not the case. I know this for a fact because I stared into the eyes of the beast and I saw that she was no longer my mother. She was Lorgauloop the heiress to a beautiful ice throne the ice moon Mernolak. This encounter was shortly before she ripped down my shower curtains (the primary diet of Mernolaklings) and sequestered them far away from my shower curtain related needs.

Things led to things, eventually she drove off into the night never to be seen again. This was, though, right after she removed the license plates from all the vehicles we own and stashed them in her trunk. Now the certifiable cunt that I am forced to refer to as my mother is in some undisclosed hotel in some undisclosed location with a Taurus full of license plates that don't belong to her. This is why I didn't attend my grandmother's funeral. She birthed the nuttiest middle-age breakdown prone troglodytes that this or any world has ever seen. I sincerely hope I read this several years down the road, well into the future and I have myself a good laugh. Because right now, Future Me, this shit is enough to make you want to smash her ribcage in with a sledgehammer.

I'm glad that I watched My Dinner with Andre right after all this went down. Andre Gregory mentions something somewhere in the middle about succumbing to the paralysis that comes with comfort and routine. What else would I have done today? What would I have remembered? Nothing probably, just a dull series of repetitious motions until sleep again and then rinse, wash, hope, repeat. There is a comfort in this thought, that I need milestones. Something to tell me how far I've come, something to shake me around until I wake up. I do carry with me the embarrassing spirit of vengeance, however, and I'm mostly consumed with the hatred of a thousand fathers who all watched their daughter's die in their own arms. Something drives me to make her feel the pain she's caused. Not even the shroud of temporal purity can stave me from my bloodlust, someone has to do something.

 

Testing Me For What?
Wednesday, July 01

Have you ever glanced down at your pale, naked, bloated whale-carcass of a body and thought, "Goddammit, I've got a pale, naked, bloated whale-carcass of a body."? Yeah, me neither. Except every fucking day of my life. It's usually when I'm about to get dressed and I imagine the span of cotton fields harvested to produce the pulp required to weave and stitch the stadium tarp that I call an undershirt. And don't even get me started on my pants. To dress my massive, hippo, pumpkin-gutted physique requires grappling hooks hurled by body building midgets to winch the various cables and bolts together so that I don't spill forth from my restraints and send cascading billows of gut and flesh into the timid public. Sometimes I lie on my side and stare at my gut trying to imaging a world where I would need to use such a burdensome pouch of lard as a weapon to ward off intruders, or to perhaps punish a small unruly toddler. I could just lift it up and drop it on their head, possibly knocking them unconscious as a result. I would perspire trickling jets of splendor upon learning that the pallid gelatin adhered to my frame could possibly be bullet proof and that I would be able to use it to thwart malfeasants in my spare time.

I had a nightmare once where I had developed a large scab-like deformity on my inner thigh. In minutes, I had dug around the edges of the structure until I could fit my fingers underneath of it. With some pressure I was able to life and pull the scab from my leg, it was, however, hooked to what I can only guess was semi-solid fatty tissue within my leg. As I pulled, more and more tissue came with it and I could feel my leg getting hollow and the skin growing loose. From what I recall, it involved several moments and some serious effort to pull the translucent sheet of gel entirely out of my leg. When I had finished, the skin on my leg hanged like drapes off of the bones and the tissue I had removed had been laid down on the floor in front of me like a beached jellyfish with one long solid tentacle.

Is there some book some wheres that describes leg fat removal as being a metaphor for something?