Author: chris

i was driving home at around midnight the other day, when bars were closing, and i saw a drunk couple stumble into the street and start kissing. cars were driving around them, honking at them, and they kept kissing. she had one hand on his butt, he had her head cupped in his hands. it was calming, and i wanted to honk at them too.

have you ever seen crash? it’s odd, and not in a charlie kaufman way, more like a soft porn way. it’s about people who get off on car crashes, either being in them, thinking about them, or seeing them. more to the point it’s about people dealing with a meaningless accident in a way that tries to make it more meaningful. at least that’s what i thought. it was hard to derive that from all the wife sharing and real car crash reenactments. they had a lot of scars.

i question you.

i am typing this on a wireless keyboard, and pointing at it with a wireless mouse. these things are new. i initially started using them so that i could remove my laptop from my desk, and thus actually use my desk. these things have accomplished this task, but have a side effect: the table on which my laptop now sits is lower than my desk, and lower than me. i tower over it and like to look down scornfully at the screen. and i realize i have never viewed my computer in this manner. and it is a wonderful feeling. i encourage you to mimic this act.

i began reading the essence of tao today and found, alarmingly, that i already have many of the same ideas/ideals that surround the tao (not taoism. that is a religion based on tao. it is a long story. basically, taoism is a religion and tao is a philosophy). i haven’t quite decided what this means.

if ever you wanted to hear the music that i create, you can now, by clicking here. i only have two songs uploaded. they were both recorded a long, long time ago. maybe even before such things as wireless keyboards and wireless mice existed. but probably not.

i was walking home one night from work (no small feat…i live seven miles from work, and i walked the interstate) when i saw strange lights in the sky above me. all the cars on the interstate disappeared, and it was just me with these three strange lights. i looked into them, and they got bigger as they got closer to me, and closer. i passed out. i woke up probed. and that’s where i’ve been for so long. my appologies, but, as you can see, it was not my fault.

i began my first story in two months last night…two months exactly, actually. i hope it will be good. and i hope i will finish this week. it’s about the weather and extreme temperatures. hazah!

my birthday is tomorrow, and it has often been among the most depressing days of the year for me. i suppose it might be for most people. not because i’m getting older and all that crap. but because it’s supposedly this special day to you, yet nobody else knows and few people remember. i guess it’s disappointment, yes?

i hope people still read this…i know in blog world one day is equivalent to a month, so as i haven’t posted for two months i should be dead, or at least bleeding profusely, or in rehab. i’m not. please tell people. and please don’t use the word “peeps” in actual, physical conversation. it’s just annoying.

tonight we went to our favorite restaurant in san marcos, hill country grill. it’s in a restored bank that has been empty for forty years. it looks ritzy when you walk in, but, as i eat there often, it’s obvious that it isn’t remotely expensive.

in any case, as we were seated i asked the hostess if dave, the owner, was there.

“no,” she said, “he’s in new orleans.”

we waited for an explanation, but she just kept smiling. “oh?” i said. “is he okay?”

still smiling, she said, “oh yeah, he’s with that association…what it’s called…oh i don’t know what they’re called, but he’s, you know…helping to clean up the dead bodies.”

is it just me, or is that ludicrously inappropriate?

she shrugged and kept smiling. “enjoy your meal!”

ahh, it’s nice to see you again. i just wrote and posted a new story, wallpaper flowers. i like it. it’s the most honest thing i’ve written in a while.

someone asked me a question the other day (it may have been myself). they asked who i was writing stories for. firstly, i answered, “for myself,” then, “for the small group of people who might read them, or who stumble upon them when searching for porn.” i had to reiterate to myself, or…to that person, that i had no illusions of becoming famous, even gaining cult fame, during or after my life, though, if it were to happen, it would most likely happen once my body has been deteriorating for some amount of time. and even then, probably only if i die before the age of thirty five, and even then, probably only if i die by some freak occurance of nature. you see, for anyone, odds are simply stacked up against them. it’s all going to erupt in a ball of fire anyway. does it really matter?

“But when I hear other kinds of discussion, especially the talk of rich businessmen like you, I get bored and feel sorry for you and your friends, because you think you’re doing something important, when you’re not. Perhaps you regard me as a failure, and I think you’re right. But I don’t think you’re a failure, I know you are.”

-The Symposium, Plato

i have the suspicion that nobody, anywhere, ever, including myself, actually…gets it.  i’m not talking about the meaning of life, all that garbage.  i just mean…getting the whole picture.  i don’t think anyone ever will.

i listen to suicide and am sent back to my childhood.  this is probably not a healthy occurance.  if you know suicide you’d know why.  frankie teardrop managed to give me a few nightmares at a very young age. 

it’s three in the morning and classes start tomorrow, 10 am for me.  i’ve been going to sleep at four or five for the last three months.  asking for any earlier is insanity.

so, i sit here in the dark, listening to rev and vega’s little freak outs, eating pasta and drinking wine.  it’s a good end to a brief summer.

i have posted several fifties advertisements.  i did them a year ago and am just now getting around to posting them.  they are all pulled from 1950s saturday evening post issues.  i have many more, but these were the ones that i was happy with.  i was going to color all of them in as well.  that won’t happen.  you may not get all of them.  this is okay; i am fine with that.

Good reasons to freeze to death
-eventually you’d probably go numb
-if you like the cold, freezing might be enjoyable
-your ears won’t get hot
-all you might want to do is go to sleep

Good reasons to burn to death
–

i think it’s clear who the winner is.

if you lack energy to clean up your house, i recommend putting on any album by hella.  it may make you start getting tremors, i know i have them now, but it will definitely make you clean up quickly.  i just cleaned a month’s worth of garbage in one and half hours, plus i rearranged all my furniture.  i probably won’t be able to go to sleep for another four hours though.

did you know you can clean your carpet with a mixture of one part bleach and one part red wine?

leaving my house for a week.  this is among the most menial and time consuming tasks i must do as an obsessive compulsive.  i will not bore you with the details, because, though they fascinate me, they will not fascinate you, i know.  but i did check my locks on my doors and windows six times, then turned my car around a quarter of a mile away to check them again. 

crap.  the bedroom window.  i’ll be thinking about whether or not i locked that for the next week.

if someone is watching me i pretend i am going up to get something.  then i have to bring something down, something of value, that i might need on a trip.  they don’t know i’m leaving for a week though.  but still, i bring something down.  just to look normal. 

i think about rob as i pack.  rob used to work with me.  he took three hour breaks.  he chain smoked every thirty minutes.  he was greasy.  he was creepy to girls.  he was fired.  people are fired all the time where i work, because we have so many employees.  these people moving in and out of my life.  it’s all like watching a stressful film where you only know the characters briefly, and then you never see them again.  i think about peresa, the girl who always sounded like she was on the verge of bursting into tears when she asked you for anything at all.  and then in the break room she always bursted into tears.  i think about amanda.  “manda” she wrote on her tickets.  i think about how much i hated her and how glad i was when i realized she was working her last day.

it’s been an odd summer. this album reminds me of being sad in the summer.

i saw a dozen men with large glasses walking around like humans today.  they weren’t very convincing, and i walked away from them as quickly as i could.  i walked to best buy, where a very annoying pre-pubescent-looking employee accosted me and tried to push warez on me like i was a tourist in a smog ridden city.  on a previous visit here, an employee asked me if i needed anything every two minutes.  honestly.  any time one of them saw me.  “can i help you with anything today?”  i wanted to throw a stack of broken CDrs in their face and shake them—the employees.  you might think shaking someone wouldn’t be a violent act.  but i know of someone who is in jail for six months for shaking a woman.  just shaking her.  nothing else.