unfresh donuts

At least when I collapse and fall, it'll look like everything around me is rising.

I guess those were blood stains... or coffee or something else that stains.

Maybe not, because they washed out pretty good.

It smelled like donuts though.

Unfresh donuts.

sleepy. eeeeeeeepy.

Trashed on equal parts sleepiness and sleeeeeeeeeeeepiness.

I just spent the last few minutes staring at nothing. So much for sleeping with my eyes open.


Time to close them for several hours. When I wake up I'l..l...... I'll figure it out when I wake up.

Good night.

'Sweet dreams please.'

An Essay... I think.

The first time I stepped through the doors to the area between its walls, the strangest, yet, most fascinating rendition of "I Heard it through the Grapevine" was softly flowing out of the speakers. Somewhat lost and unsure of where to turn next, I found myself searching through the stands set against the walls which were painted the most pleasing shade of green... of course if I keep writing like this my brain will end up on the floor because it'll just be so sick of things that it will just leap out of my skull to try to get away. Of course my brain will then return and reattach itself to me, because you know... I'll be dying and my brain doesn't want that to happen. But yeah. That's how the essay would go... not my essay. Some other person's essay. It was about "a place you've never been before." Oh. and I was talking about Burger Records... and so was the person writing the real essay.

But it should really go:

"I've never been to Burger Records, but upon entering the store, I believe that qualifies me as having been there. Maybe even just being outside counts because they have records out there too. So maybe I'm missing the point of this essay. I can't really write about any place that I physically visit or even perhaps 'the opposite of physically' visit either, because in some time and place I believe that also counts as visiting. Come to think of it, I can't really write about anything. Because there will always exist a moment where I've visited a place. It's like that Schrodinger's Cat deal... Uh... maybe not. I'm thinking about it and I'm just getting confused. But hey. It's Burger Records. Records! Persons! Places! Things!Sometimes in a different order, but they're there. If you're still not convinced this paper is an A, just stop reading it... and put it in a box with some radioactive material, a radiation detector, and a stamp with an A on it. At least that way you can fail me and I can be happy with an A. Win win. You win only if you go to Burger Records... and since you've stopped reading... this assignment is stupid. I don't expect you to read this so why should I write it you dickbag?"


Somebody gave me shower gel and some other bottle of soapy stuff. All I'm thinking is... I can't drink this stuff, why did you give me shower gel? Do I smell?


I'm going to start calling things I like, 'science fiction.' This burger is science fiction. That band is totally not science fiction. One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest is science fiction. It... will get confusing.

leg(s)

I've suddenly been overcome by the strangest of sensations, one which makes me feel that I should pull off my legs and just go legless for a while. If only they grew back...

New Year

Happy New Year. For real this time.

Top Drawer - Song of a Sinner

It's a little off beat, the singer is mixing up his words, the strings come in at the wrong time, the drummer stops drumming halfway through the song because he found out his cat ate the last Snickers bar, you can hear a girl smoking a cigarette towards the end of the record - she's also stepping on a bed of flowers, the guitar goes out of tune after the first bend and goes wayyyy out of tune after the second, you can hear a pin drop, it's followed by the dropping of several thousand pins, a massive wave of pins, a torrent, and you can hear each and every one of them hit the ground, like you're watching layers and layers of old Sprint commercials... and then what? silence. did you go deaf from the pin drops? no. just silence. you can hear a small ringing in your ear. molecules. crashing against your ear drum... it gets louder and louder and louder...

the needle hits the record... and the organs come in.

It's either the weather or the song, but something has me shivering. Perhaps an equal amount of both.

Medication #2

Hello, this is Nelson's medication. You know, that bootleg bottle of Robitussin. I'm purple and grapish flavored... just call it purple. Actually, I'm more of a violet. I taste violet. I am currently doing a very good job of unstuffing Nelson's nose, but a realllllll ass of a job preventing him from coughing. It's like this joke I play. You drink me and I tickle the shit out of your throat so you cough. I'm totally loaded with chemicals that trick your brain into thinking you don't need to cough, but there's nothing like that smooth violet taste running down your throat that makes it get all sorts of tingly. Oh, I'm also the secret ingredient to a Flaming Homer... or Moe if you're caught in that one episode of The Simpsons.

We all miss Karen Carpenter don't we?

medication

At this point, I believe it's the medication talking. What does it have to say that's any different than what I normally say? Probably nothing. It does, however, have the potential to be more coherent... or... some other word like that. Ok. So maybe the medication doesn't have that much to say, and it's just making me very... very.... verrrry... verrrrrrrrrrrry tired. My dreams are going to be a mess tonight.

Here's to leaving motion trails when I wake up from a dream of being attacked by a tiger... only to gently push it aside to evade its ferocious bite and slip out of the way to close a wooden gate.




PS: new strings feel extremely lovely on your fingers as well as your ears... well maybe not when I play... but come on over and give them a feel for yourself.... yourselves.

human ordure

I had so much to say earlier, but I got caught up in something else and now I can't remember what I had to say. It was probably about Contra or wait, no, it was something about power. P = IV type stuff, but that's just boring.

I don't know how I got sick again, but I'm sick again. This is the 3rd time I've gotten sick since this whole swine flu thing started. And hey, h1n1 is not less threatening. It may be good for pork, but come on. First of all, I'm sure the pigs probably want it to be called swine flu and second of all h1n1 sounds like some sort of robot flu. Hm... maybe my computer is getting me sick.


Oh. I totally got in some Mexican guy's picture as he turned around to snap a picture of a truck I was walking by. At least I hope he was taking pictures of the truck...







Now I remember, I was going to talk about Jonathan Swift. I remember doing an essay on his whole 'Modest Proposal' thing. But that's not what I want to talk about. The lovely people over at the Kilkenny International Swift Society were kind enough to send me digital copies of the piece entitled, 'Human Ordure.' It's really hard to read because the S's look like F's. You know, sort of like the F holes on musical instruments. It's really throwing me off in an already complicated read for this dummy. Well here's their website:

http://www.swiftsociety.com/


I don't know what else I can do, my list of people, places, and things... or uh.. my list of nouns that I owe things to keeps growing. I hope I can start paying them back soon in a way that is better than something so plastic... like flowers and a large box filled with balloons attached to several more balloons attached to a... puppy holding a kitten holding a thank you note... the bacteria on the thank you note will also have thank you notes. I'll provide a microscope for that.