Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Always something new

I feel like I'm always writing. Not here (that's painfully obvious) or even in one of my 90 (I counted this evening) notebooks that I have in my room — though I'm trying to get better at that in respect to both mediums. I don't know. I write a lot in my head. Not just talking to myself. That I REALLY do all the time. But, I see the words in my head flow out and across a page that never ends. And I craft and erase and go back and rewrite and review and it looks gorgeous. Then I set out to write it down... That's when things fall apart. The words become strange. The sentences no longer make sense and they are coming out awkwardly and in a stutter step. I can't catch the rhythm that was just fucking there! It was there! I saw it. I felt it. It MEANT something to me and as soon as I try to actualize it? Poof. And this is when I finally carve out some time to DO this. The angst and frustration that pulse through my fingers down to the point of the pencil are actualized in the deep scores that race across the page as the words start to bleed together as the lead frantically tries to to pour out every notion before its lost again. Again. And again. And again. 

And this. Smashing thumbs against a smooth glass screen is just... It's not the same. You don't get that satisfaction of CLOSING something real at the end. You don't see the details in the handwriting. The emotions that they carry. You don't get that. I feel like there's a danger in that, you know? We call this "writing" because we don't have a better term for what THIS is. We "write" comments or emails or text messages with a lackadaisical malaise because there is no effort in it. It's just plastic keys that can convey nothing but what the reader infers. 

Shit. This got dark. Better take a break and come back to this later.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

If you ever see this

Who knows? There is a very good chance that you'll never see this entry. So maybe it's weird that I'm addressing you directly in this entry... Never mind. Let's get down to it. I have been trying not to think about you. Every day since we were supposed to talk and then never did and then things just... well, things just went the way they did, I've tried not to think about you. Which really only makes things worse. So much that I do reminds me of you and the things that don't remind me of you make me think of you because I wish I could tell you about them. I can't get over you. I just can't. I'm not exactly trying too hard, I guess, but getting over you and moving on wasn't in my plan. It doesn't seem to be an option now. That isn't why I'm writing this. 

I'm writing this because today you participated in a big event that you've been training for and looking forward to for months now. I woke up out of a dead sleep around 5:45am because that is when I used to tell you...

Anyway, I woke up and I wanted to text you to tell you that I was proud of you. That you are an inspiration to me and that I hope you have an amazing day.   That you are wonderful and marvelous and strong and beautiful. But I couldn't. I wouldn't because I didn't want to mess up your mindset or concentration for the day. So, then I thought I'd write you an email (which I did) but even that seemed too much. And now, here we are. I'm writing a public note that you may or may not see. And that is as good as I am going to get as far as "communicating" with you. I needed to do something to let you know that I'm thinking of you — as corny as that is.

I'll just stop there.


Monday, February 16, 2015


I've been getting pretty personal on here in my last few entries. Maybe more so than I have ever been. You know, you're walking around, trying to be a good person and WHAM! Life is all up in your face. You start a new job (that you don't actually want to do), you find a girl (that you actually can't have), you live in a house (that you can't get out of), and then you come home to burst pipes. 

Fuck you, Life. Fuck. You.

Seriously, what did I do? Where have I been going wrong? 

Sunday, February 8, 2015

DANGER: Emotions

When do things begin to make sense? If you are constantly trying to change, do you ever, really, truly change? And if that change ever comes, how will you know that it is different from every other false hope that has drifted in front of your face? Trying to catch a puff of smoke with your bare hands. Your bare hands that are raw and bloody and broken from punching the walls you've built around yourself. You've made them sturdy. Solid. Jaded bricks and spite for mortar.

The walls are ever-present. They reach to the heavens and push down to hell. There is no climbing out or digging under. The door you have is locked from the outside. Within your prison, you make keys. So many keys of all shapes and sizes. Sliding them under the door in the hope that, one day, one will work. One day that door will open. A gust of wind will rush in and fill your lungs and you can, finally, step into the light and be free. 

That one day comes when you least expect it. You hear a sound that you never thought possible. A slight clicking as rusted, unused cylinders are pushed up — releasing the deadbolt on your heart. Energy surges through you. Your brain is on fire with dreams you have denied, forgotten, and left to rot. Clean, fresh air begins to roll over you. Hope stirs. Light creeps in… but only for the briefest of moments.

With out warning (or was there?) the door is pulled shut.


You don't forget, though. The clean, fresh air. The brilliant, warm light. It was there. 

It was there.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Another lost post.

SO, I don't know if this entry is quite ripe yet, but I'm going to give it a rip anyways. It's incredible to me how people weave in and out of lives. Any given moment is a new moment to meet someone you've always known. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about "past lives" and all that fluff; I do know that I've met people who have been immediately familiar. Could it be that you never actually meet new people? Well, I guess you may have at one point, but then those personalities - those personality traits - that you were drawn to in such a positive way. Okay. Side bar. Right now, I'm at my Mother's house. She went to bed a few moments ago, however at that exact moment, my step-father woke up from his illness-induced sleep and is now watching the news at high volume levels. My right ear is aching. Or just burning in anger. I can't really tell which. I understan... HE TOTALLY JUST TURNED UP THE VOLUME! okayokayokay. now it's really low. ohmygod. I have this problem where SRSLY? LOUDER NOW? where I struggle to create personal stuff when I'm expecting ... silence. If there is one thing I cannot deal with, it's change to expectations. The nerves tense and the hackles go up. I just want to drink this delicious beer and write semi-serious/nonsense words on this screen. I can't even get up now because I don't want to give in! So, what do I do? FORCE myself to continue typing on this clicky-clack keyboard hoping that it's irking me as much as ANOTHER weather forecast is irking me. It's not fair. I'm being very childish. But honestly! I wanted a break. I've been going full-bore for the last three weeks with rehearsals and work. This evening, I thought, even though I have the opportunity to actually go out and socialize, I would bring some beverages to a computer machine and get some thinks out of my thought bubble. But "Oh boy guys! There's a lot of big high school playoff games coming up!" Kill me. Now I've turned this bit of extro/introspection into an angry/whiny post about how I don't have the right conditions to create! I hate me a lot right now.

Let's see what beer #2 has to say!

(in a fearless - though not foolhardy - falsetto) "Hey Steve! You just keep plugging away. If you can type until he goes to bed - isn't that a challenge worth taking up?"

Okay, Mr. Boat Beer. You're on!

Stage 2: He has left the room, yet the television remains on and at that annoying LOW level where you can only make out every other word. WHY?! I don't care. I don't. He's down in the basement now. I'm assuming he's going to make a fire that either he or my Mother will complain about being FAR too warm to sleep. How. Why. I'm getting "Wives With Knives" seeping into my brain. Why does this show exist?! How do people watch this drivel? I think it's incredible how there are SO MANY channels now and people are ditching cable left and right for the internets. Are stations really struggling for ratings any more? Is that a thing? Ratings? OOP! He must be done. Now outside to sneak a cigarette. I can hear him hacking up a lung. Back to ratings. How do any of these shows actually have more than a few viewers? OOOO! You know what would be awesome? If there was a hit counter for each channel that gave a live read of how many people were watching! Wait... why ISN'T that a thing? We all want instant results. You could actually see how many other sad television sets have "Wives With Knives" blaring at 11pm on a Friday night. I guess I'd count as one. Goddamnit. OH GOOD! Now a documentary on Patterson Silk Strike! Why?! Mr. Boat Beer, your argument is failing. The channel keeps changing and it's LOUDER NOW. OH! TMZ.


This is happening. You're reading about it. I am living this. How many wacky sound effects can you use in 10 seconds?! Answer: 37! Okay. Okay. THIS is the worst show. I can't. I can't. I can't. This is the hell of television of the future. Have you ever watched a movie or show that takes place in the future and the television of that future is SO banal and SO campy and SO terrible that you say, "Oh my! How terrible! That would NEVER happen!" It is happening! It is HAPPENING! I cannot describe to you how my ears are being assaulted right now. And he's laughing...ooooooo he didn't have a cigarette... things make more sense meow. Ryan Seacrest hangs out with JLo? OMG. OMGUGUYS. I know I'm struggling here, but I'll hit my next stride soon. Know how I know? Beer #3 is officially cracked. I wonder what he thinks I'm doing over here? I've been typing pretty steadily (with the exception of a few minutes where I had to double check on the date for the David Mamet play "A Life In The Theater" at the State Theater WHICH IS FUCKING CANCELLED?! WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE, STATE THEATER?!) for about an hour? Maybe forty-five minutes. Whatever. Mr. Boat Beer, you're pretty awesome. I'm enjoying the shit outta you. I'll be sad if I do a #Whole30. I'll miss you. Should probably do a reset/detox at some point. Not that I'm all toxic...

I guess that's only when it comes to relationships! OH SNAP... self. shit.

Mr. Boat Beer, your triplet is making me sad and introspective. This was supposed to be a EXTROspection! (That's a thing, right?) Yes! Yes, it is. TMZ is still on. HOW can Jupiter Ascending be any good? It's going to be terrible, right? It looks awful and SO SERIOUS. Like, hey everybody! We DARE you to take a serious dramatic performance from Channing Tatum in a shitton of eye makeup and body glitter. No. Stop it. I mean, Eddie Redmayne is awesome in, well, everything Eddie Redmayne has been in. So... NO! Stop it beer brain! Go see "The Theory of Everything" first! You're the worst, beer brain. Mr. Boat Beer! What are you doing up there?! I know. I know. I have 1.5 more to go and Stan (now eating what seems to be... toast.) shows no sign of stopping. SO NEITHER DO I! wait. neither WILL i (show signs of stopping)! How do people do it? Raise and lower the volume with each commerFRIENDS. I am watching Friends now. You know? In my later years, I've accepted that the idea of GOD as a singular being (which is a terrible term for an omnipotent entity but we're going with it because he said "I am who I am" or something like that.) does not exist as the priests and monarchies of old would like us to think HE (yes. HE. Let's be honest, if GOD were female things would be much different. God is a dude and that's the way it goes. WHAT?! I'm just saying that there would be a lot more guilt...) does. However, HELL... well, that certainly exists! BUT, again, not in the same way! Our hells are of our own making. For instance, I am suffering - but I could end it by just... stopping! I just have to stop typing! BUT NO! I shan't!

I HAVE WON! I have made it through the terrible volumes and god-awful shows! AND with only THREE BEERS! It's incredible. I know this. But think you I should stop now?! NO GOOD SIR, I SHALL NOT!

I will, however, eat something. So I guess I'm technically stopping.


I'm making a pizza. The oven must warm up, so I'm back here. Are you with me still? Probably not. But maybe! This short break has seemingly slowed me down and NOW where to go with all this? I started out talking about knowing people you don't know but maybe have always know and here we are at pizza.

Oh life. You so crazy.

Maybe this is why no one really reads my blog? No, dummy (dumby?). It because you don't post on a regular basis about ANYTHING that has to do with DANGER or APPOINTMENTS. I bet if you had a blog about appointment books and reviewed them, you'd be the bee's knees. Did you ever need "in the mean-time" food? You're cooking something and you need to eat WHILE you're cooking a full meal? That's a thing, right? I'm there now. Except, I don't know if I should just wait the 20 minutes that the pizza will take or microwave technology a pot pie for 10 (cool down 5=15 minutes=sooner than pizza) and eat that before I eat an entire pizza while watching "Wives With Knives"! How can I resist at this point, right? I mean...




(17:35 later) PIZZA!

[redacted] I never use names in my blogs... if I can help it. I also, rarely go back and edit. Stream of consciousness. Holy shit I spelled "consciousness" correctly the first time! Shit. Okay. Stream of consciousness is how I write and to go back and edit? What? am I getting paid for this? No. Will I ever? No. I don't have consistent enough thoughts on subjects to write a "regular" blog. And certainly, I can't write a diary blog. That would mean real feeling and real people and suddenly I'm Sex and the City (in the?) when blogging was anonymous and free. But, stupid me, I put this blog out there with my real name and tried to get people to read it. But what was I going to do? Hey! This blog is funny! Also, he writes EXACTLY LIKE ME. No. OH! But yes! Come here, Mr. Boat Beer #4. Let's tango!

hokay. so. this beer is totally open. and i'm drinking it. it's only 4.2% abv, but i guess with 4 in 2 hours, one gets a little buzzed. also, sleep deprivation. Why did I delete stuff? It must have been legitimately personal. "Redacted" HA! That's clever. I've eaten 3/4 of this pizza.