I hate my upstairs neighbors. They are chuweros in the purest sense of the word, as defined by definition 1.
it is now 2:17 in the A fuckin' M! i have no clue what these people do, but i can guarantee one thing they don't do: corral their little shit goblin children on the weekends. it sounds like kid fight club upstairs, and this is not a rare occasion. i went to bed about an hour and a half ago, and this nonsense was going on then, and it's still going on. i'll be almost asleep, i can feel my sleep cycle 2 spinning up, and my conscious mind spinning down, then WHAM, it sounds like a someone has dropped cinder on a wood floor, but our floors are CARPETED! WHAT MAKES THAT NOISE! IF THE KIDS ARE BEATING THE HELL OUT OF EACHOTHER, THEY NEED TO BEAT HARDER!
i want them all to get terrible debilitating syphilis. the kind people used to get in the 1800s, not that friendly glamour syphilis we have now.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The Photograph As Time Machine
The clarifier: I love my family to death and thank God for them daily. I also enjoy my extended family, some more than others, but I think that's fairly unavoidable.
I was at the house a couple of nights ago looking through old photographs with my mom, and it was uncanny: I felt nostalgia. I usually don't feel this concerning things that are actually sentimental. I feel nostalgia when I watch old cartoons, read an old book, but never over things that are inherently sentimental. But there I was.
I could see my mom as a girl no older than seven (looking exactly like my sister at that age), a teenager, a young woman. I could see my grandpa as a young man, before his accident that left him a quadriplegic, a young father, the cripple. Time stretched back into 40s, 50s, now my grandpa is an infant, now he's no more and I'm staring at great grandparents. People I've never met. Great great grandparents, aunts and uncles that have all left this world before I arrived.
Staring at these pictures, I felt disembodied, as though I flowed forward through time, and ebbed backwards through it. People I'd never seen, but now wished I did. My dad as a baby, his bald watermelon head, his parents as teenagers, grandpa with his first car at sixteen, back when the people knew that good habits started with responsibility. I almost felt as though I could reach out and join my grandpa hitchhiking on those Arizona roads, ride with my mom from Iowa, or sleep in the crib next to my infant dad.
I left my parent's house thinking about the photographs, thinking about people I haven't met but am deeply connected to.
These photographs solidified a decision: I want to write a book that will never get published. The only person to see it will be my kids, and their kids, and so on. The book will be entitled "The Last Thing I Ever Remember," it'll be a book simply of my memories and nothing more. Anything and everything I can remember recorded for my kids. They will record what they remember, and so on.
Imagine: your grandfather hands you a book and says, "my grandfather started writing in this book, and we want you to keep on writing."
I was at the house a couple of nights ago looking through old photographs with my mom, and it was uncanny: I felt nostalgia. I usually don't feel this concerning things that are actually sentimental. I feel nostalgia when I watch old cartoons, read an old book, but never over things that are inherently sentimental. But there I was.
I could see my mom as a girl no older than seven (looking exactly like my sister at that age), a teenager, a young woman. I could see my grandpa as a young man, before his accident that left him a quadriplegic, a young father, the cripple. Time stretched back into 40s, 50s, now my grandpa is an infant, now he's no more and I'm staring at great grandparents. People I've never met. Great great grandparents, aunts and uncles that have all left this world before I arrived.
Staring at these pictures, I felt disembodied, as though I flowed forward through time, and ebbed backwards through it. People I'd never seen, but now wished I did. My dad as a baby, his bald watermelon head, his parents as teenagers, grandpa with his first car at sixteen, back when the people knew that good habits started with responsibility. I almost felt as though I could reach out and join my grandpa hitchhiking on those Arizona roads, ride with my mom from Iowa, or sleep in the crib next to my infant dad.
I left my parent's house thinking about the photographs, thinking about people I haven't met but am deeply connected to.
These photographs solidified a decision: I want to write a book that will never get published. The only person to see it will be my kids, and their kids, and so on. The book will be entitled "The Last Thing I Ever Remember," it'll be a book simply of my memories and nothing more. Anything and everything I can remember recorded for my kids. They will record what they remember, and so on.
Imagine: your grandfather hands you a book and says, "my grandfather started writing in this book, and we want you to keep on writing."
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Sleep, You Elusive Bastard
So, I haven't been sleeping the greatest for the past couple of weeks. Roughly since I saw 300. Mostly, that was a stretch of about two weeks where I didn't get a lot of sleep, and slept hard when I did sleep. This week, I've just not been sleeping well at all. I'll go to bed at my regularly scheduled times, or what feels right to me, and then toss and turn and wake up a whole bunch and wake up feeling like I just got done running. Well, tonight I go to bed at 12, and then wake up with a burning sensation in my left eye and left nostril. I tossed and turned when I went to bed and feel like I've been asleep for maybe a half hour. I toss and turn for what feels like about fifteen minutes, and then look at my clock. I was really asleep for four hours, but now I feel pretty awake and not going back to sleep any time soon.
But it's not as if I need any less sleep. Quite the contrary. Tuesday, I stayed home from school due to a forming migraine and slept an additional 4 hours to my already existing 7. Thursday, I took a nap after school, and while my body usually limits itself to 30 minute naps, an entire hour went by and felt like mere minutes. And I could have slept more, but made myself get up. I just wish I knew why this nonsense was going on. Y'know what? I don't even care why it's happening. I just wish I'd go back to regular sleep.
But it's not as if I need any less sleep. Quite the contrary. Tuesday, I stayed home from school due to a forming migraine and slept an additional 4 hours to my already existing 7. Thursday, I took a nap after school, and while my body usually limits itself to 30 minute naps, an entire hour went by and felt like mere minutes. And I could have slept more, but made myself get up. I just wish I knew why this nonsense was going on. Y'know what? I don't even care why it's happening. I just wish I'd go back to regular sleep.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Everything Here Sounds Disgusting
That's going to be the name of my new restaurant. Here's a few of our key dishes:
Now, you'd think we'd be done there. Not so. Not so. Last night, as I go to lay down on my head, three simple words are uttered into my head. Three simple words which jostle me from my rest, and impel me to write them down. Three. Simple. Words.
I present to you the crown prince of Everything Here Sounds Disgusting:
Irritable
Bowel
Burger
Everything Here Sounds Disgusting. "Yeah. It's that good."
- Gastritis Fries
- DeEsophagizer
- Pungent Patties
- Soylent Burger
- The Runs.
What is it? I sure as hell don't know, but damn if it ain't delicious.
THE COLOSTOMIZER!
My only regret is that I don't have a font large enough to bring the powerful and immense grandeur of this proud beast to your screens. The exact size and weight of this "terror of the modern age" cannot be determined, but I can tell you this: it will not be bound by our petty 18" plates. It's massive bulk hangs over the edge, gracefully. The buns have sealed themselves to the top of this bulk with the concrete grip of hot molten grease, rivers of boiling cheese cascade, playfully, down the sides. It truly is a creature deserving of our greatest respect.
My only regret is that I don't have a font large enough to bring the powerful and immense grandeur of this proud beast to your screens. The exact size and weight of this "terror of the modern age" cannot be determined, but I can tell you this: it will not be bound by our petty 18" plates. It's massive bulk hangs over the edge, gracefully. The buns have sealed themselves to the top of this bulk with the concrete grip of hot molten grease, rivers of boiling cheese cascade, playfully, down the sides. It truly is a creature deserving of our greatest respect.
Now, you'd think we'd be done there. Not so. Not so. Last night, as I go to lay down on my head, three simple words are uttered into my head. Three simple words which jostle me from my rest, and impel me to write them down. Three. Simple. Words.
I present to you the crown prince of Everything Here Sounds Disgusting:
Irritable
Bowel
Burger
Everything Here Sounds Disgusting. "Yeah. It's that good."
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Developing a Messiah for what now? OR My dream blog no more.
So, I've decided to quit my dream blog. Mostly because of all my various blogs, it's the one I use a bunch that gets used the most. Instead, I'm going to start posting my dreams here. And this one's a wild'n'.
This whole dream takes place through the lens of a camera. I watch all the action, though the boy is me, and sometimes, the camera takes on dramatic views, first person views, or will sometimes point things out to me.
So, in this dream, I'm a kid. Maybe 11 or 12 at the most. I live in a foster home with parents that I feel are abusive, though they do live on a very idyllic picturesque plot of land.
The home is a simple single level ranch style house that sits on a small hill, and it's got a creek right behind it near the base of the hill, and the entire hill and house area are surrounded by a stereotypical white picket fence. There are all kinds of crazy insects and little animals that I play with, and they seem to be my only friends. The whole scene looks like something out of a Tim Burton movie, namely Big Fish or Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
At the moment, I'm home alone, playing with my insect and amphibian friends in the creek. I have a brother and sister, but they are with my foster parents, wherever they are right now. Even the insects fear my foster parents. When my foster parents come home, even my friends are scared and will run to hide. And that's just what they did when we heard the front gate open. I watch my frog jump into the creek, and I watch my beetles dig into the ground, my walking sticks climb into the inside of giant toadstools, my praying mantises run into tall grass, and various flying creatures fly away. I myself run inside through the back door knowing that I'll only have a little time, and I'm still dirty.
I run into the kitchen when I meet my fosters.
"Time to meet your mother!" they say to me. I get excited on the inside thinking she'll take me away from them. My friends can take care of themselves.
My fosters don't even bother cleaning me up, they just load me into the car and we drive away. My brother and sister (perhaps 5 or 6 each) are in the backseat with me. We live in a place that looks exactly like New York harbor, though New York it ain't. As we get far enough out that I should be able to see the entirety of the harbor, I fall asleep.
Next, I wake up just as we're docking at another island. There is a gigantic gray metal object that's incredibly shiny sitting on this island. Eveything is incredibly dark, and there's a lightning storm up above. My camera took a wide angle so that I could see everything.
We walk up to this building, and my fosters stay outside, and they actually look somewhat concerned. I'm taken inside through pristine and very sterilized corridors. They're all silver, and there are many lights, and it all seems to lead to a giant observation room. It's a small rectangular room with a giant viewing window. There is a metal cylinder, that's part of the wall, off to the left of the window. Outside of the window is a gigantic red sphere with a small rectangular frame on it's most front facing part.
The cylinder opens and Christopher Lloyd... the guy from Back To the Future... greets me. He tells me to get in the cylinder with him, and he'll explain the cuss words, or things not to say in front of my mom. He gives me a list of five, but the only one I can remember is abuse. The cylinder rotates, and opens up onto a platform facing the platform with the ball on top of it. He tells me to go forward to the edge of the platform, and disappears back into the cylinder. I rush forward to the edge, and in the gap between the two platforms is a pool of incredibly bright shimmering liquid. It's predominantly yellow and orange. The little rectangular frame on the sphere lights up and I can see it's a TV of some sort. A gender neutral face clouded by lots of static appears. She introduces herself as my mother and asks how I am.
Before I answer, the camera sees a monitor on the left wall, so I look to see what it is, and I see a wireframe 3D representation of a man with a gasmask and bizarre suit on floating around. I ask what that is and she says that it's the garb of her soldiers. Those that will remake the world in her image. Then she repeats her initial question, and I say that the fosters are abusive.
She laughs, and the sphere undulates, and forms various 3D geometric shapes: a pyramid, a square, dodecahedrons, and others. Then she says something about the light in my right knee. I look down at my right knee. I see a large silver disk with a green luminescent center and a black outline fly out of the light between the platforms and attach itself to the side of my right knee. Then I watch as these little silver streaks headed by points of blue and green light all fly from the light into the disk on my right knee. Then the disk absorbs into my knee. When I look back up, the sphere is gone, but it's replaced by five women who escort me out. They take me out on top of the large gray metallic structure where my fosters are waiting. I watch as one of the five women talks to my foster dad, but in a very hushed tone.
The five women all look the same: bright red hair, dark eyes with no iris, just a large pupil, incredibly pale skin, all dressed in the same red cloak with hoods pulled back. They each have different hairstyles. One has a mullet, one has a humongous mohawk, the one talking to my "dad" has the sides of her head shaved, with a long streak of hair running down the center, and braids lining that streak. As we start to walk away, I fall asleep again.
As we pull back into the harbor, I wake up, and I can see two realities super imposed over eachother. One is the regular reality, the one I left, and the other is a reality where things are destroyed and burning. The reality of destruction starts to slowly fade leaving me with current reality.
We pull into the driveway and start to walk up to the house. I'm still in that hazy dream state, but I watch my insect friends running to hide, and it's all in slow motion. There's a flashlight that highlights each friend as they run to hide, and each time i see the light I'm afraid they'll get caught. We're lead into the kitchen where dinner's waiting. I sit down, and I'm still really hazy, and the camera shows me what I look like: hell. I'm still dirty, I'm sweaty, I have large bags under my eyes, and it looks like I'm about to fight.
My brother and sister turn to me and say, "did you see the city? We can barely remember it, but it looked like it was on fire!" They keep talking to me, but I can hear really faint whispering, but it seems to dominate my brother and sister's talking, and my foster's talking. I can barely make out what the whispering says (and the camera's zoomed in on my ear), but I do make out the words "almost ready" and "kill him." I jump up from the table, shout, and slap my right knee, and I get coated in this silver substance, with lights running down my sides, and I see two people dressed similarly with knives standing behind my parents. My camera takes a wide shot to let me see everything that's happening, and then my roommate walks in the damn door, waking me up. And now I'm awake. Crap.
This whole dream takes place through the lens of a camera. I watch all the action, though the boy is me, and sometimes, the camera takes on dramatic views, first person views, or will sometimes point things out to me.
So, in this dream, I'm a kid. Maybe 11 or 12 at the most. I live in a foster home with parents that I feel are abusive, though they do live on a very idyllic picturesque plot of land.
The home is a simple single level ranch style house that sits on a small hill, and it's got a creek right behind it near the base of the hill, and the entire hill and house area are surrounded by a stereotypical white picket fence. There are all kinds of crazy insects and little animals that I play with, and they seem to be my only friends. The whole scene looks like something out of a Tim Burton movie, namely Big Fish or Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
At the moment, I'm home alone, playing with my insect and amphibian friends in the creek. I have a brother and sister, but they are with my foster parents, wherever they are right now. Even the insects fear my foster parents. When my foster parents come home, even my friends are scared and will run to hide. And that's just what they did when we heard the front gate open. I watch my frog jump into the creek, and I watch my beetles dig into the ground, my walking sticks climb into the inside of giant toadstools, my praying mantises run into tall grass, and various flying creatures fly away. I myself run inside through the back door knowing that I'll only have a little time, and I'm still dirty.
I run into the kitchen when I meet my fosters.
"Time to meet your mother!" they say to me. I get excited on the inside thinking she'll take me away from them. My friends can take care of themselves.
My fosters don't even bother cleaning me up, they just load me into the car and we drive away. My brother and sister (perhaps 5 or 6 each) are in the backseat with me. We live in a place that looks exactly like New York harbor, though New York it ain't. As we get far enough out that I should be able to see the entirety of the harbor, I fall asleep.
Next, I wake up just as we're docking at another island. There is a gigantic gray metal object that's incredibly shiny sitting on this island. Eveything is incredibly dark, and there's a lightning storm up above. My camera took a wide angle so that I could see everything.
We walk up to this building, and my fosters stay outside, and they actually look somewhat concerned. I'm taken inside through pristine and very sterilized corridors. They're all silver, and there are many lights, and it all seems to lead to a giant observation room. It's a small rectangular room with a giant viewing window. There is a metal cylinder, that's part of the wall, off to the left of the window. Outside of the window is a gigantic red sphere with a small rectangular frame on it's most front facing part.
The cylinder opens and Christopher Lloyd... the guy from Back To the Future... greets me. He tells me to get in the cylinder with him, and he'll explain the cuss words, or things not to say in front of my mom. He gives me a list of five, but the only one I can remember is abuse. The cylinder rotates, and opens up onto a platform facing the platform with the ball on top of it. He tells me to go forward to the edge of the platform, and disappears back into the cylinder. I rush forward to the edge, and in the gap between the two platforms is a pool of incredibly bright shimmering liquid. It's predominantly yellow and orange. The little rectangular frame on the sphere lights up and I can see it's a TV of some sort. A gender neutral face clouded by lots of static appears. She introduces herself as my mother and asks how I am.
Before I answer, the camera sees a monitor on the left wall, so I look to see what it is, and I see a wireframe 3D representation of a man with a gasmask and bizarre suit on floating around. I ask what that is and she says that it's the garb of her soldiers. Those that will remake the world in her image. Then she repeats her initial question, and I say that the fosters are abusive.
She laughs, and the sphere undulates, and forms various 3D geometric shapes: a pyramid, a square, dodecahedrons, and others. Then she says something about the light in my right knee. I look down at my right knee. I see a large silver disk with a green luminescent center and a black outline fly out of the light between the platforms and attach itself to the side of my right knee. Then I watch as these little silver streaks headed by points of blue and green light all fly from the light into the disk on my right knee. Then the disk absorbs into my knee. When I look back up, the sphere is gone, but it's replaced by five women who escort me out. They take me out on top of the large gray metallic structure where my fosters are waiting. I watch as one of the five women talks to my foster dad, but in a very hushed tone.
The five women all look the same: bright red hair, dark eyes with no iris, just a large pupil, incredibly pale skin, all dressed in the same red cloak with hoods pulled back. They each have different hairstyles. One has a mullet, one has a humongous mohawk, the one talking to my "dad" has the sides of her head shaved, with a long streak of hair running down the center, and braids lining that streak. As we start to walk away, I fall asleep again.
As we pull back into the harbor, I wake up, and I can see two realities super imposed over eachother. One is the regular reality, the one I left, and the other is a reality where things are destroyed and burning. The reality of destruction starts to slowly fade leaving me with current reality.
We pull into the driveway and start to walk up to the house. I'm still in that hazy dream state, but I watch my insect friends running to hide, and it's all in slow motion. There's a flashlight that highlights each friend as they run to hide, and each time i see the light I'm afraid they'll get caught. We're lead into the kitchen where dinner's waiting. I sit down, and I'm still really hazy, and the camera shows me what I look like: hell. I'm still dirty, I'm sweaty, I have large bags under my eyes, and it looks like I'm about to fight.
My brother and sister turn to me and say, "did you see the city? We can barely remember it, but it looked like it was on fire!" They keep talking to me, but I can hear really faint whispering, but it seems to dominate my brother and sister's talking, and my foster's talking. I can barely make out what the whispering says (and the camera's zoomed in on my ear), but I do make out the words "almost ready" and "kill him." I jump up from the table, shout, and slap my right knee, and I get coated in this silver substance, with lights running down my sides, and I see two people dressed similarly with knives standing behind my parents. My camera takes a wide shot to let me see everything that's happening, and then my roommate walks in the damn door, waking me up. And now I'm awake. Crap.
Friday, March 16, 2007
REM cycle one: engage! OR "a first time for everything."
So, in my psycho-loggy class, we were discussing the cycles of sleep. I won't get too far into the gritty details, but know that there are 4 cycles of sleep, and they run in 90 minute cycles. After the first cycle, you wake up long enough to readjust (less than 5 seconds, usually) and then go back to sleep. The first REM (rapid eye movement) cycle occurs when you fall back asleep. So, last night, I wake up, roll over to my left side, and on the process of falling back asleep, my internal voice says, real excitedly, "holy crap! This is the beginning of your next sleep cycle! Sweet! And there's the REM!" and I could quite literally feel my eyeballs darting around inside of my skull, and then I could feel myself lose my body and descend back into sleep before I went numb and "shut off" again. It was incredibly vivid and surreal.
And then this morning, right before I woke up, I had a dream that someone brought home a whole bunch of demon possessed toys, and though they were blatantly possessed, they claimed that they had no idea. Right. You're just lazy is what it is.
"How do you know they're possessed?" the person asked. Right then a toy tank shoots me in the shin.
"That's how," I say. So, my dad and I are then busying ourselves with the construction of a fire with which to burn up these little bastards. We're huckin' toys into the fire to burn them up, and one of the toys is a miniature Christina Ricci doll, and man does she not want to get thrown into the fire. She tried to stab me, so I chucked her ass in. Then my alarm went off.
I don't know what Christina Ricci did to my subconscious, but man is it pissed at her.
And then this morning, right before I woke up, I had a dream that someone brought home a whole bunch of demon possessed toys, and though they were blatantly possessed, they claimed that they had no idea. Right. You're just lazy is what it is.
"How do you know they're possessed?" the person asked. Right then a toy tank shoots me in the shin.
"That's how," I say. So, my dad and I are then busying ourselves with the construction of a fire with which to burn up these little bastards. We're huckin' toys into the fire to burn them up, and one of the toys is a miniature Christina Ricci doll, and man does she not want to get thrown into the fire. She tried to stab me, so I chucked her ass in. Then my alarm went off.
I don't know what Christina Ricci did to my subconscious, but man is it pissed at her.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Just Checking In
It's been sort of awhile since I blogged. There's not really a whole lot of anything new to report I suppose. What, for some reasons that I find unidentifiable, seems to have been a hectic and disorganized few months seem to be normalizing somewhat and slowing down back to normal, though nothing ever really felt "not normal," just "hectic."
Right now, it's my absolute favorite weather. Overcast, rainy, cold. It's gray outside and I love it. I think when people see the gray outside, that's all their able to focus on. I even remember in high school my dad criticizing me once for liking the rain and clouds. Something to the effect of, "why can't you like sunshine like everyone else?" or something. My response was that everyone focuses so hard on the gray skies that they don't see how rich the earth looks. The greens are so dark and rich. The gray creates illusions (or brings out what the blue hides?) of blues and purple in the trees. Everything looks so much cleaner. What would appear to be a dirty city scape is made infinitely cleaner by the presence of rain, especially in post winter/not quite spring mode. The rain also seems to justify the buildings, turning giant steel and mortar eye sores into items inside of a painting. Most people, I think and I've been told, feel depressed by this weather. Quite the opposite for me. This weather makes me feel alive. My appetite's best (if it's too hot, I hate food), I feel most awake even if I didn't get sufficient sleep (like last night) I feel myself come to life more quickly than if that damn oppressive fire orb were hovering over me. This is the best sleeping weather, and the best action weather. You can run, do manual labor, sit at home, or do nothing in this weather, and it all feels good. Try running in August. It sucks. A lot.
Right now, it's my absolute favorite weather. Overcast, rainy, cold. It's gray outside and I love it. I think when people see the gray outside, that's all their able to focus on. I even remember in high school my dad criticizing me once for liking the rain and clouds. Something to the effect of, "why can't you like sunshine like everyone else?" or something. My response was that everyone focuses so hard on the gray skies that they don't see how rich the earth looks. The greens are so dark and rich. The gray creates illusions (or brings out what the blue hides?) of blues and purple in the trees. Everything looks so much cleaner. What would appear to be a dirty city scape is made infinitely cleaner by the presence of rain, especially in post winter/not quite spring mode. The rain also seems to justify the buildings, turning giant steel and mortar eye sores into items inside of a painting. Most people, I think and I've been told, feel depressed by this weather. Quite the opposite for me. This weather makes me feel alive. My appetite's best (if it's too hot, I hate food), I feel most awake even if I didn't get sufficient sleep (like last night) I feel myself come to life more quickly than if that damn oppressive fire orb were hovering over me. This is the best sleeping weather, and the best action weather. You can run, do manual labor, sit at home, or do nothing in this weather, and it all feels good. Try running in August. It sucks. A lot.
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