The golden color of this - Pimm’s #1 and some Canadian Club what have you, delicately blended with a bit of dry vermouth - is the thing I hope will eventually reach down into my subconscious and pull out something that you, the viewer, will find meaningful. I hope it will be like commercials with vibrant and diverse landscapes cut with bedroom acoustic Leo Kottke wish-we-weres and close-ups of smart phones. We’ll do a triumphant victory lap around the whole country in under 30 to 55 seconds, depending on whether we’re in the long or short play version. It’s become a little bit more red, the color of the drink. Now, as fast as it fades, it leaves a bare impression of one thing that I wish it were, next to nothing in the hall of valor. The red on the left; the yellow on the right; the right side on the front of an an orphanage deep in the meaning of lone if I could understand the lone that I begin from. I’m not a self; only a thing sprouted from the ends of both instances of warped beauty and worm. I could only wish that the V’s were the same as the O’s and I don’t know how much longer I can Write. I can stand and I can Live but I’m almost out of memory.

   So I started drooling a lot lately. Every time I look at the ground I end up staring at a viscous extension of mucous and saliva departing from my mouth and arriving at the floor. I’d just like to point out the the first thing I’ve written in months is mainly about the level of saliva I’ve been producing.I’m dumb now. I’ve nothing of the vocabulary and articulation of my youth. I wake up to espresso and bed to beer. My mind has been destroyed, as well as my memories. I wish I could just wake up and feel healthy, but that would have required me to not have been drinking heavily earlier this evening. And now. I’m still going. I’m not going to let up because it’s already too late. I was slobbering on myself as far back as three weeks ago. Which brings me to

   My continued efforts on my band’s album. It’s a simple 7-song plus interludes 23 minute EP. Yet I, as an inexperienced engineer with limited resources, have managed to draw it out way further than necessary. I’ve heard the same songs at least a hundred times a piece, and it’s killing me. That statement said with the assumption that the me of which I speak is the one found within my mind, and not just the one I find in my body.

   Family Guy is a piece of shit.

   Television is a piece of shit.

   Popular Culture is the worst.

   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDMo5cIJN3A

   I have no desire to be like the man in the Old Spice commercials.

   What is a man? This question is meaningless. It is meaningless because it assumes that a man is something that is different than the rest of it, different than the rest of life. It assumes that a man is it’s own object, it’s own meaningful classification that separates itself from say, a chair. A man has about as little bearing as an ant. A man is nothing in the face of the rest of the universe. A man needs to eliminate the pride; give up and accept his place near the bottom. The sun is not a man. The sun is The Sun. An entity far greater than all futile classifications which our “mentally adept” consciousnesses could ever comprehend. Let’s talk about the big, not the little jock-straps and shit that people I’ve no idea rely upon for normalcy. Muscles grow on all Mammals.

   FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING BIGOTED FUCKS WHERE DO YOU GET OF DECIDING WHAT MARRIAGE MEANS WHAT HEALTH INSURANCE COVERS I’M SO CLOSE TO -KILLING (but really, what can I do? Even my own so called progressive friends aren’t willing to accept their own wrongdoing/sexism/bigotry/misogyny and accept that ultimately, they are part of the problem and need to remain self-critical and change) - ONE OF THESE IGNORANT OLD FASHIONED SELF PRESERVING UNWILLING TO CHANGE FUCKS. Get a fucking life. Read some books. And ask yourself - Is this the best way I can treat my fellow humans? Because, when it comes down to it, we are all that we have.

“You smell nice”

I told her

“So do you”

She said

Love was a simple thing

So I talked to them, the tone deaf fleshless men who lived under bridges and couldn’t eat because their throats were too thin and their stomachs were too small. Sometimes when they gathered enough energy from the air they would rise up and howl, cursing the people above and the ground below “Why can’t I be there?! Why are you so cold?!” But they couldn’t stand for very long, and their voices would tumble backwards down into their tiny stomachs, deep into their bowels, where they would lay dormant until passion and luster returned once more to their faces. “If your passion wasn’t wasted on such a useless exercise you know you might get somewhere” I told the men. They lay there uninterested, without even the energy to argue. I disappeared back into the fog above. I’d wasted enough time trying to help men who can’t be helped. If just one followed me back to precious days spent on shiny white beaches watching, feeling the polyrythmic waves crash against our tender young feet; then I’d feel the warmth of success wash over me like the globe of golden light I was told to picture by my shrink.

    I was under a heavy white down comforter, one of those covers that gives you the sensation of sleeping in a cloud. I was naked, lying next to a guy that looked a bit twee, with soft curly black locks; petite but strong figure and such. He could have easily been wearing the classic thick rimmed glasses that such men are wont to wear. All that’s besides the point though. I gave him such a good hand job that he came everywhere! It was all over us like oxidation on The Statue of Liberty; talk about an ego boosting load! We decided the best course of action afterward would be to shower together. The sensual love scene that could have followed suit, sadly, did not.This was mainly due to the lack of a shower curtain, in conjunction with a never-ending stream of friends barging in to inquire about our progress. There were at least 15 people yelling at us during the fiasco’s apex in a futile attempt to pass on their expertise on the subject of cleaning up bodily fluids. I believe the dream ended with us still trying to scrape the now caked-on semen off of our bodies. Also, it’s funny because apex is the name of a gay club in DC.

LOL.