a cold day in Texas 

water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.......

so you never know what you got till it's gone. an old cliche if there every was one, but then again cliches are there for a reason. yesterday my water was shut off. sure i could blame this person and that person, i could blame bureaucratic bullshit, but in reality i have no one to blame but myself. i haven't paid the water bill in three months. and yesterday a hapless worker came to my house, closed the valve and put a padlock on it. simple as that. i'd actually paid the bill, but i guess i dropped in the mail a few days too late. oh well. the other day i spent the night at my girls house. we had a wonderful meal. homemade beef stroganoff. watched a movie and then settled in for the night. i got up the next morn, brushed my teeth, had a cup of coffee and made my way home. got home, and went about my days activities. i phoned several business associates, made plans and then went to work to get more things done. a simple plan. go to work, make my arrangements for the day, return home, shit, shower and shave, then return for my tuesday night behind the bar. serving drinks for the brave souls who ventured into the dark deserted neighborhood for a drink on a tuesday night. i arrived home at dusk to find a red flyer on my door. damn! maybe it's just my final warning. no worry i sent the check off in the mail yesterday. once i arrived on my doorstep, my fears were realized. they shut my water off. my plans were dashed. it was getting dark and cold. i was looking forward to a modest meal, and a shower. to cleanse my body and my soul. oh well i've been camping before, no big deal. it'll all be straightened out with a phone call, and i'll have water in the morning. one phone call to the water dept and i discover that i'll be with out water for a few more days, unless i want to go in person to pay the bill that i had previously paid but they had yet to receive. drats foiled again! oh well, i haven't done anything to get dirty, i can go one more day with out a shower, i can wash my face and hands at work. on the way home from work i got a can of soda, and bottle of water. the water for myself in the morning, and the soda to mix with my bourbon. when i woke the dogs bowl was empty, well he got a bottle of fine spring water to drink and i got the half can of flat cola to wash the night away. but this really sucks. i have bourbon, some flat soda, and no water. and all i want to do is wash my hands. a glass of water would be nice but i really want to wash my hands. a simple task. but yet unattainable. i use a little water left over from a pitcher in the fridge and complete the task. but as i was doing so, being careful to not waste a drop, i think of all the water i have wasted. the times the faucet dripped and i was too lazy to get up and turn it off. of the time i stood in the shower for long after i needed. or flushed an empty toilet just to hear it flush before i used it. of just the other day when i filed the sink to soak some pots, or just let the water run to rinse the pot instead of just washing it and being done. cliches are tools and examples of life. they tell us what we already know but are too wrapped up with ourselves to listen. so the old cliche, you don't know what you got till it's gone? it's true. it's a truism. i have three faucets in my home, and not a one of them works. i took them for granted. i took for granted that every time i turn the handle, clean cool water would run forth. but not today. today all i have is a quickly emptying bottle of bourbon, three days worth of beard, and dirty hands. i hope i don't have to shit soon.

i'd forget my own birthday if it wasn't on my drivers licence

i can't even recall the number of times you've given me your blog address, i always seem to loose it before i can get home. can i get again?

West Texas neon and grease

It didn’t take long for Patrick to find a job. Years of hopping from job to job had given him the experience to find work almost anywhere he laid his head. This time he found a job in a small motorcycle shop. He worked long hours, at first it was to make up on lost cash from the road trip. Then to find a more permanent living arrangement. After only a few weeks in the motel, he had grown weary of the old man and his disapproving looks when he returned at night from his long days in the shop covered in grease and grime that would turn to money on Friday. Of his leering eyes while the young woman went about her daily activities of laundry, shopping, and lounging about the room. Soon they found a small garage apartment. A perfect arrangement indeed. There was enough room to park the truck and a bike away from prying eyes at night, and enough space above to keep from running over each other while they stayed in.
After finding suitable living conditions, Patrick began working the long hours for the extra cash to finally rebuild his bike. He spent many a night when not working on customers bikes working on his own. Rebuilding, repairing and refinishing parts cast off by others as unusable or undesirable, yet still more than satisfactory for his meager needs. What he did not need he traded or sold for the parts he needed to purchase new.
As time progressed the bike began to take shape and form. It was no longer a rolling, broken pile of rusty, ragged parts, but a rolling functioning motorcycle. Not necessarily the show bike he wanted, but he could soon put his face back into the wind. He could twist the throttle and blow his troubles away with the exhaust gasses. He had finally regained the freedom he had desired, even as short lived as it would become.
Soon the young lady disapproved of his late nights in the shop. Patrick was hardly ever home, and when he was, he was tired from long hours in the shop. The same long hours that put a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She grew weary of sitting in the apartment unable to find a job. Soon the magic was lost. She began making friends at the nearby bar. Soon she was spending more time away from the tiny, sparsely furnished apartment returning to bask in the light of a jukebox and a neon signs. Men began to take notice of her again. For a while she resisted, but eventually she fell prey to temptation. It was a man who didn’t have dirt under his nails, or grease stained hands. He was a normal man who spent long hours in the bar that she was beginning to call home, instead of working on his bike or hot rod. A man who had a job and provide her with drinks and fine food. The same man who took his own bike to Patrick for repairs.
Patrick came home one night to find a note laying on the kitchen counter. It read “ thanks for the ride, Nina”

10/3

shots of jager and empty glasses of water
living out of an empty tip jar
bills past due
water, phone and electric getting cut off
drunken posts about nothing.
longing to love
long to live
a round of shots
jager running low
put another bottle on the chiller
and pour me another round.
fuck it! thought it was time to crawl out of the garage,
guess i was wrong.
i'll go back now.
to tools i know how to use
metal i know how to work
machines that know my hands
the cool touch of metal
warming in my hand
a strong 4/4 from the speakers
drowning out my thoughts of flesh
sharpening my thoughts of
grease, steel and oil.
tolorences and tourques
spinning, whirling parts to keep my hands from.
things that make the world go away.
a machine doesn't care if i'm cold or tired
doesn't care if i'm drunk or sober
doesn't care if i'm hungry or full
it only wants to work
it olny wants to spin and whir
breath fire and turn it to power
FOR ME
it only knows what i want it to know
it doesn't want to be friends
it wants to me
****************************************************************
she loves me
she hates me
when i don't show her enought attention she gets cranky
when i treat her too harsh she falls apart
she tried to kill me
she has saved my life
she loves to be touched
she loves to take care of me
she bleeds for me
she longs for me
she loves me
so much she wants to take my life
so that we will never part
i thought i had gotten rid of her for life
but she came back
she can not let me go
and i her
she lives for me
i and for her

the truth does sting a bit, doesn't it?

You Know You Drink Too Much When...

Your doctor finds traces of blood in your alcohol stream. The back of your head keeps getting hit by the toilet seat. The parking lot seems to have moved while you were in the bar When you go to donate blood and they ask what proof? You think the Four Basic Food Groups are Caffeine, Nicotine, Alcohol, and Hotties. You have a "happy hour" at home When you are sober, people ask you what's wrong? You spend all night making a board game called Alcohol Land Although you drove home the other night you can't remember how you got home or where you parked your car "Hi ocifer. I'm not under the affluence of incohol." Your favorite drink is ethanol. "Why does everybody think I have a prinking droblem?! - I don't have a prinking droblem!" "I don't have a drinking prob..pleb..prub.. *hic* Pash me another, tarbender." You can spend a whole night holding up walls to prevent their (your) collapse. You instinctively know where the alcohol is in a store you've never been in before Clubs raise their drink prices because you haven't attended in a while You think beer and ramen make a good breakfast You frequently urinate outdoors. When you first wake up and you're afraid you're gonna die and a half-hour later you're afraid you won't. You fall asleep taking a dump. You believe that spilling a beer is alcohol abuse. You go to the john to hurl, but you take your beer with you. You find it's easier to study drunk. You're on a first name basis at the detoxification center. Beer ads make sense. You wake up to the sound of your dog drinking out of the toilet and you're so dry that it sounds mighty thirst quenching. You wake the next morning and start drinking a few of the half empties left sitting around the room. The space on your driver's license that tells your eye color reads "bloodshot". You fall down a flight of steps and DON'T spill a drop of your beer. You mix your cocktails by the litre. You grow a beard because it stops beer that's running down your chin. You put off urinating in hopes of reaching that near orgasmic Zen-like piss. When the bottle says 20 standard drinks but you only get 5. You spell Alcohol with a capital letter out of respect You lose arguments with inanimate objects. You have to hold onto the lawn to keep from falling off the earth Your career won't progress beyond Senator from Massachusettes. 24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case - coincidence?? - I think not! Two hands and just one mouth... - now THAT'S a drinking problem! "Norm!" is what they say when you enter the bar. You can focus better with one eye closed The parking lot seems to have moved while you were in the bar You fall off the floor. You discover in the morning that liquid cleaning supplies have mysteriously disappeared. Hey, 5 beers has just as many calories as a burger, screw dinner! Beer: it's not just for breakfast anymore. The glass keeps missing your mouth. Vampires get woozy after bitting you. At AA meeting you begin: "Hi, my name is... uh..." Your idea of cutting back is less seltzer. You wake up in the bedroom, your underwear is in the bathroom, you fell asleep clothed. - hmm. Every night you're beginning to find your roomate's cat more and more attractive. If you're on a diet, you cut back your food calories to allow for alcohol calories. "Take me drunk, I'm home!" You wake up naked lying in the corner of a bus depot. You drink to get over a hangover. You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends who drink too much.

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going insane

i decided that i'm going to grab mu whiskey bottle and go crawl into my toolbox for awhile. if you need me i'll be out it in the garage.

you talking to me?

this is the part where i go insane.

broken heart 

my jeans

blood, piss and cum,
vodka, whiskey and rum.
human grease and bits of food,
grease and oil, very crude
my jeans have become.
things in my jeans, some
times comes out in the wash.
other times the paryt is just a memory.
a torn cuff,
the waiste gettting rough,
a stain, or spot of bleach
sand in my pocket from the beach
my jeans.
they clothe me,
protect me,
save me,
comfort me,
hold my things and my body.
bloody, bruised and broken.
happy, sad and spoken,
they tell the life i live.
human grease, blood and rum.
axle grease and cum.
today is wash day.
stains wash away,
memories fade.
scars heal.
glory last forever.

with apologies to music.

a silent phone,
and no pool.
a pet ,
half pack of cigarettes,
and empty bed.
a full couch,the remote is mine,
but out of reach.
dirty dishes in the kitchen,
waiting to be cleaned.
and dirty thoughts,
waiting to be fulfilled.
the computer light
filling the empty room.
visions of girls dance on the screen.
but they are out of reach also.
paint smearing, mind reeling
whisky getting warm on a cool night.
cigarettes burning carelessly in the ashtray.
thoughts on a screen,
thoughts beyond means,
words in my head,
while laying in my bed,
with empty hands and dirty sheets
the clock a constant reminder,
of time spent alone.
freedom to act, is not with out consequence.
freedom to be alone.
freedom to stay away
freedom
freedom
girls winking
girls flirting
drinking for free
teasing
taunting
holding out
wanting, but pushing away
giving in.
gone at first light.

When you call out my name..........

You know me by my name, i know you by your drink.
young pretty girls drink light beer and vodka tonics,
young men do shots of whiskey and schnapps between their beers.
old men drinks scotch and draft beer.
old women drink wine or drinks with simple names.
i hate you all.
for different reasons of course. but i still hate you. because your loud,
your rude, you don't tip, and you don't know what your talking about.
your talking to hear yourself talk and to
make your self feel important.
why on earth do you want to talk to me?
is your life so un-interesting that you find delight in my
mundane life?
Fuck You, Pay Me!

thoughts

"Somebody at one of these places asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like it's looks, you make a pet out of it."
- Charles Bukowski

it don't matter where i'm coming from, it's where i'm going to.

all the things you had to say
are now the things you take away
empty beds and lonely dreams
lonely nights and hollow screams
misunderstanding
miscommunication
separation
i misunderstood your communication
i thought things were resolved, demarcation
you tell me not to let go
as you run away, slow
miscommunication
yelling
screaming
talking
holding
caressing
moaning
a first kiss
and a last embrace
shining eyes and broken hearts
faces with smiles
now just miles
of separation
hold me now
touch me now
too close now
too tight now
time to go now

Devils Daughter

I remeber when the devils daughter called me by MY name. but it's ok.

blah

another monday home alone.

What if?

I live in fear of "what if?" more often than not I do things because I don't want to regret. I live in fear of being 90 years old, sitting in a chair with a blanket and a cup of coffee, wondering what if?. It is one of the reasons I keep my TV on CNN. I don't want to miss anything. For the same reason I tend to also do things I think will hurt me. Because then I know if they will hurt me or not. I won't wonder. But I still do wonder. And I drive myself crazy thinking about it. what if.......

Texas sunsets in the eye of the storm.......

I stood by the window last night watching the approaching storm. I told my few remaining customers that they had better head home if the didn't want to be caught out in the rain. They scoffed and rambled on about how the weathermen have not predicted an accurate storm in weeks, it'll blow over they said, nothing to worry about they said. I told them I don't watch the weather and I don't listen to the weathermen. I watch the radars and look outside. To the north the sky was black, grey and green. The sign of an impending Texas storm. The kind of clouds that bring night at 4pm. To the south were long rolling clouds. The sun washing them in hues of purples, oranges and reds. The sky around them a vibrant blue. All giving no impression of the destruction to follow the sun shrinking into the night.
moments of eternity later I was alone in the bar when the wind began to howl. The windows rattled and the building shook. A fine mist covered the ground first and then the rain began to fall. Hard drops pounding the hot pavement. The wind so fierce the rain appeared to be coming straight out of the ground. The doors creaked and groaned, popping open and slamming shut in one fell swoop. The ceiling quivered. The walls trembled. The driving rain found it's way in to every crack and crevice of the old building, and poured thru the roof. The lights sizzled with every flash of lighting and flickered with every crash of thunder. I stood next to the door of the walk-in cooler, waiting for the ceiling to collapse or disappear. I didn't know which, but waited none the less. I made busy with mopping water off of the floor and putting buckets under the leaks. Anything to keep my mind off of my possible doom.
and as suddenly as it started, it ended. The rain began to fall from the sky instead of rising out of the earth. The lightning and thunder began to move off to the distance instead of over my head. The wind died to a whisper. Every thing was calm. The sky broke, revealing deep blues and blacks, a few stars shown thru the remaining wisps of clouds. And my evening returned to normal. Pouring cold beers and shots of whiskey, gin-n-tonics and shots of jager for the customers that had braved the end of the storm to seek refuge from the blackness left when the storm took their electricity. And I sat and listened, like I do most nights, to their stories of woe and excitement. But tonight it was a shared story. We had made thru another angry Texas storm. Together.

Yesterday........

My grandmother died yesterday. The hospital screwed up and did not put her Do Not Resuscitate order on her chart, and they brought her back. Now she is on life support. it is not at all what she wanted. now the children have to make the decision to "pull the plug". good thing they don't ask me, cuz i'll tell them to let her go. I'm supposed to go to the hospital today, but I don't know if I'll make it. The petty bullshit has already started. my aunts are already arguing on how to divid stuff up. my sister is hurt because they are only dividing the estate 4 ways, when she had five children. al my sister wants is a piece of jewlry.

update: she's actually getting better. i've been told she is responsive and is being taken off of morphine. so we'll se what happens........

sorry miss jackson

i didn't mean to make your daughter cry, i apoligize a thousand times......

it's the little things....

i've been wondering for the last few days why something so damn small as a flea, can cause such high levels of itching and burning. you'd think something so small might not even be any cause for any atttention at all. but damn flea bites are annoying. stupid fleas.

The feelings of this worn out cowboy........

Well my name is Cecil Brown
and I'm from a little town
and people don't think much of me

I never understood
why they thought I was no good
But this is how it seems

The feelings of this worn out cowboy
will make you feel so cold
I've traveled up and down so many
kind of lonesome roads

I once took the high road
and it took me straight to hell
and I stood there all by myself

Cause all alone's where
I feel like I belong
Cause it don't matter
who's right or wrong

The feelings of this worn out cowboy
will make you feel so cold
I've traveled up and down so many
kind of lonesome roads

Pickin' up the pieces
of my broken family
Is not an easy sight to see

And as the leaves have changed
it helps ease the pain
and sufferin' they left for me

The feelings of this worn out cowboy
will make you feel so cold
I've traveled up and down so many
kind of lonesome roads

Don't go shooting all the dogs cuz one of them has fleas.

I just can't get them out. Just all kind of images floating around. Trains, planes and automobiles. Thoughts of Paris streets being cleaned by shop keepers and men in blue uniforms. Ranches and Texas sunsets, hell even sunrises. Images of people dancing, in the streets, in the clubs. Sometimes I drift off and daydream of being a rock star. This intrigues me as well. When I ever I have gotten on stage in recent memory, to say a few words of welcome or thanks, my voice trembles and my mind reels in fear. But I still see my self bathed in light in front of a roaring crowd moving to MY rhythm. Actually I see myself onstage as if I were standing in the crowd. I see how I look and how I move. I love me. teehee
I also had thoughts of setting balloons free at the break of dawn. Hell I have so many thoughts and images floating in my head right now I can't even get them straight enough to put them into words.
rain, highways, fences, tall grass blowing in the wind. Big trucks on the highway, a big truck driving down a small two lane road in the middle of nowhere West Texas, blowing the tall dry grass growing on the side of the road. They way the mist forms on the roadway in the rain with heavy traffic. Neon lights and thunderstorms. A forgotten radio playing in an empty room. There was a story in a magazine about an old man who owned a warehouse full of motorcycle parts. Buried somewhere in the place was a radio. It had been on the same station, buried under parts for 50 years. That makes me think about an empty room with white walls and a bare wood floor, a small wooden table and chair sits in the corner, near a window. The thin curtains are swirling in the afternoon breeze. On top of the table is a radio, playing songs from a place and time that never existed. A voice telling me about the time and temperature of a place that has never been. The other corner of the room is small bed. White sheets, worn by time. A green wool blanket pulled taught across the frame. A little blue nightstand, holding a book and a lamp. A sad room. The room of a man who has no love in his life. A man who life consists only of work. From sun up to sun down during the week he toils away in some unknown job. But on Sundays, his only day away from the grease or gloom or dirt of labor, he sits at the table. Listens to his radio, and watches out the window. He thinks of time ahead and behind. He thinks of a woman he has never seen. Who plays in the sun. A white dress twirling and floating on her shoulders as she spins and leaps in the grass. Every now and then she'll take a moment from her dance, she'll stop and look towards the window. And she smiles and waves and he smiles back. Cigarette smoke floats around his head, and blows out the window into the empty yard. The girl only in his head, an angel of sorts. The hope and wish of blue eyes looking into his. A soft hand holding his, a warm hug that lingers while he works. And the radio plays on, delivering songs that no one has heard but sound like you have heard them you whole life.

Coffee, cigarettes, and bourbon.

I have so much on my mind today i don't even know where to begin. i have a huge zit on my nose. it wasn't there when i went to bed, and i didn't go to bed all that long ago. so where did it come from? i poped it, and was quite dissappointed. instead of a satisfying burst, signifying my destruction of a zit, it just oozed out and bleed all down my nose. a real let down i tell you. anyway.
i was also thinking of amsterdam today. and how i always enjoyed mornings there. the city coming to life once again. or going to bed how ever you want to look at it. the city was nearly as busy at night as it was during the day. two seprate cities separated only by light. at night it was a glorious city. teeming with people, porn and pot. the way the neon and flashing lights reflected off of the canals make the imagery i keep in my head all that more brilliant.

i was telling you about morinings though. the sun lighting the day, tourists milling about taking pitures and reading their maps. locals trying to complete there appointed rounds and errands. bicyles zipping to and fro. the the sun painting the canal a glorious shade of gold. masking the human waste and industrial sewage floating to the sea.

i'm not real sure why i thought about this this morning while cutting the grass. maybe it's the drab and dreary day. maybe it was the cool air. it surely wasn't the smell of cut grass. i'm suprized that i am thinking about days in Amsterdam, because i was always out all night. the few times i was up in the morning was when i took people with me to show them the wonderland i found. days for me where to find a nice cafe, sit have a bite to eat and get a fresh beer to nurse my hangover. i'd sit on the street all day long just watching the world go by. i would confuse tourists by helping them with directions in english. i'd confuse shop owners by purusing their stores that were not on the tourist routes. they'd ask me if i was lost, i'd tell them no i was just shopping. they'd ask if i was on a tour, and i'd say no. i didn't take a tour i came here by myself. i'd tell them i wanted to get far away from the tour district. i spent all night there. i wanted to see what the city really had to offer. what it was like with out all the paint and polish. and it was a beautiful city. thousands of doors and dark allys. shops full of things, "Ver Koop! 50% off". shops where americans and english speaking people didn't go. shops where all the signs where in dutch. i remeber on time finding a flea market. this was not the amsterdam that the tourist council wanted me to see. everyday citizens, selling everyday items, for everyday bills. i bought a pair of wool dutch army socks, still one of my favorite pair of socks too, for 2 dollars. i love that town

more from the road

She and Patrick arrived in the driving rain. the wipers could not keep up as the rain poured from the heavens in large sheets. water was coming in everywhere into the old truck. from around the doors and through the windshield seal, running in ribbons down the inside of the glass dripping off of the dash only to pool on the rusty floor then finding its way to holes and back out on to the road. out of the rain storm they saw an oasis of light, a shining neon beacon of safty in the night. they pulled in the parking lot and parked, looked at each other and ducked out into the rain. they came out of the rain into the motel office. a man shuffled out from a back room, lit on by the light of a television. he was short, squat and balding. his once white undershirt now grey and stained from years of washing his own clothes and spilling his food while he ate. he wasn't there to make money, he was there because there was no where else to go in this town. he had worked for the motel since he graduated high school, just for the summer, but he never made it away. now years later he was not just the night shift manager, but he was the manager, and maintenance man. the exposed skin spilling from his shirt had a greasy sheen that matched his greasy hair, what little was left. he didn't speak to the them when they approached the counter, he just stood there with a blank expression, waiting for the ritual to continue so that he might get back to more important things. like watching sports and drinking his last beer for the night. Patrick asked for a room and the man flatly replied, 35 dollars while sliding a check-in card towards them. Patrick filled out a the card while the man fumbled to find a key and then handed him the money. almost as an afterthought the man gestured over Patrick and the girl's shoulders and grunted, second building on the left, check out is at 12.

Can't Hardly Stand It

Can't Hardly Stand It :Charlie Feathers

Well, the sun's gone down
And you're uptown
And you're just out runnin' around

(Chorus:)
I can't hardly stand it
You're troublin' me
I can't hardly stand
It just can't be
Well, you don't know, a-babe I love you so
You got me all tore up, all tore up

You say you're trough with me
You're settin' me free
You're just out with your used-to-be

(Chorus)

Well, my spirit's low
I love (miss) you so
I stand alone and watch you go

(Chorus)

Well, now that you are gone
And I'm alone
All I do is sit and moan

(Chorus)

Baby, all tore up
Baby, all tore up
All tore up...

well crap i can't believe i have to get over it again. i thought i had suffiectly braced and reinforced my fragile heart. the image i have in my head is of a bloddy heart laying on a table or maybe hung on a wall, wrapped in metal strapping tape, wire and screws, all held up by a couple of 2 by 4's. the ends of the boards covered in blood, the sheen of the cold galvinized industrial metal glistening with coagulating life. strong and unyeilding. but in one fell swoop it was all ripped off, and thrown to the floor with our clothes. i don't know if that was the intended purpose or not. but i suddenely feel naked and vunerable and confused. of course mybe i brought this all upon myself. hopefully i can get passed this and move on. maybe i reading too much into this. maybe it was just sex. maybe it doesn't mean anything.

so i have begun the long arduous task of going thru my life agin. i do this from time to time. for some reason i tend to go thru the same stuff over and over. today i went through pictures. and i threw alot away. i threw away some from a forgotten trip to the woods. i don't where or when they were taken. so they got thrown out. i have so much paperwork from the military, and i have gone thru it from time to time, and everytime i find more papers that i thought were important at one time but now i find them completley useless and a waste of space. space. this is why i've begun this again. i have run out of space. i lost a room in my house to my bestfriend, now roomate, and i no longer have the space to store the scraps of my life. i'm workign to a point where i can load everything i own into the back of a truck and leave. some day i hope to start over. brand new life, brand new friends. brand new everything. and to do this i have to find the strength to let go of my past. from time to time i hate my past. i made chioces that i'm no longer happy i made.

but i guess you can't run from your past can ya?

yeah i thought i could go a week with out drinking. who the hell was i kidding. i went 2 days. on weds. i went out, and had a bourben and coke. big mistake. i thought i could handle it. and actually i could. i didn't even finish my drink at dinner. but then i went out for drinks, i had two. during the middle of my second i ordered a glsass of water. but afterwards i went home, got my roommate, went out for a few more, then we went home and drank till 5am. i realized i love the way bourbon washes over my mouth, and over my body. it's sweet and bitter just like a woman. i decided that i cannot not drink right now. i love it way too much. i love the bitter sweet flavor, the wetness in my mouth and the warmth on my throat. the shiver down my back and the buzzz in my head. goodnight.

what a weekend. live music, Hot Rods, bikes, and a ton of rain. i'm hurting like hell today. i've got bruises all over my body, a black eye, and huge gash across my nose. i was told that i fell down more than i was standing. fun stuff. this may be the incentive i need to stop drinking. i don't know if can do it or not. i know i can go a shift at the T, with out drinking, i can work with out drinking. i but i don't know if i can go out without drinking.

oh well. i didn't go to jail.

create your own personalized map of the USA
or write about it on the open travel guide

Work

Work work and more work. but i did take the weekend off and go party. but back to work.

Happy Birthday to me!
for my birthday today i had a steak breafast/dinner when i got home from work last night, and as a special treat, before i went to bed, i turned turned the A/C on, set it to ice and got the best nights sleep i have had in months. i'll have to turn it off before i go to work, but it is nice to curl up in my big blanket and sleep. on the flip side, i ended up sleeping most of the day and now i'm about 3 hrs behind schedule. oh well, fuck it it's my birthday.

he drove into the west Texas sunset. she sat next to him in the truck. it was late July. hot, sticky and just plain grueling. the old truck had no A/C and with the chopped top the windows only hinted at the breeze blowing past the windows at 70 miles an hour. the truck rocked and creaked as the open header pipes bellowed their arrival on the road to points unknown. where were they going? she didn't know and neither did he. he knew that where ever it was it wasn't where they'd been the night before. before the fight. before the whiskey. before it all went terribly wrong.
Patrick had the day off. a rarity these days. he was trying like mad to pay his bills and rebuild his broken bike. it had broken a long time ago and the stream of broken hearts and broken whiskey bottles had left him in debt and with out his beloved chopper. he sat in his home watching TV occasionally staring out the window to the garage. the padlock was beginning to shown signs of weather, and the leaves were piling against the door from un-use. he decide he needed a drink. not just any drink would do. it had to be a good one. not one could make himself. but one that was made just for him. a drink that would take his breath away and absolve him of all his fears. so he combed back his greasy hair, dusted of his cowboy boots and headed out the door to find his solace in the bottom of a glass.
when he got to the bar it was just the way he wanted. loud, dirty, ugly punk rock made it's way from the stage and filtered through the patrons souls and out in the night. the doorman gave him a handshake and smile and let him on thru. he went straight to the bar and waited for the magic elixirs to be handed him in the grim dark light and swirling noise. that was when he noticed her. she was standing next to the jukebox as if she knew, and purposely stood there to bath in her personal spotlight. her black hair rolled and cascaded off her shoulders. her eyes sparkled. her lips followed the words to the music. or so he thought. but instead of watching the band,she turned to him and smiled with a come hither grin and Patrick knew this girl was going to be the death of him. he could see death in her eyes and lust on her mind. they both stood for a moment and just stared at each other. then she turned back around to dance and sing along to the band. Patrick ordered up a second drink and strode over to say hello. when the band was over he asked her name and they began talking. suddenly there were no others in the bar, and the music fell off into background noise. the once blaring jukebox was no longer filler between bands, it became the soundtrack to lust and sin. she told him things he wanted to hear but was afraid to ask. she whispered in his ears things that took his breath away and made his skin fit funny. she turned and nodded towards the dark corner behind the stage. the band was unloading their gear and they would just be another couple in the mass and disappear for a moment. she reached out and took his hand and his breath away. she led him to the dark corner. her eyes glowing in the shadows. she pulled him close to her, brushed her cheek against his as she drew back for a kiss. her lips met his and the world stopped. the music stopped. his heart stopped. then it raced out of control as it came back to life. her lips were soft and inviting. she tasted of bourbon and cigarettes. her hands pulled him closer to her and comforted his broken heart. that was when it happened.
Patrick didn't realize it when it happened. it was just a dulled thud on the back of his head. but he'd work in bars for so long he knew the sound of glass breaking over a skull. his knees buckled slightly. he wasn't sure where the slight dizziness was coming from. the long remorseless kiss he had just been given or the bottle broken over his head. he spun around to find a young man puzzled as to why he was still standing. he heard her call out to the man who'd hit him, asking why he couldn't leave her alone, why he wouldn't let go. why he'd would not let her get on with her life. the first punch brought Patrick back to reality and he responded in kind. the mans eyes rolled but he stood his ground. the second punch caught Patrick in the shoulder, third was deflected. Patrick's second hit connected right below the mans left eye, his cheek split and spilled blood as he fell to the floor. in the few seconds that it took, the entire bar staff was rushing towards him. he spun around grabbed the girl, and ran thru the guitars and amps spilling on the floor from the scuffle out the back door and to the truck. he never asked if she wanted to go with him. he just took her along. he was just as scared as she was. did he have friends, was someone hot on his heels in pursuit? he never looked back. he just ran to his truck, threw her in, fired the old beast up and rocketed out of the parking lot and out into the streets. after leaving the club she never said a word. she just held on to Patrick's hand as they ran. once in the truck she just sat there, looking at Patrick, looking at the blood on her hands, looking out the window.
he didn't know where to go, so he went home. she cleaned the broken glass from his hair and washed the blood from his face and hands. they didn't speak much, they didn't have to speak. there was not much to say. there was not much that wasn't being said in a glance, a nod or a touch of the hand. they slowly undressed. Patrick was beginning to get sore as his adrenaline soaked muscles relaxed. they laid down together, they embraced, and kissed as they drifted off to sleep.
the next morning over coffee and cigarettes she told him her life. of how she knew that if she didn't leave then she would never be able to relax. he would always be there, he would always find her. Patrick didn't really have that much worth staying for himself. his debt would never be paid off and he needed a reason to leave as well. to start fresh. so it was decided, they would start out together. he packed a few clothes, put his tools and broken bike in the back of his truck. left a note for his land lord to sell what he could and throw the rest away.
he asked if she needed anything, she replied no. there was no place to go and all she needed was already in the truck. if anything else came up, they'd find it on the road.

Goodmorning America how are ya?

Don't you know me? i'm your native son. i am america.

my life has sucked all the energy out of my soul. now don't get me wrong. it's not gone, but it's pretty beaten up. i worked 54 hours last week, 40 of that was on thruday,friday and saturday. and i still tried to manage to keep a social life, but since rent is due on thrusday there is a good chance it time to hibernate in the house. if your lucky, you might get a post or two in the next few days. i'm supposed to talk to patrick tommorow maybe he'llhave another story to tell me, or if we go out, maybe a story i can tell about him.

yeah i got nuthing today. spent most of the weekend at home. Queenie came over saturday night, we watched movies and fell alseep on the couch.
only two more days to go till i get a day off. right now i'm on day 8 of 10 in a row. damn i'm tired. one just tired, phyiscally and mentally, and two, tired of people and bars.
Everybody sucks but me! thppphbhbh

Patrick had a rough day at work slinging drinks to all the 7th street drunks. at just after 3:30 he had managed to get them all out of the bar, everything put away for the night and the door locked. he walked over to the 7-11 to grab a hotdog and a pack of smokes. same story ever night. in the short walk from the store to his bike ha had managed to swallow the Bigbite, zip up his jacket and make his way to his bike. a glistening beautiful mix of chrome steel, polished aluminum, greasy black paint and rubber. it didn't look like much but it ran like a demon set free from the bounds of hell. Patrick had spent years slinging drinks all night and day to get this bike running and it was finally done. he swung one leg over the seat and fumbled with the key switch, it stuck from time to time and required a light touch to make it turn. once the ignition was turned on, he reached down and tickled each carburetor to give a little extra gas for starting. reaching down with his right hand he pulled the kick starting pedal out with a reassuring click letting him know it was firmly locked into place. he picked up his heavy boot from the cool damp pavement below bringing it to rest on the kicker. in one fluid motion he twisted open the throttle and brought his weight to bear on the quiet engine. in the same instant the engine roared to life. while letting the bike gently warm he double checked his gloves and cinched his jacket a little tighter, adjusted his weight on the machine, and slid his glasses down over his eyes. after returning the kicker pedal to its home position, he moved the transmission into 1st gear. while letting the clutch out with one hand he began to accelerate with the other, out into the street and gone into the dark night, the exhaust rising and falling with the shifting of gears, fading into endless black top that was his sweet eternity.
The bike sang as it ran down 7th street towards downtown. the air was cool and crisp, the pavement dry and smooth. as Patrick rode he could hear every gear change from the exhaust bouncing off the empty warehouses the lined the street. they would be bustling with activity soon, but for now he stood empty and silent. he accelerated towards the large monoliths standing vigilant over the central business district. 40mph, 50. Third gear 60, 70, 80 and into fourth with a reassuring clunk, the handle bars went loose in his hands as the bike crested the bridge with the front wheel off the ground. 90, 95, 98, 99, he was willing the bike to go faster and faster, throttle wide open. hunched over the tank to slip as much wind as possible. the bike compressed it's suspension and pushed itself frurther into patricks chest coming off the bridge to the rise in the road to downtown. at top of the rise the magic Ton,100 mph. the world went silent for Patrick. the valves ticking away between his legs, the rush of air through his ears, the exhaust bouncing off the walls of the city. all went silent. the voices in his head stopped as they reeled in horror at the world rushing at them. the voices began to wonder. were the wheel bearings tight? did Patrick tighten that axle nut sufficiently? was there anything in the road to puncture a tire? what about a cop doing his reports, were there any? what about civilians? would some dumb schmuck half asleep, not see that red light? Patrick didn't worry. he knew all was well. every nut tight, every bearing properly lubed. a small grin appeared on his lips knowing that there was nothing between him and downtown but a mile of straight dry road till the next red light. as he crossed Henderson the bike lifted again slightly and he knew it was time to shut down. closing the throttle he sat up and let the wind push his body back, pressing the brake with his left foot and reaching out for the security of the front brake at his right hand. the bike howling and belching resisting the de-acceleration. the excess fuel popping in the hot exhaust as he reached the red light on cherry street. the bike clenched up as it came to a dead stop at the intersection.His heart beat resuming to normal as the tremors of adrenalin washed over his body. and he sat waiting patiently for the green light.

Garbage Trucks

I love them. i don't know why. they are big and filthy. they stink to the very depth of the metal, every nook and cranny that could be is packed full of tiny bits of trash, food, and what nots. i remeber having to weld one up one time, i spent quite some time cleaing and cleaning then finally donning a protective suit to keep my clothes clean. i have found out that no matter how much you clean, there is still a film of stench and grease. so i cleaned some more and ground down the area that needed to be welded. the driver had not noticed what he threw in the back and jammed a peice of pipe in the hopper ripping the side door open and tearing open the compactor blade. so i hammered everything back into place, and struck an arc with my welder. burning the metal back together. the smell of untold things burning out of the metal stuck in my throat for days after. i'll never forget the sweet pungent smell of a burning garbage truck. i hate that smell. the smell of the entire world all smashed into one.
every tuesday i sit patiently waiting in my house for the big lumbering truck to come by and take away my refuse. and now that we have the trucks that pick up the bins i'm even more in love. i don't really know why. all i know is that my whole life i've watched the garbage go out. before there were trucks with big hydraulic arms there were men with big arms running down the street to pick up and take away everything i'd give them.
even though i hate taking out the trash. and it never fails, if i take the bins out before i go to bed they don't get picked up till late afternoon, but if i decide i can wait till morning to take the trash out? fuckers come by at 7am and i miss them. it'a good thing i don't create much trash.

ok i'm a jerk. I'm sorry. that's all for now.

for all you who read this from time to time sorry for not writing latly, but don't give up on me. i've been offline for a while with work and personal stuff. but i will soon return.
thanks for coming out today, i'll be here all week.

cleansing

well a small discovery. i used to not shower on a daily basis. not because i'm a gross pig. but i always thought, hey if i'm not dirty then why? i mean if i shower and don't do anything, all i do is sit infront of the computer all day then all i have to do is wash my hands and face and go back to bed? right? but i had a little bit of a revelation. or for me a light bulb or something. latley it has not been about showing to clean my body but to clean my mind. i have discoverd the ritual of hygene to be more about my head than my body. the whole ritual is self cleaning and gets me going. i wash my body then may hair, then my face. after that i stand under the shower head for sometimes up to 30 minutes just letting the hot water wash everything else away. after that, i shave, brush my teeth and comb my hair. finally i get dressed and walk out the door ready to take on the world because i just washed a bunch of shit outa my head and down the drain to deserted part of town to let the water department solidfy my shit and fill a big hole in the ground.

another thing that came to mind today and startled me. i was sitting here listening to woodeye staring out the window watching the rain, and thought, damn i miss home. WHAT? i am home. i live in the city i was born and raised in. why on earth did i think of home as holland and germany. go back home to amsterdam. sit on a canal on a rainey cold day, have a cold beer and watch the world walk by on vacation, looking for a beer, a dildo, a joint or sex with a stranger. i remember one time shortly after moving to germany, this is weird, i feel like i'm home, i feel like i've been trying to get here my whole life. maybe it's getting time to go back home..........

I'm learning, i really am....

i don't even know where to start today. my day to day life has become seemingly insignificant in light of the world, specifically iraq. yesterday i found a blog from iraq. from there i linked to several others. i was captivated. i read, went back and read many weeks and sometime months of posts from begining to end. i can't even comprehend the things i have read. what i can understand is something i have known for a long time. no matter where you go in this world everything is the same. people are the same. they go about their lives trying to do the best they can to provide for themselves and their families. i could argue that occasioally an individual has a misguided idea of what is good for their families. I could argue alot of things, but today my heart is heavy knowing that someone just like me is sitting in front of a computer not much different than the one i am in in front of, not knowing when the electricity will go out and if they can finish their post. not knowing what the explosion outside was. not knowing that their family is safe. not knowing the certainty of their future. the personal future and the future of a counrty they love.
one of the blogs i read a family member was kidnapped and held for ransom. for over a week he was gone. and the family had to pay the ransom to get him, back. they had to pay because the police are corrupt and often involved, and the american military does not get involved. can't get invovled. they don't know if they will be a detained by the soldiers at the next check point because their beard is too long or the color dress was wrong. i worry about having money for drinks and frivolous items that occupy our daily lives, they worry about bombs and gasoline and kersosene and water.

Screwed blued and tattooed.
i got a new tattoo on friday, friday the 13th of febuary. all i got was a simple 13. about an inch tall, red and black. took all of 30mins to get. i also had one touched up. i got the new tattto on my left arm right above an old one i got on the last friday the 13th. i was hoping to get more, but it took along time before i could get my turn and when i did, i was feeling the effects of 9 days of work and decidied to just get the one, to mark the day. a long time ago i decided that i would get full sleaves, but i was not going to get them all at once. i would get them as time and money allowed. i also made the decision that i would not get tattoos willy nilly with no ryhme or reason. the tattoos i would get on my left arm would be ones of places i've been, things i have done and how i see the world. the ones on my right arm would be how i perceive the world sees me or how i want the world to see me. so far so good. but if you've ever seen my tatoos and you know me, well you know that i'm still heading in the right direction and not too far from my mark. so anyway i got another 13 friday.
saturday i had a date with queenie. but she didn't get off work till late. and it turned out to be not much different than any other saturday night out. i stood at the bar doing shots and drinking beer, while she paraded around in her new party dress.
saturday night was supposed to be a one last stand, a remember the alamo night. instead she drove me home, like always, and we sat up till god knows when talking. but given that there was a time we would stay up all night talking it fits right in with our realtionship.
sunday i got called into work at noon. a shot of jager and a hot cup of coffee and i was able to stop my head from pounding enough that i could count money. after 7 hours of doing shots with the rest of the west 7th crew, all trying to get rid of their hangovers and forget the money they spent on their girls, i was no longer tring to get rid of my hangover but trying to function as a bartender. the combination of alchohol, exhastion and depression was too much for my brain to handle and when a girl asked if i wanted to go to a dance club with her and her friends i said yes. so off to vivid. i don't have much memory of the night. i drank, i danced, i did more shots. then i thought i was lost, then i was found. next thing i know i'm in a truck heading home. home being the bar. i got back, paid my tab and went to sleep in the sound booth. next thing i know i was called out of sluber into another truck and there i was, standing on my front porch, fumbling with my keys to get in the door.
monday i made spaghetti, cookies and ate ice cream.

wow, i don't even know whee to begin this. i had along weekend. it rained it snowed. i drank i fought i danced i loved i don't even know what i have i done. i made money and i spent it. i'll have to get back to you on this i ahev to go lay back down.

cold and sunny

i wish it was raining today. actually i don't want it to rain, but i would like it if the weather matched my mood a liitle better. i just want it to be dark and dreary. i mean it's already cold, it ought to be cloudy as well. at least if it was cloudy i could curl up on the bed or couch or what ever and wallow in self pity. but how are you supposed to have a pity party when the sun is shining and birds are singing.
i miss the first time, the firt sight, the first kiss, that first tingle up my spine the excitement of the unknown, of atticipation. i miss my pants fitting funny.
i miss being excited in the morning. i miss not wondering where she is or who she's talking to.
today i want a big steak, the first cut and the juice spills out on the plate.
i don't want to wonder about her. i don't want to know what she's thinking, i don't want to know who she's talking to.
but she wont get out of my head.
everyday the hole grows larger and larger. everyday the hole gets harder to fill. i miss the days when there was no hole in my heart. i miss the days when i could fill the hole with a few shots of gentley warm bourben. the cool glass in my hand, and fire in my chest.
i miss birds singing. i miss walking on air.

AND GODDAMNIT I HURTING TOO

Dark bars and Dark secrets

out of the mouths of drunk comes the strangest things. i don't know what they are, but hell their talking, and if they are tipping while they talk i'm listening. so last night a small group of six waltz into my place in arlington. two girls and four guys. they are out celebrating the brithday of one of the gents in the group. i only know this because they called proir to arriving to ask if it was ok if they brought a small leashed dog with them. ait turned out i was the only bar they called that would allow a canine companion to accompany them into the bar, so they didn't bring the dog on their birthday bar crawl. the group turned out to consists of a neighboring bar owner, his wife, one of their bartenders and two of their friends, one of whom was the birthday boy. i know these folks from visiting their bar, and lovely folks i might add. back to the story at hand. the birthday boy was obviously well passed drunk, was having a great time, but could barley speak or stand. being his birthday and knowing he was in good hands, i gave him what i imgine to be his last beer for his birthday. he was trying to get me to buy him a shot for the special occasion but after realizing just how intoxicated he was i tried to hem-n-haw around while i served others, tried to change the subject and basically avoid buying a shot one, and two having him puke it back up on my bar. so the night goes on and the bartrender girl remembers the last time i was in her bar i was buying everyone i could find a beer or a drink or a shot for those who were willing to do jager with me. i think the bartender was the only one whom i did not buy a shot of jager for because she stated that she did not care for taste. i bought her something else if my memory serves me correctly. this all came about because i had ended up working an unexpected double, made some stupid cash, i was caught up on my bills and i decide i was going to share the wealth. the whole time that batender girl and i were rehashing that lovely day and the enormity of my tab, birthday boy is listening intently and watching as best he could. then out of nowhere and in the middle of someone elses sentence, just as the word jager come out of my mouth, he jumps up, wobbles, points his finger at me and proclaims " i know you now, your the guy that bought me a shot of jager and told me a funny story" why yes i did, i bought a lot of drinks that day". no sooner had this realization hit him, another one hit him and he needed to use the phone. poof. gone. goodbye.
it got me to thinking on my way home, yup that's me. the guy who'll buy you a shot of jager and tell you a funny story. what story will i tell? i never know, and neither will you.

i can be your superman

i was reading thru my archives and came aross this post from July 01, 2003 i'm kinda feeling this way again.

Sex , lies and horny drunks



So a customer at the bar made an interesting observation in his drunken stupor after the conversation at the bar turned to sex and masturbation. Another drunk was making the argument that it's ok and that both men and women do it to "take care of business " the observation was that if all the horny men and women are going home alone and masturbating because they are horny, wouldn't the world be a better place if everybody got together and made the masturbation issue a non-issue. It got me to thinking, yup there are a lot of horny folks going home alone at the end of the night. But I guess not all of the right people are not in all of the right places at the same time. Of course this brings up the topic of causal sex and that I believe is a topic for another day. Of course as I have mentioned before there are a lot of ugly or not so attractive folks out there and for some ingrained reason most horny folks have a higher standard for the folks they want to have sex with than they have for themselves. I know most people do there best to look their best when they go out on the town, or maybe not. Maybe the horny folks have resigned themselves to be lonely and don't make an effort to get all dressed up when they go out for a beer or a show. What scares me the most are the guy and gals who obviously look like the put some time and effort into their appearance and still manage to miss the mark arbitrarily set by society. I remember one time at the bar, kicking back and having a beer or three, a young woman walked thru the door. This girl was the poster girl for a white trash whore. She was wearing a skirt that was too short, tattered and worn, not to mention about 10 years out of style. (do short skirts really go out of style?) ugly cheap shoes that should have been sent to the trash bin years ago, black torn fishnets and a shirt that was way too tight. Bright red lipstick and cake hair from the late 80's. Her whole outfit screamed I'm looking to have sex with the band, the whole band and nothing but the band. But when I noticed what she was carrying I almost fell out of my chair giggling. A bag of Doritoes. I turned and looked at one of my friends and in the straightest face I could muster, I said, "she's all that and a bag of chips." we laughed about that thru most of the night. And the young girl oblivious to our amusement stood dutifully at the edge of the stage and stared mournfully at each band that played. And I digress.
So horny people? Put on your best clothes, wash your hair, brush your teeth, ask a friend how you look, then go out at give it a go at not going home alone or at least getting a number for later. Now I'm not saying that everybody in the club is single and horny, but you never know, that pretty young thing that you've been looking at all night, might be just like you. Looking for love in all the wrong places.

Life on the road


two years, two people, two separate roads to go. there is now an empty chair in my castle, for my queenand i have parted ways. it's been amicable and pleasant, but today is the first day she has not been here for me when i woke up or got home. we've talked and we both agree, that the time has come to go our own ways. it's been a while since my divorce. what started out as quick trip has ended in a two year journey. i 've discoverd many things about myself and forgotten a few things. i never finished the story i was writing about my trip to california and it may now be never finished. hell my thought are allover the place right now, maybe i should go take a shower. i have alot of disconnected thoughts today. well not even just today, but for some time. i can create or envision wonderful titles and images but for some reason i can't flesh out the story.
for instance theis entry began on way and it took for ever for me to log on and now it's gone. oh well.

i'll see if i can recapture it for you.
life on the road........
well this post has digressed into one liners. i'll think about and try to post more later. right now the TV is bugginthe crap outa ma and i have to turn it off.

something i have been thingking of the other day, how the sonnet and the pop song corrolate. i'm doing some reaserch as we speak, i'll get back to ya onit when i find something out.


you can read about sonnets here

ahh forget it.

i got distracted and now i forgot what i wanted to write.

well saturday night was a blast. even thought i ended up working. it's one of the few times in the in recent memory that i enjoyed working. lots and lots of pretty people. some really good music. and money, money, money. of course lie true to form i went out sunday and spent everything i made saturday night. but damn did i have fun. i bought drink after drink and round after round. i do enjoy the look on a completestragers face wheni offer to buy then a drink. just makes it all worthwhile.

another round of shots please!

went to the woodeye show last night. it was good. i am amazed everytime i see these guys. they just get better time and time again. how they do it i don't know. i think it might be the copiuos amounts of alcohol invovled. just a guess mind you. no concrete evidence. they played with the mocking bird cartel and sorta. both bands surprized me. one because i had never seen the cartel play before and two i thought that sorta, well sorta sucked last time i saw them. but they didn't suck this time. i guess i should start paying more attention to the bands that put money in my pocket than the drinks that are in my hands, or the girls or both. who knows. tonight is halies birthday party lots of gay art people to look at tonight. i'll try to report in later

awe hell, i really don't have any thing today. it's s nice cool day teh sun is shining, birds are singing, and my hangover is waning
just a few random thoughts.

local music sucks, local music rocks.
i'm a rockstar.
i like pop music
everybody sucks but me. i live like you want to live, i drink like you want to drink, i fuck like you want to fuck, i fuck the girls you wanna fuck. (with apoligies to eicky)
i hate people. i love their money. i love that i can make them do anything that i want. people are stupid.
don't talk to me asshole. fuck you, pay me!

To Pink, i don't think that i'm not real, and i have a pretty good idea you are real, however i was drunk for so many days when we met in person, who knows, i guess we could have had a mutaul hallucination, but that is a debate for another day. however the point i think i was trying to get at was just how long ago things seem. i have incredibly vivid dreams, and there have been times i wondered "did that really happen? or was i dreaming?" so i think in the meloncholly mood i wrote that in i was just thinking, man that was soo long ago, sometimes days seem like years and years seem like days.

i have come to the concluson that i need to figure out at way to blog from the shower. i have found myself latley just standing in the shower, letting the hot water run over my head and down my body, for several minutes a day. sometimes as much as 20mins. just standing there thinking, and conversing to myself. sometimes i just i don't think at all. i just stand there.the problem is i i'm usally in the shower getting ready for work, so once i get out i continue my hygene ritual, get dressed then it's out the door. i also do alot of thinking while i drive. not because i want to mnd you, i'd love to drive blissfullu down the road like the rest of america, oblivios to my surrounds but unlike most of american drivers do not have a radio in my truck. that is really a misreprentation. i do have a radio in my truck, it's just that i can't use it. the lot i bought it from some how lost the removable face plate. and well i bargined them down so much on the truck, i didn't really think it was a deal breaker and didn't want to push the point. chiefly because the deal was done and well ther wasn't anything i could do about it, secondly this is the next truck in a long line of vehicles i have owned that have not had a radio. so i'm getting quite accustomed to riding in silence. i find myself from time to time even turing off the radio in my G/F's truck.




THPPHHHHHHHH!!!

well good grief it's been a long time since i posted here. even though it's ben over a month, not much a has changed, or therte has not been anytihng of note worth writing about.

still working, still scrapeing for money, still working on the bikes, or should i say not working on the bikes. it seems that i can find just about any excuse i want to use to explain my lack of working.
ok this is just depressing me further rather than helping get things out my head to make me feel better.

yeah i miss my friends too queenie.