PSA

1. The Mist is a great movie with a lot of balls.
2. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is a great movie with a lot of dick.
3. J.J. Abrams and David Wain are two of the greatest filmmakers currently alive.
4. That episode of Lost all about Michael was the shit and it should win a Pulitzer Prize.
5. I can't choose when I'm charming.
6. Me and Sean just finished the last scene of our new untitled feature length movie script last night.
7. Me and Micah are done shooting and editing our short epic film The Squirrel and it will premiere soon at Pizza di Roma.
8. I got tanked last night.
9. Things are going pretty good.
10. Murderous psychopaths run the world but we'll be okay if we just do our thing, but just to do your thing's the hardest thing to do. You have to make your own kind of music even if nobody else sings along.

Witchcraft 2

Don’t be deceived, trying to be a good person is an insanely different thing than actually being a good person. I read back in my journal recently as I do from time to time and over a year ago I entered that “I was truly the person that I always wanted to be.” I hate that I did that, I hate that I jinxed myself outright like that. In retrospect I think I was actually telling myself the truth. The girl I used to live with and was horribly in love with gave me the book I wrote that in and I still use it.

The thought passed through my mind to burn that book many times, like I held in my possession the book of the dead or something, the cover bound with our collective flesh and heartache. Am I holding on by not cutting my life free from a time when I thought the world was actually perfect?

Don’t let go, I tell myself don’t let go because you can always get back what you left behind, that’s the point of so many books and movies, that you can get it back, your past doesn’t die, it doesn’t flake away, it stays in perfect still life. The past is untouched and all you have to do it grasp for it, like tall grass out the car window. I have learned however, that like the tall grass, if you grab for long enough you’ll pull some in but you won’t be able to choose the strands.

I slept in a van a lot at that time, in Wal-mart parking lots, its hard for tall guys to sleep in vans, more so than other people, because you push and stretch but as far as you push you can only temporarily alleviate the discomfort. So instead of sleeping I would dribble a basketball around inside the store and talk on the phone to anyone who would listen. My girlfriend would call and leave messages as she went to sleep about how she loved me and how she wanted to get married and I would smile. That was the hard thing about being away, its impossible to solve anything over the phone. You could scream and scream and profess anything you wanted but you could never prove it.

We used to live together and I had a dresser in the hallway that had three rows of drawers. It hasn’t changed since that time that I can fit everything I own into that much space. One drawer for all of my t-shirts was full, the second was for sweaters and other utility clothing, and the third holds my three pairs of pants. I don’t need three however because I only wear one, I don’t wash them and I don’t give a fuck. I live in her room, we moved in together fast as blazes but it kills me how I feel about her, even now. We watch a lot of TV which I sort of hate because I have a bunch of friends who like to party. At this time getting drunk is getting old and being with her is everything. This a crash course in getting to know someone. Live with them sleep with them see them every minute of the day, from the moment you first kiss to the moment you fiercely scream at each other and almost get into a car on human collision.

Its impossible to chase someone out of your soul. I’ve tried and the sorrow in fighting the inhabitants of someone from your mind is far worse than just letting them stay. Its over, at a time for all of us, yeah every beginning has an end and all of that completely over done shit. Believing in that only means that you believe in death, the real kind of death, one that means what’s done is done. I suppose if I believed in the life after no human parting would affect me. Things go sour, but is it really the end? There has to be more understanding, there has to be a resilience to not let history destroy you. History is weak isn’t it?

alright then.

I'm going to leave a chapter of a little something i was working on. if nothing else to add content to this once great site.

Can you spend your whole life wishing you could change things? Does it matter if you do? There is too much luck and life inside regret. With filling all that space with perilous reach, we call ourselves to certainty. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, It wasn’t that I thought I shouldn’t stay, it was always the frame of further wandering.

Before it all started, before that summer started, I wondered if I was placing my desire in a far off place. I wondered if all I sought was the position of seeking. I wondered everything a man could wonder. For me there are no answers. There is nothing for the worry lines. I believe in all things great and real but nothing else. Illusion holds me close.

It was far past the winter and the weather had changed, in Wisconsin we drank and talked and we chain-smoked the death out of cancer. A gang of Milwaukee kids felt no pain. No need to be realistic, my bills had pilled high and Discover card gave me my morning wake up, then at eleven and then at one, relentless, unending, they crave the blood I bleed.

Purity was a lovely thing growing up, I thought I could hold it long enough to last. Putting my faith in rock and roll I stumbled towards the promise land, being brash, being great were the only things. I believed that with friends like these I wouldn’t need anything. My family loved me and supported me, I had love, had love, had love. I was young and strong. Alas believing in my own specific set of rules and only those, made quick work of my optimistic spirit. I failed in all principals of my own ways.

My year in Milwaukee was great in panning me out. Handful’s of pills, and booze and grass and…where was I going with that? I feel I did a lot of things that weren’t helpful but the year was useful and fun and wicked. It was wicked I would say. My friends kept me moving and were supportive and funny. Even barely removed I miss them with a bad hunger, but maybe it’s my mood, mostly I miss them. I worked in a head shop and smoked grass. My boss was an old Jewish man who had a tendency to call the store upwards of a hundred times a day. College was effortless besides the fact I had to think of a new excuse for every class I missed, which was more classes than I attended at one point. College had nothing for me.

So that morning I left, without a much of a plan, with no plan. Me and mike packed his Camry. He had secured himself a real life job in California and well, I was chasing the sun, but either way we were leaving. My mom drove me to his house that morning, in fact my parents drove me everywhere due to the fact the state had revoked my license. That story is one almost too painful to type at this moment but lord willing I will find the strength later and it will be included in this tale.

I am the worlds worst navigator, having nothing to do with any self inflicted mental disability my inner compass has always been as serviceable as flip flops in a snow storm, right idea, wrong season. On this particular trip I fail in my only duty by getting us sidetracked fifteen minutes from home, but mike is an optimistic guy, with good reason, he’s a cool confident cat with a promising job, so he keeps the tunes coming and forty five minutes later we are back on track. Fast forward a few hours and we cruise through central Illinois, an area I have become well acquainted with, stopping at a gas station the directions are somehow sucked out of the door. So in my three hour tenure as official navigator I had lost the map, gotten us lost and eaten a large bag of cool ranch Doritos. For this trip my shortcomings were the worst in the beginning I can only imagine that will take a drastic turn in the future.

happy 1/3

Two Becks and a chicken breast, from a new friend. A good man.

And I walk home with swollen pockets and a pretty heart, that’s what its like to start.

Kid sister got my back. And that’s that.

So we’ve neglected you that’s for sure, but we didn’t mean it. Its been a rough week to say the least.

The NFL’s all-time interception leader decided to call it a career and the inventor of dungeons and dragons died. I met Gary Gygax as a kid. Nice guy. The world needs more people like him.

Nerds and sporto’s. let us be sad, sad together forever.

But enough of that. Good things in the wide world of dirt. A couple a movies in the making and drinking to be done.

children, then not, then nothing

He was a little baby. His lungs were too little to breath, his heart too little to beat, his brain too little to fizz. In the winter all weeping his mother and father buried the still life and moved on. They named him Stephen.

Stephen was older but not by much, when he stepped into the road chasing a ball. It was a runaway from the porch where his teenage cousin Ron was sitting. Ron couldn’t have expected the bounce that pushed poor Stephen into the road. He couldn’t have expected the long hauler from Texas with the load of carrots that killed Stephen that day. That birthday surgery wasn’t enough, postponing really. Ron never forgave himself and drank away the guilt, he died of liver failure in 1990. The 00’s were kinder.

The truck barely missed him, that’s how he remembered it. Stephen held on to that one as a cautionary tale.

“Never play in the street.” He’d think, “Always look both ways.”

So it went for a while that he didn’t die. No accidents or sickness, just pure unadulterated mediocrity. He played kickball and didn’t break his neck; he put pennies in his mouth but didn’t choke.

He went to high school and didn’t get laid, he went to college and did the same.

One night in his lonely was he drank too much and swallowed his vomit, the medics came but he couldn’t be saved. Another vigil on the campus lawn, with candles, and people sang but no one knew his name.

After having his stomach pumped he woke up with a wicked hangover. Doc Kidd hooked him up to an IV and he felt as good as new. He got laid later that year and was never the same.

Things were good then bad as it goes in most pointless throws of life.

A year later he waited in the ten items or less line at Ralphs. He held a couple packages of Ramen, corndogs and bottle of wine. He wanted to die then but couldn’t, he was embarrassed for himself. If someone had seen him then he would have wanted to die. Some girls offer their club card because he had forgotten his, he doesn’t feel so bad, then bad again.

“The shit people buy in this line.” He thought.

A man in front of him bought two tubs of ice cream, milk and a bottle of Draino, he imagined that man mixing them all together, miserable bastard.

At his eightieth birthday he fell in the pool then passed of pneumonia months later. He remembered wanting to live on the bottom of the pool and almost making it to the surface before his grandson Marco dragged him up.

He was happier after getting out of the hospital that year and around one hundred and fifty he developed leukemia. That, he beat for real.

In 2050 Stephen met a man named Tom Leak. Tom was forty or so and had just had his second child, it was a boy he named Tom Jr.

“I tell you what Tom there was no way I thought I would live this long. Amazing really. Don’t you think?”

“I would say so. You’re the oldest man alive by almost thirty years, I’d say that’s pretty fucking impressive.”

Stephen hadn’t thought of this before, why would he? Every day was just that, another easy day where he had to keep going. He had heard people pray for death but it wouldn’t come to him, it just wouldn’t. Every time he had a chance it was another near miss, another miraculous recovery.

Tom died later that year, then celebrated the birthday of Tom Jr a few weeks later.

Eight centuries later when Stephen sailed past the planet Saturn, after the earth was charred and destroyed, he finally considered the truth of life. He was only a shimmer, he was only a glimmer, no body, floating on forever.

For Everyone

the best bob dylan album:
nashville skyline.
he only uses this voice on this album. he actually sings and his singing voice is great with a fullness that resembles both merle hagard and kermit the frog. these are all bitching, passionate love songs, some of the best country songs i've ever heard. he tries it out and he didn't stick with it, but this shit is as good as anything by willie nelson. 'peggy day,' 'country pie' and 'nashville skyline rag' are fucking funny, funky diddies. 'lay lady lay' also kind of falls into that category as well as that of the really bad ass love song. there are sad love songs like 'i threw it all away' and 'tell me that isn't true' and there are ecstatic love songs like 'to be alone with you' and 'tonight i'll be staying here with you.' and, johnny cash sings a fucking duet with him and it is one of the best songs ever recorded ever.
the best thing to eat on pasta:
cut up pieces of chicken.
the best look to give someone:
raising both eyebrows.
the best person on earth:
you.
the best thing to say to someone:
the colors you have in your mind, i'll show them to you and you'll see them shine.