Elton and Johnny

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Johnny Cash.
I went for a ride yesterday and I stopped at a courthouse to talk with a robe-wearing judge. He was very intimidating, but he dismissed me with a wish for a happy holiday. Very kind, after all. But I suspect he wasn't after I left. I've seen him before. He hates chewing gum and hats. What a strange form of hate.
And then I laughed! I mean before. I laughed before, I think it was tuesday, which wasn't yesterday. But it wasn't because Johnny Cash is actually dead now. No, death isn't something to be laughed about, it's something to be conquered! let me at him, let me at him, I'll smash him to pieces. Not Johnny Cash. I love Johnny Cash. His latest wife was hot! His former wife was pretty hot too. Hot chicks are cool. If Johnny Cash were a hot chick, wooooooo! Imagine a hot chick with that voice, turn on or turn off? Shut up bitch! You could say that with reason, unless she sang and picked some strings, naked.
What's wrong with rock and roll? It hasn't progressed enough. I'm tired of going to rock shows without naked chicks. I've never seen Marilyn Manson. He has naked chicks at his shows whenever he can. He's awesome. I wonder if he's an incarnation of Marilyn Monroe. They have the same first name, so it makes sense, and Charles Manson is still alive. I slept with her last night. No, actually with Jessica, who was flowing whitely. Not the Jessica, unfortunately. There's so many Jessicas now. Yet another popped up last weekend, and she was flowing whitely too, and, but, she went home, and then yesterday the Jessica waved hello and then goodbye and we were busy, well, she was, but not the kind of busy I wanted her to be. Look at me, I'm skinny. And just then, rabbi, moses came to town and said to all the children, we hate love, we love hate, or was that paul? I forget. But I did go to see paul. He lives in Rome. Beautiful garden he has. Very powerful message. But Jessica, woman she looks good. Tall, long legs, red hair, blue eyes. Oh, what do the eyes matter. A self-proclaimed schizo-phrenic I had the wonderful occasion to talk to, thought she could look into my eyes and see how crazy I was. Said she could see the real me, or something like that. I didn't blink for a long time, which disappointed the fact I couldn't do that four weeks previously when looking into another girl's eyes to see who she was. Ha ha. Funny. She, the schizoidphreniac, said I was real crazy, but she didn't get that from my eyes. She declared that before the eye thing. In fact, she said everyone was schizo-phrenic, but didn't know it. She wanted me to disagree. So badly that she imagined that I did and proceeded to kick me away, literally, she kicked me away. Frightening. The robe-wearing judge wasn't as harsh. Another Jessica had a talk with her and she wanted to fight, but we left.
Would you die for me? I would only go so far about half the time, but for the Jessica, wooooo! I'd tear myself apart limb to limb. Imagine eating. It's easy when you're hungry. Eating when you're full is tough, and imagining it makes you sick.

I don't want to leave without relevancy, so I'm including today's fact in the honor of the late Johnny Cash, you know, the musician who sang and picked and fucked. SOngs, including This Heart of Mine. Let me tell you something about this heart of mine, people. Though jabbed and staked and punctured and shredded heart that it is, the beat goes on. How wonderful it is to know I'm still alive with this heart of mine that hasn't died. It soaks up enough love to keep on ticking, though barely enough, it seems sometimes. Strangely, it also seems that every lash makes it stronger because it's more aware of its limits, and therefore more willing to give everything at the moment before the apocalypse, like a balloon that wails at its last breath of deflation. Sometimes I even fear the pain is necessary. Painful joy, is that it? No, joyful pain. What is today? No more questions. I have lunch to eat and Johnny's home for the holidays. I'm guessing he's still fat, black, and gay, and if you don't know what I mean then you're as a beefy cop told me earlier this week, shit out of luck. The bright side is that I wasn't, so you don't have to be either, and it's all because of God's grace, and if you don't know what I mean, then you're as a beefy cop told me earlier this week, shit out of luck. And you know what it means to be shit out of luck. Okay, I have to explain this to Bob. You are shit, and you live in a house called luck. Then the POlice come knocking on your door and you make the mistake of opening it, after which they handcuff you and take you away from your beautiful home. Shit out of luck. The bright side to all of this cannot be made more apparent, I think, than by a man called Elton John. He cheated on his husband last night, if you consider a blow job to be cheating. Anyways, in your new house you don't have to cook for yourself.

Futureless Shellfish

It is interesting to note that the future does not exist. The future does not exist. Interesting. Interesting how something that does not exist can so thoroughly influence how we act and who we are. The future, probably not worth a damn, even if it exists. Talking scary, probably not worth a damn. Declarations, probably not worth a damn.
I don't know what it means to be worth a damn, but normally it means that something is worthless. It would be a mistake to think my writing is worthless, and it would be a mistake to think the future is worthless, and all those other things that I said were not worth a damn. Why say these things? The answer lies in shellfish. Shrimp is my favorite food in the whole world, I think, maybe not. But I love shrimp. However, my body rejects shrimp, and tells me not to eat shrimp. I usually listen to that advice. There are other shellfish that I like. Lobster, crawfish, crab, yummy. Ummm. I sure could go for some right now. It is getting close to lunch time, but yesterday I spent this week's allowance for restaurants by getting the king kong triple freaking whopper with cheese. Awesome burger. Awesome. I love burgers. Burgers may be better than shellfish. Why, yes they are better. What can a shrimp do that a burger can't? How about empty your wallet?
This post is going nowhere. Let me kick it up a notch. I'll be writing down, though. I'm not quite sure how I could continue this at the top of the page, which might even be a few notches, and I only promised one, so in the spirit of up, lets go down. Ciao!
This is great. I saw myself walking up the street the other day and as I was walking through the streets of Jamestown I encountered several different people. The first one I met was a criminal of various sorts that I shan't express for fear of the castigation of my dear new friend from the pious folk. He was in good spirits and he passed them along to me. Or was it the other way around? Anyways, we talked for a little bit and then he got word from his girlfriend that it was time to eat, and what a meal! I could smell it from the street and my mouth watered, as it is now just thinking about it. Jolly good interview for the short time it lasted, and I continued until I met a hobo of some sort. He asked me for some change and I gave him the loose change I had in my coat pocket, and he was very nice and he walked on, as did I. Then I met a body-builder with a bad attitude it seemed, and he was carrying a gun, so I felt guilty and went a different direction. That must have been a mistake because the body-builder saw it as an offense, though I secretly knew no offense was given on my part. We had a long talk and we got to know each other pretty well after such a long encounter and so what was, and could have been still, traumatic, ended pleasantly. I think it did anyways. I still walked away guilty and shaken and I pursued family but sometimes depressants aren't the answer to problems, so I took a few drinks in at a local bar to bench the chilly weather. Unfortunately, I did not want to leave the tip that I left, and so the guilt did not subside after drinks. Of course, I had the option to forget, but I passed. My body was getting old and wore out from friends. I walked along still further and began to steer back toward the beginning, but I soon found my trail covered in snow, and I became lost. After a long time looking into a fictional future I closed my eyes back into my brain and opened them only to find the body-builder staring at me in wonder and contempt. I know he wanted to kill me, and this weakened me considerably, and I got dizzy, though I am unable to ever faint. I powered through the weakness somehow and mustered up enough strength to keep walking. And I walked along with the shock that finally made me forget where I was going.

Tuna Laguna

Yes, with a capital P, the P word has come to town and'll stay, probably forever. Pain, the only lasting relationship people can have with anything. Pain, purportedly temporary, but always amongst us, whether hidden or in plain sight. If you think you're okay, you're dreaming. Pain is somewhere inside. It's always inside, and you're probably too insenstive to pick it up.
What almost nobody is too insensitive to pick up is the pain of facts. So lets pick up the fact of the day. Today's fact is brought to you by the state highway authority, who know just as well as we do the painful truth that the best way to make the roads dangerous is to make them slushy and the best way to make them slushy is to dump truckload upon truckload of water and salt onto a road that was merely snow and ice before. Snow and ice can be dangerous, if you have bald tires. Slush can be dangerous too, if you have tires. And if you have tires then they're round, which is most unfortunate. Bumble bee tuna. Bumble bee tuna and chicken of the sea I'd like to be happy and free, like lacey laguna underwear, my tuna. Imagine, tuna in laguna on a bumpy road, stopping and sliding into the dell with a blankey of cotton, calm breeze and clouds, threatening rain. Chicken of the sea, so happy to be wild and free. It's all in the tuna. Who'd a laguna?
I don't like to brag, but, I can feel the pain, right now. It's inside and it's reeling and spinning like laughter. Reeling and spinning. What can I destroy?

Incapability. There's a painful reality. We're all incapable. Oh, I hit something, woops. It wasn't supposed to be said that "we're all". Now it seems to strengthen and enervate, the notion that we're all. Just because I'm incapable of something doesn't mean I shouldn't do it, especially when I want to so badly, and since everybody else does, and fails, or will probably fail, I say to myself, why not? Why not me? I know I'm incapable, and I know I don't deserve it even if I do succeed, but what the hell, I gotta do something. Just think of the Boston Red Sox beating the Yankees four in a row last year after going into a three nothing hole and then winning the world series in four games. Wow. Who'd a thought? Incapable. Undeserved. Why not?

Lets eat!

I am able to do something that is very cool, and may keep me occupied for a long time. I can also play instruments, and I'm getting better at that.
I filled out a form and signed electronically with numbers instead of letters, strange. Strange days. A mighty strange musical was attended by I and one significant other. The other was chilled, and I was just chilled. And now I'm chillin'.
I love chili. I can make some of the best chili in the world, I do believe. Chili cook-off, come on chicken.
I have something serious to say and I'll stop beating about the bush and get right to it. "She got right to it". No, that's just a song. I am aware of the people around me and I can see them very clearly, and I want to say something about these people as if I were Dr. Phil. I am going to remedy their strange resemblance to one another and say something quite shocking, as if to shock them into enlightenment. Like a lightning rod I will be, but a friendly lightning rod, like Dr. Phil, someone to kickstart another into gear, as a friend, a friend who carries a big stick that conduces electricity and climbs mountains and never breaks and never rots, and never even burns, but it does become charred when used to cook hot dogs over an open flame, and can be a bit of a crank when it sees he can't roast marshmallows as his younger kin is able to, but he also never fails to raise his wood up high at the prospect of being the best lover in the world, for only he has the power to move his strange bedfellows and friends, and never ever gets down in the dirt where there isn't a hole to move in and out of, and my friend, my friend, the stick is where it's at, ya heard?
Now, I'd love to carry on and spread the good news about my stick and I and say exactly what it is we have to say, but the stick is hungry, and I am too, and I heard a wise man say once or twice to feed the people and they will love you. That's good advice, so lets eat. Lets all of us eat, eat together, eat each other if need be, but never take for granted the sweetness of our fellows, and make love, even through food, yes, food, and we shall be kind, and we shall be kind!

fluffy snowflakes

So I got this phone call that changed my perspective for a night and a day and then mysteriously returned somewhat to my previous state, and now it can be said I'm stuck in the middle, as usual, riding the fence with aching balls. The dang thing is that this is probably a good thing. Men of action are enormously overrated. But one must go somewhere. Men aren't rocks after all. So I went outside for a walk in the blistering cold, with large fluffy snowflakes falling down on the crisp evening floor of Jamestown. I didn't get lost unfortunately, for long anyways, and so I didn't quite have a chance to make a decision. All I thought about was my inevitable return to an obvious state of indirection. As long as I could keep walking, though, I knew I wouldn't be discovered too thoroughly by the citizens who fleetingly acknowledge my existence on a road to nowhere. I spotted a hair on the keyboard and this is no matter.
For the new paragraph I will start by saying that I have an appointment in one hour and twenty-six minutes. What is to be done until that time comes? One older person in particular strongly advised to "get a job". I suppose I will. I do have to eat. But there was something more profound in that advice that I couldn't help being stuck on, and the tone of voice was a large indication of it. I felt more than a little bit scolded. I was shaken more than I usually am when I hear such scornful ramblings of derisive abuse and commentary because they were directed at me, and each word was a pinhole to my heart. And when I was on the brink of running to cry like the abused child I was, I heard an assumed reassurance that I was an adult being loved and the day's pain was over.
But I can't believe it. No pain was necessary. No pain was necessary. No pain was necessary. I won't compromise unless it's the pain of aching balls, and then only occasionally. I saw this happy place over the summer, and it was a dream of pine trees bogged down by the weight of several feet of snowflakes. I remembered this yesterday during a time of great anxiety as happens sometimes when I take medicine. I want to go skiing soon. Then I'll surely be moving fast and in a direction. One can be so charged by a simple phone call, especially when it's unexpected and expected. And after a long intermission.

Cock

I don't want to be a part of finger snapping and jabbing thirty words per minute. I confess that I'm annoyed by it.
Stupid annoyances. Stupid being annoyed. Stupid annoying me. Finger snap, he's stuck again. Uh, finger snap, don't know what to say. Let's print now, and comb my hair, and iron and clean and clean and clean. The virus is coming, the virus is coming.
What ya gonna do when I snap my fingers all over you? That's what he's asking me. And then when I go to class I'll see all the know it alls and it'll seem they got younger and cockier. No, not younger! Just less aged. Cockiness. It's much like sarcasm. I bet I'll snap my fingers louder and more vehemently and only respect those above me. Above me! The vanity is all american. I've been curious for, oh, roughly twenty-four years, about the odd humans roaming about, crying, dying to be recognized, and fitting in.
Now, for the fun fact of the day! Two time, two time. It's cold outside. A politician politicized.
Commentary. "How you doing?" "Good, but the weather is horrible."
Commentary. " We can't change the weather, but we can create more jobs."

Who is talking? Somebody was being cocky, but then I realized it wasn't a person at all, but some social force created when there's too much dick and not enough pussy.
Vanity is the new shit, and it is enormously amazing now that we're perfecting clones. Who? Not me. I'm the exception of course. I'm allowed. I'm special. I'm you. Do do do do do do. Do do do do do do.