disparate

For most of my young, adult life; I have believed that myself and my three siblings had roughly the same upbringing. That seemed like a fairly accurate estimation of affairs for quite a long time. It is only of late that my previous ascertainment has come to the surface to me as a massive error of reason.
The majority of us would have absorbed the clues much more quickly: After leaving the nest, the oldest and youngest of the lads went straight for the Marine Corps. The baby of the family took a yen for a potential doctor who ended up being a tough-ass in the Army.
Blame it on the booze, or the illicit narcotics that have out-fathomed my cortex. Blame it on whatever you like.
I've been living in a fog of self-importance. My 'reason' has been enough for me for so long that I've forgotten about the other versions.
The smiles that myself and my fellow spawnlings share; the frowns as well've done confounded me. We share the same brand of physiognomy but the real message of the expressions that we wear are much more complicated than, "we're related so we have something in common."
I have spent so much time away from my kin that I can no longer claim any 'real' common ground with them other than the common ground of human experience. I see myself as more of an aberration when I compare myself with those former children.
Each of my siblings is a success to one varying degree or another. The boys are high-ranking officers in the USMC. My little sis is a proud mother of two. Her husband is a brilliant man of rank in the Army.
Here I am: Low level cook in a semi-beloved bar/diner. I am disciplined. I work my ever-lovin' balls off in order to bring home the proverbial bacon.
This is the bitch of having relatives. Especially relatives who've undergone the trial that is known as the 'Crucible.'
I've been living the hard life (in different towns) and surmounting my own difficulties for the last decade +. My brothers have been tempered by the cruelty and unforgiving nature of war in distant lands. I don't think that my struggle will ever balance out, even to these lads. So much for my struggle. The only friends of mine who've died were either drug-dealers or military.
Dammit!
The major difference between drug-dealers and military is that one group is free to mourn and celebrate, and the other has to run away and regroup.
The military boys that I've met don't have any problems with users or dealers who give a shit about the people that live around them. Of both groups, the villain is the fuck who runs willy-nilly about making regulations for the so-called free.
Pot-head friends of mine are dead. Thanks military. Blame the substance. This is a classic.
Maybe 'stoners' deserve to die. If you care about your friends then you will be a little bit patient. There is a chance that folks of the psychedelic persuasion are just as good as any other.
I would love to say something meaningful now but I fear that there are just too many folks out there that believe that users are all flotsam.
Education.
What about now?
My own body feels that there is a mistake being made. I suffocate.
The world?
If you do not care about the advancement of humankind then you should just fucking stop meddling.
Yep. If you think that our species will/should develop then you should take a breathing break. There are too many humans inside of our world that think that they are the only ones that matter. Atomic bombs might be balletic?

For the Love of Food!

I work with food.
More accurately, I work with items that will become food as long as I appreciate each of their qualitative values and treat them with respect.
Respect is a slippery subject to address when considering the merits of food preparation. It's got something close, to my mind, a similar vibe to spirituality. Preparing food is very much a ritual to me. I feel like a nature worshipper when I'm standing before my chopper and board; a pile of produce here, a block of cheese here, raw cuts of animal flesh there. It makes me want to tell civilization to toss off, trade my pants for robes and move to a hut with an open fire, a garden, and plenty of birds and beasts around for fodder. I think of drawing an arrow and closing my eyes and praying to nature for peace and understanding before I let fly the pointy shaft that will bring mutton, or whatever, to my block.
It's difficult to ignore the importance of our ecosystem when the bounty, and all of the sensuality that accompanies it, are lying there, full of promise.
The more different types of things that I prepare, and the more that I hone each stage of the procedure; the more it is that I feel in tune with myself and the world.
After a point, it exceeds mere hedonism. I care about my cooking, and I care about it's reception. A real cook will be thinking of the limitations and potential of each ingredient, as well as those of anyone who may be around to indulge. Until the preparations of a dish are completed I am walking a razor's edge of anxiety. Too much or too little of anything will destroy the dish. Misplacing a step may lead to discovery or disaster. Both.
Thanksgiving is coming up, around the bend.
If you plan on celebrating it this year then it might be good to innovate your own understanding of the process. That's what I'm trying to do. Thanksgiving, 'the original Earth Day.' If you have the wherewithal to revel in celebratory gastronomy this year then celebrate the process of it and celebrate the origins of the foods that you will eat.
And remember: Cooking is good excersize. If somebody asks you to lend a hand; do it gladly. That work will be less that you have to do to fight off the pounds that you will inevitably put on as a result of your feasting.
Thank you.

politi rant

Unbeliever that I am... I am baffled by the myriad thousands that still flock to the frozen multitude... Bane is dead. Over a year now. . . . Do you remember his face?
So smiling, and clever. A man that fought for good spelling. A man that fought for a boy that could pick up dogshit...
It is what it is.
He is too dead to hear you now...
Whiskey turned out to be his best friend All of my best friends are dead once I've died.
Never let it be said that an empty bottle is a martian...
Doing the job, loses you the job..

blah! ging

the planet's on fire and we have the ability to put it out. for some reason, the folks in charge are complaining about the cost. Really? Huh? The planet's on fire! all along the west coast mountains and valleys are bursting into flame.
why would anyone complain about the cost of putting a stop to this devastation? do we have anything better to spend our money on? no.
is it just me, or is money a little bit less important than the integrety of our homeworld? last time i checked there were no other planets in our solar system fit to support human life.
our priorities are severely fucked in this country.

drunk-dial the world! blog!

The true power of the blog is the freedom that it gives one to tell the whole world why nobody listens them. That's the rumor, at least...

For that reason; I'm not sure if one should make posts more personal, or more general.

I was comparing notes with my sweety when this subject came up, today. Does the modern non-conformity model allow for sub-par individuals? Non-conformists cannot all be Gallileo. Cannot all be Van Gogh. Cannot all be Albert Camus. Where does the non-conformist fit into the modern conceptuality?

There ARE new things under the sun. Think about all of your relatives who swore by the Bible that the End of Days was drawing nigh. They will all have died before 'doomsday' comes along. How much of my reasoning is based on these verysame 'doomsday' parameters?

Yikes! Listen to your elders. This will give you a solid watermark with which to judge the fallibility of human reason. Don't believe in anything, is my advice. Not that you care much for the advice of a distant voice, not your own.

The world that we navigate is a place made up of vast areas of grey. Religeous fanatics are the shit-eating legacy of ancestral self-slavery. Tradition? Fine. Have your tradition.

I am angry at these absurdist devotees. That is probably why I piggy-back from one anti-religeous soapbox to the next. The relentless brainwashing of intelligent youth that calls for years of deprogramming in order to bring those poor, misled youth to the next stages of reason makes me very sad. I had to go through it. The methodical reason that this sort of deprogrammig calls for is hard to come by and most of us that need to implement it are some of the most weary, hopeless bastards to have ever walked the Earth. Those of us brought up with religeous ideals are wholly un-prepared for the real world. Religeon is a sniper-rifle. The mark doesn't hear the bullet leave the chamber. Nevertheless, the damage is done.

opiate of the asses

sorry. i just get angry at things that don't exist. i'm the crazy one...
i don't really have devil's horns.
the argumentative cunts gesturing wildly on each of my shoulders do though.
wait! no! i wanna go to the picnic! aw, man....
my hell's hotter than yours!
Steven Wright: if heat rises............................. then heaven's probably hotter than hell...........

DaDadeeda

everything that i do is in a fever. my temperature never drops 'neath a hundred degrees.
all of my dreams are peppered with nightmares. all of my nightmares are fascinating and beautiful; like an injury that takes a long while to heal.
when i fall; i fall from such great heights. when i eat cerial every bite is different. when i call you... i never call you. but, i miss you.
it's been a long while since it rained here. while it's hot i think about the rain. the last time that it rained here there was a rainbow. it reminded me of the flood. the Lord was on a surfboard and he called out to me. he said, 'do not be afraid, hang ten!' and nearly a dozen crosses erupted from the sea, complete with effigies.
then, he just laughed.
i couldn't believe it.
there is a snake living in an appletree outside of my apartment. i believe everything that it tells me.
a very eloquent man with a job complains to me of his ailments. he laughs and wipes his nose all day long. i don't think that the bandages will ever come off. does he ever work?
i wish that my character were as bulletproof as a holy tome. if i were a religeon then thousands would fight and die for me every day. that would make me feel just.
holy? yeah. sure. after a few roman soldiers made an example of my self-aggrandizing ass. if my wife claimed to've been impregnated by a divine source... i'd bug her with questions until she miscarried from the strain of trying to explain the sordid impossibility of it... or the brat would come out with such a cunning grasp of rhetoric that folks would think him socrates, reborninated.
yep.

i will never fuck jesus. promise.

i am an expert at alienating my loved ones
you might try it some time
it's as easy as making soup
sousp, suop, pous, uosp, spuo, souq
q
it makes the fabric between skin and sky
so much more nothing
scandalous
filmy
delicate
sharp as a flake of obsidian
so sharp that
the blood that leaks from the cut
seems natural
normal blood

i'm stretching. i feel the sinew pull. i hear the thrum-thrum of my heartbeat in my ears. i haven't moved an inch in hours. i'm sober. everything under the sun causes cancer. i'll quit smoking cigarettes and then i'll live forever. i'll quit driving and then i'll never be in a car-accident. i've stopped eating. now i'll never get food poisining. i've quit believing. now i will never go to hell. i've stopped typing. now i'

hey.
Bane's capput.
ouch.
a late night hello to the lettered minority that may visit here:
i never meant to condescend. when i lost my mind, i didn't mean to lose you too. i dream of being wrong in ways that i can understand.
poem...
ever know a one with so fearsome a passion for others that they ended up hating themselves and illustrating poorly the dearness that they felt toward their dearest?
the media will tell you that it is hatred that makes folks commit suicide bombings, etc.
fallacious bullshit. it is love that makes a somebody destroy. it is the things that make people wish to live that helps them to justify murder.
great men die every day (every hour?) because of the abstract notion that is 'love.'
don't let them fool you. don't listen to the words that pour wholesale from the idiotbox. (TV)
every thing that has ever transpired, ugly or not, is the result of a warm bellyfull.
hate is not a lingering thing that moves folks to violence. not in my world. love. the will to preserve something that i am bonded to, and the desire to preserve it, will give me the resources to fight any battle. just or not.
love has always clouded my mind more fearsomely than hate. i do not lie awake at night wondering how to exact vengeance. i prepare for vengeance. i DO lie awake at night wondering how i might've wronged one that i hold dear. you...?
hate is like money. it only has the buying power that we give it. it's imaginary.
hate me or love me: Please don't react to the spinnings of your fancy without knowing which one you are responding to.
they say that it's a fine line. sure. fine.
how about context? i am exhausted by all of the myriad notions that cross my mind, but i don't react to all of those things in the real world until i've settled on the context.
i want world peace. is that too much to ask? is the idea of a world where outraged people take an up-close, personal look at their issues before scooping out the pussie (puss-eee) eyeball parts of their fallen foe(s), that outlandish?
i'm VERY angry. i understand rage. been there. done that. i know what it is to break somebody elses' arm. i have frothed at the mouth and fought nearly to the death. have you? wanna do it again any time soon...? it sucks.
*snap* it's more easily bearable if you're dealing with a chicken bone.
i love you because i don't know you. it's easy that way. once you're in my circle you are on deathwatch. should you threaten one of my kin... BLAH!
*herk!* sometimes i wish that i were a sociopath although i am not. it would be easier to rationalize this freakish clusterfuck of a world.
you splendid princes and princesses out there? hold on. breathe deeply. i have a feeling that your day will come soon; just not in your lifetime....

p.s.
if you are mourning, as i am, then please make an inappropriate joke about your dearly departed one as soon as possible. they, whomever they may('ve) be/been would like you to smile more. kisses!

same ol', same ol'...

anybody out there concerned more with coping with themselves than with others?
blood is thicker than water, they say. heh.
i'm working on a science project wherein i plan to walk a peculiar sort of razor's edge (Occam's?) that tests the limits of all the individuals that i interract with so that i may understand the standards of the everyman.
standards? standards of living. standards of language. standards of behavior. standards of compassion. standards of respect. standards of lenience. standards of expectation. standards of retalliation. standards of consideration. standards of patience.
where is the line that one may cross that will sever the link between one person and another?
my hypothesis is that folks will wander through a labyrinth of material expectation: the fear of any given subject in a secure role will make aformentioned subject do everything in his/her power to maintain said security.
read that a few times, to yerself if that doesn't gel...
conversely: one that relies on another without the ability to legitimately survive without that person is a parasite.
what, in human terms, separates a parasite from one lifeform that harmoniously coexists with another lifeform?
perhaps that is the line that i am trying to define through my foggy vision.
i am thinking of dad. he legitimately had no real friends long before his passing. i marveled at this when i was a kid. how could one have no pals and still live? i fear that i am slowly beginning to understand this phenomenon. i have divorced myself from society. i care only for my appetites and the well-being of my immediate relations. the more of my immediate relations that i alienate the more that i begin to realize the very realistic way that one may find themselves utterly alone, wondering why everyone else has forsaken them...
when you care only for your own appetites and the well being of your own private cohort; what is the result of your cohort letting go of you because of your appetites and the resulting behavior? ugh..............

Howdy. Oh, and, Cheese!

The laptop is back online. I don't have anything particularly interesting to disclose or fling out at y'all, but for those interested; 'hello again.'
Although.... I've been thinking about cheese quite a bit and, although I have nothing original to donate to the subject, for those of you whomever've explored this particular delicacy, there is a wealth of very interesting history recorded on the origin of what we now know as cheese.
It's been around since approx. 4,000 b.c.. According to the scholars, milk was transported in the excised bellys of calves. The lining of a calfs' belly contains rennet. Rennet is an ingredient that helps milk to coagulate. After a long day traversing the desert, perhaps, a nomad took the belly-flask to his/her lips for a draught of nourishing milk and found that a portion the milk had condensed.
The flavour wasn't unfavorable and the coagulated globules satiated hunger while the fluid that suspended the globules therein slaked thirst. Hence: Curds and whey.
Mesopotamia?
The discovery of curds and whey led to the developement of cheese. Although it was a tasty advent, the process of making safe-to-eat, delicious cheese was a hazardous one.
For a long time people equated the consumption of cheese with the realization of a deathwish.
The elements of cheese contain powerful antibacterial agents. Yogurt, in it's truest form, contains about .09% penicillin. (I could be off a bit here; do your own research...)
The problem was that folks in those days had never seen bacteria and wouldn't until the late 17th century. The antibacterial component of cheese needed time to do it's job and folks were devouring the cheese before the antibac had a chance to work it's magic.
During a period of epidemic the cost of eating milk, butter, or cheese was death. Via the Venetian senate, 1699... The same year that one Dutchman improved the microscope of his day and viewed, for the first time ever recorded, bacteria. Then, Pasteur, yadda yadda...
In multiple screenplays written by Shakespeare, if you know where to look, nasty references were made to cheese and those who ate it.
Today, a weak turn of phrase or a wimpy gesture will be referred to as, 'cheesy.'
Because I love cheese, I've always wondered where that came from. Now I do. Neat...

letter from mars

On somebody's keyboard. Aint mine. I have to teach the spell-checker that 'aint' is a real word all over again. Isn't it odd that in this day and age we still have to pretend not to use modern usages? The only new advent in any language is born from slang and it strikes me as deeply immoral that the moralists are deciding to be the taste-makers for something that should transcend 'taste.'
Is the world a better place when folks are dis-allowed from using the words that get ideas across with a great deal of ease?
Anyhoo: A self-deprecating bastardization of the word: anyhow. People are already shy enough when it comes to exercising their natural-born freedom of speech rights that it seems (to me) to be nothing more than pifflery that drops onto our heads when...
We DO NOT NEED a censorship board.
It is a short-cut that reduces people's right to choose. If Joan-of-Arc were to be seen sucking off a choir-boy then I'm sure that the community would see to it that that episode of SNL didn't air until at least 11pm...
This is not my computer.

A Public Service Announcement from the resident Cybertard

The laptop that I usually type on is having difficulties.
If I knew how to fix it myself then I'd be a better man. I feel like a lonely termite chewing a mindless network of tunnels through a dictionary printed in Greek.
Without help from a tech-savvy pal or a beam of insight gained from my desperate fumbling about I will be without an internet connection. No more blogging...

C'est La Vie

At the age of five I became friends with a kid named Ben Wadell. That's, "Way-Dell."
Ben's mom, Nancy, and my mom had developed a loose friendship based on their mutual mother/nurse-hood and I well remember my youthful days spent swimming and reading comic-books with Ben.
I woke up, not long ago, from a dream that I was having where I was leaping from different levels of different sky-scrapers onto different levels of different sky-scrapers. All of the buildings that I dreamed were incomplete and each floor was a different realm of memory.
At the end of the dream, after I had quite nearly worn out my phenomenal leaping ability, I managed a strange sideways leap to the back-yard gate of my childhood friend's house.
The gate is always wreathed in green ivy and blue skies. The latch always works more easily than it ever did in my waking experience and my frequent visits to the place in real life makes gaining entrance a simple matter.
This is a recurring dream.
After I have entered the yard I usually break into the house to find that my friend didn't hear me knocking for some reason. When I'm finally inside of the house the dream becomes a mish-mash of old memories and strange, delayed reactions to the way of things.
Inevitably, I wake up once the memory-sensation becomes too dense for me to process any longer. Once I've awoken I'm filled with a deep sadness.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away I had a best friend, Ben.
We were about five when we forged the first, clumsy bonds of friendship.
My parents divorced when I was eleven and I moved from California when I was about fourteen to live with my Dad. I needed a strong male influence in my life because my behavior had spun out of control. That's what I was told.
Moving out of the area that I'd grown up in felt like a very big, serious thing and I was gonna be damned if I didn't act accordingly.
I went and met my friend to inform him that I was moving a very long ways away and to tell him that we wouldn't be able to be friends because of this. I was very formal and very cold. It was goodbye and there wasn't any sense in fighting it.
The internet and email became popular a few months later. I didn't know it. I maybe didn't register it.
I haven't seen my friend since that time and there is little chance that I'll be able to hunt him down. If I did then I would probably be disappointed in what I hunted down. (I'm a bit of an asshole that way.)
In my dreams, Ben and his brother have never aged.
When I make it to their house it seems that everything's submerged in honey. The light refracts through honey, words are muffled and slow, and I become eerily nauseous as though I'd just eaten an entire box of powdered donuts to myself.
This is a recurring dream.
Enough dreams like these and you'll find yourself using terms like 'funereal lighting' and 'haunted interface.' This is the dream where I remember how once I wetly extracted my childhood from my breast. Clumsy child-surgery...

January 22nd

Well. I like Barack Obama.
I'm glad he was elected.
If you don't like him then I urge you to explain why without using short-cutsy pejoratives.
His administration has only just begun so refraining from passing judgment prematurely makes sense to me. Then again; he is a politician...

self-correction

correction. twas the younger marine who had the bright notion to put the remains in cartridges. i just remembered...

season of discontent

my little brother just went through his first break-up. i guess i caused it because i called his sweety a bitch while she was being a bitch.
my other siblings are a tight-knit clan of militarized, miserable, judgmental punks.
my wee bro and sis live north and south of me but they are too afraid or hateful of me to even give me a call when they get into their little holiday festivitys.
our father died recently.
we helped clean up the blood.
for some reason, i'm kept out of all decisions familial.
what are these people avoiding?
i would just giggle my ass off to hear them bawl as they rub their sad memories against me. wah wah wah. 'i'm the brother that you wish you'd never had,' is the message that i seem to be sending out. and the smell of their misery emanates from me now.
when dad died we had him cremated, as per request, and my older brother (the mormarine"semper fi! testify!) had the bright notion to have his ashes loaded into different calibre shell-casings. magazines. bullets.
fitting. no pun intended.
dad was a gun-nut.
now my scattered, shit-head siblings are more distant from me than ever.
i wonder if i will ever palm one of those bullets.
i wonder if any of those non-bastards will ever contact me ever again.
have i become douche?

men inviting men to stripclubs

perfect drunken pork chops. anyways...
why go to the club with a friend? aint i horny enough? thanks though.
who you goin' with in the 1st place?
Yeah?
well, you two have a nice time
i cant afford to get that horny
take it from me: you don't wanna get in there with any large bills.
yeah. take that shit to the bank or whatever it is you gotta do.
yeah. you'll go through that dough like a baker on speed.
no. don't do that.
well, have fun.

2009

2009.
welcome. nothing is the same. everything is the same. we're learning not to tear portions of our lips off with the sticky ends of our cigarettes. we're still bringing up our X's, bruising our knuckles on delusion and cracking our teeth on bones of contention.
i'm grumpy as fuck when it's my turn to do the dishes. it's usually my turn to do the dishes...
i believe that 2009 will be my year to wash the dishes every single time.
NO BITCHING.