Like Half Bricks

I grow weary of blogger, and i think Tumblr has a better feel to it. So i'm trying it out, all new posts will be here for at least the time being.

our hearts and minds

Look, i really don't want to be a +1 to some conflagration of young, smirking writers behind so many macbooks. That is not my task or aim. But it is time to blog stoned now and assume the role of modern-day prophet or lute-player/lead singer of an alt-classicist band five hundred years ago. Amazingly long sentence that was.

I've been watching Hearts and Minds, a documentary about how America brutalized north and south Vietnam. Right now it's a high school football coach slapping each of his team in the face in the locker room. I think of adolescence.

Now it's Lyndon Johnson telling us all that we are going to win. A shot of a crowd. A man shoots another in the head. Bodies on the green green tropical crabgrass. Moving bodies. Next to a corkscrew entrance-ramp of an indoor parking garage. Nobody knew.

If i were a documentary film maker, that would be my five-star rating equivalent: "Nobody Knew." And then a long, contemplative silence. Certain drives propel documentarians. Something about the biggest war machine in human history. And there is an awakening.

Everyone loves bobby kennedy. Everyone. Try with all your might, right now, to not love and pity and elevate bobby kennedy. Yeah, that's what i thought. "must be hard bein' brothers." -Forrest Gump.

Dude's being emotional as fuck about his assassination right now. On camera and all, for our viewing pleasure. This is not a fun movie to watch.

Body bags all zipped up in black plastic. Like mylar balloons. I saw an ad in game informer today that said "kill bigger," all caps. It made me sad about the whole artform. Or sad for it. In the words of Yahtzee, i'm a games are art hippie. That's just my thing though.

I know a girl who can give it back without being insane. She is my favorite right now because of this. It's forbidden though, so i should put that out of my awful filthy boymind this instant god dammit.

I hate this fucking movie. It is making me feel awful non.fucking.stop. But the remote is so so far away.

They're beating peasants now. with the butts of their grenade launchers. Those same grenade launchers sent the T-1000 to its melty fate. They saved my world when i was ten years old.

I will say, though, that Michael Moore wishes he could make a movie so powerful and real. So eloquent and unapologetic.

Does anyone else ever gain a deep knowing all of the sudden? Ever understand, finally, a secret that had been eluding you? No one can ever truly know anyone else. This feels very donnie darko, but it also feels very true. Though, i have never been married, so i am in no position to speculate.

"...and the foreigners we were."

The ambassador to Vietnam when the war was going on was a General. That makes me itch a bit.

Men who can't use their shriveled legs grab their ankles, move them forward, then slide across the floor on their asses. They were prisoners for too long, i guess. A woman with crooked cheekbones is talking now. Describing how she was tortured. We've really got to stop having wars.

The Edukators was a horrible movie by the way. It was really, really stupid.

I don't ever want to see "The Sorrow And The Pity". But I want to draw everyone in this documentary's face, frame by frame, for the rest of my life.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE NEW LAYOUT?

I clicked on so many checkboxes you guys, i hope you appreciate it. and if you don't, you aren't invited to my brother's birthday, which is today.

happy birthday john. I hope you are having a fine day. I got you a gift but shipping is off the chain, so i'll give it to you when you come into town for the wedding, is that a deal? that is great. I'll just hold off then. cool.

Also, if you're interested

i had two of the most terrifying sex dreams of my life between alarms this morning.

moss grows fat on a rolling

waving your guns / at somebody new

i'm really sick of the daily struggle to feel alright. I've been drinking too much lately, and it's embarrassing. I dunno. fuck it.

i'm all clogged up and filthy. i feel so typical, like there's a hundred other motherfuckers out there that could rise up to replace me if i were to fall off the edge of the world. I'm not crying for help here, that's undignified and i've got a thing about making people worry.

i stopped believing in ghosts about the same time i stopped worrying about them. i can't really tell cause from affect there. it's murky.

There was a girl there for a while, i dunno if i mentioned her, but easy-come-easy-go on that. someone else, apparently. Not that broken up about it, i'd liken it more to a pie in the face than a slap. I wanted to cool things off before i even knew, and i guess i've been outdrawn. I swear, i'm not even sad about it, i feel almost cozy knowing that life goes on. I feel worried about it going on in the same fashion as it has. a week or two. a month, three months, then it's up. Move on. again.

It doesn't hurt, but it provokes thoughts i don't like. Makes me wonder if i'm the kind of person i always thought i was. when i think about it, my hands shake. i'm tired but i'm not sleeping. i'm kind of just meandering around the idea. maybe i shouldn't have gone off my pills. I don't know how i'm really gonna pay for them now.

oh yeah, also i'm broke as fuck and, i suspect, unemployable. that's fun.

i liken my relationships with women to working a job. no, not because i ever worked that hard at either. it's because the only one i can point to that i'm proud of or that i learned anything from was handed to me. i've earned neither. kind of makes me feel like a real asshole.

maybe that's not entirely true, but it feels that way.

Anyway, about time to wrap this up.

laws radio edit

I have in-laws who i don't know already. It's strange. i get the scraps about these people, scraps i don't always ask for. I'm sure they're lovely, i'm sure they've got dreams, triumphs, failures, deep-seated neuroses and profound wisdoms just like the rest of us. But i don't know them. I wish i did, it would make for more interesting blogging. But i'm about to get a whole new batch of them, this time a bit bigger than last. And they're family too.

I had to pause and decide not to put that word in quotes.

So when i get a wallpost like this it kind of makes me wonder about family.

My sister is getting married in June, to a great guy who i totally love in the gayest way possible. He's like 6'4", smiles all the time, is brilliant and hilarious and not phony in the slightest. He's getting his goddamned PhD from Einstein in the Bronx soon. Guy's goddamned superman. And all of my friends know his sister, who is my age. It was even suggested that i date her, but that was a little too creepy for my tastes cause, ya know. brothers and sisters dating brothers and sisters. it's fucked up. She's cute though, i've seen her and maybe said like five words to her before.

I know my soon-to-be brother in law's room mate's girlfriend better than i know his younger sister. For fuck's sake. And this dude is from a nuclear family, there's like ten of these motherfuckers who are gonna gain the title of "in-law" in like three months. The more siblings you have getting married, the blurrier the definition of family gets. I'm not trying to pin it back down to something understandable, that's a goddamned insurmountable task regardless. I just think the idea of it is changing for me. Like the idea of sex changes after you lose your virginity. Actually, its closer to the way the idea of sex changes when your sibling loses their virginity before you do. If i ever get married, which is not likely because i can't hold a relationship together to save my life, then maybe i'll have a better understanding of all this. Or maybe an even cloudier one.

I have every intention of hanging out with his sister and getting to know her, all of my friends do, if i'd had the opportunity with my current brother in law then i'd have jumped at it.

it's just weird, that's all.

Oh yeah, here's a picture i drew of a wizard riding a train.

You ready to look at some dogs?

I think i am.

Foodblog

A foodblog, written by my dear friend katie, is emerging from its greasy, breaded chrysalis. Its wings crumpled and doughy, its exoskeleton thin and soft, it prepares for its first flight.

http://tubsmcgee.tumblr.com/

Typically i reserve talking about food for twitter, a platform that i believe was shaped for that very purpose. But now i feel that food-related reportage has been given a rich, full voice. A low tenor with a broad range, a voice to which the subject matter itself is unaccustomed. A katievoice.

Go there every day.

Last Plane to Jakarta

I've been devouring John Darnielle's blog lately. dude can write, and also make beautiful music that crackles with lyrical power and respect for his craft. This is a link to his blog. Read it. i do, and i don't even know any of the death-metal bands he's going on about. I just like the way in which he goes on.

And also, go listen to the fucking Mountain Goats if you haven't already.

Really digging on the new Yeasayer right now.

Like, whoa.

EDIT: additionally, a friend of mine suggested selling a cocktail that's made with supermodel tears after seeing the video. I wholly endorse this idea, and would even procure the materials for such a potion personally. And with pride in my dark work.

Lazers

inspiration strikes like a lazer.

Wake The Dead Redux

Bearing palls, Respecting no laws.

We'll only be playing with spades.

Wear Black.

Wake The Dead Party

If you're invited, you'd know by now.

Coastal

My brother John and I live on opposite coasts. I'm here in Seattle, he's in Philadelphia and it appears it will be that way for the duration of what we can both foresee. This is okay. But, what's cool is that we both have a PAX to attend now if he wants to make the trip to Boston each spring. This is just.

(i'd hate being god)

There may be a job opening at some old folks home (retirement community, not nut-house repository for the inconvenient and dying) which i'm gonna check out today at like 3. I met a girl who i like. This is good. Got a mystery check for 450 dollars from my insurance company and i am overjoyed about it. I will not ask questions. I will simply grin and cash it.

THINGS I COULD BUY WITH THIS FREE MONEY:

-hookers (quantity over quality, of course)

-booze (lots)

-booze (nice)

-an hour of a hitman's time

-a shitty scooter

-a dwarf, dwarf-sized armaments, a cave troll suit (tailor fit to my measurements), a length of chain.

-as much pork as i can fit in the carport, and then some.

been drinking.

Happy fucking easter. He is risen. glad we got that out of the way.

He is risen, of course, if you know what i'm saying. I'm saying something unrelated to doctrine. More of a dicktrine. Dicktrine is a joke about physics based gaming in its own right. Off to an amazing start here.

I'm still enjoying Blakroc, Deejaying it for my favorite bar (my "third place", quickly rising those ranks in the absence of an employer) about an hour before close just now. It was not a full house by any means, but the bartender extended an offer to bring music when he's working and play that shit. So that's cool. He reminds me of Steph in a lot of ways. Mainly in the "i smoke weed and say 'chill' a lot" sort of way. Deejaying was never so possible for all of us before the ascent of headphone-jack technology and the iPhone, and bars with the good sense to employ it. Oh yeah, i got one of those like 5 months ago. Don't know if i mentioned that.

So i'm having some social difficulties right now with a good friend, which is a stress and i hate the fuck out of the whole conflict. I'm hoping it stems from a misunderstanding rather than an actual disagreement. But, it's more important to maintain one's self respect than one's relationships, if forced to make that choice outrightly. That's hazy too. A resolution may be on the horizon, but those particular chickens remain uncounted, though not unconsidered.

"I've been finding it harder to be a gentleman every day." -Jack White

Do you want something funky as hell?

I think you may.

BlakRoc - Blakroc is one of the finest hip hop CDs i've ever listened to. Its the Black Keys doing beats and backup vocals, and a lot of rappers spitting on top of it (Raekwon, Mos Def, Jay-Z to name a few). It's got fucking SOUL, my friends.

EXAMPLE:

Gospel: spread.

SOME SERIOUS GARDEN STATE SHIT, MAN

being home is weird. That's all. For all my misgivings i don't know that i ever belonged here.

semi-adult thinking about lost time

I'm recently single, two months out of a 2 year relationship. I'm 22. I'm not really sad about it, i'm just angry most of the time, i haven't grieved or cried since it happened. I deal with things pretty quickly, there's just a bunch of bile left over that i'm still working through. So i shouldn't be getting into a new relationship right now, i know that. I don't have any real desire for that. Some people hop from one person to another, that seems to work for some (it's been recommended to me) but i'm not that sort of person. I just want to be single for a while, and not in a "playa" sort of way, just autonomous. I feel like i've earned that.

The problem is that i don't know how, really. My entire context, the life i've built for myself, or the one i fell into and marinated in for the past two years, is over now. My life wasn't about me, it was about her, and now she's out of the picture and i've got this mummified, neglected self to contend with now. It's like waking up from a coma in a lot of ways. I haven't developed as a person at all, i've really just wound myself around another person and lost time. The cost was high, and i'm not presuming it wasn't for both parties. But i'm only worried about myself.

So how does a person deal with this? I think a relationship would be about the worst thing i could get myself into. But i know that edging away from women and pulling back into a shell is also the worst thing i could do, cause i've been doing it and i feel like i'm disappearing.

I need help, i think. I think that's what i need. Do i rely on myself here? Clearly i didn't know best before or i'd have never let this happen, what's to suggest that i should trust myself now? And other people? what the fuck do they know?

Am i just coming back into focus, or have i been cut out of the background? Should I Stay or Should I Go? I hate to suggest it, but from a developmental standpoint, i may have wasted the last two years of my life. I feel like i've explored the idea of a "sunk cost" on here before, it's when you invest money that you cannot get back. How much energy did i spend, how much of myself did i channel into it? I almost don't want an answer, it would be too humiliating in light of the complete failure it amounted to. All is well and truly lost now. There's no getting it back, no past i really have an interest in returning to, no deeper knowledge gleaned. No growth occurred. I'm exactly the same 20 year old i was at the beginning, but now i can buy liquor and my GPA is a full point lower. Where, indeed, have i gone? What have i accomplished? I haven't found anything worthwhile in the aftermath.

They bailed and bailed the water, because they liked the shape of the boat. But nonetheless it sank beneath the waves, its crew and cargo swallowed, its investors jilted.

This is what a movie must feel like when it's been on "pause" for a long time, and doesn't want to start up immediately when you push play. Maybe it's just time, i've got to spool up a little bit here, get my feet on the ground and my head on straight. Maybe. I don't know.

Body Parts

His hands are on his thighs, and his mouth is closed, his tongue is still between his off-white teeth. A tired wisp of hair lays impotent on his forehead, hanging out of a black knitted hat. The moles on his face make constellations, the rhythm of his breathing is steady and slow. His glasses have grease on the lenses, his shirt has a stain and his shoes are pointing inward, like a novice skier slowing down. His thick-veined, meaty hands continue to hold his thighs, a heartbeat barely perceptible from beneath the muscle. The arteries in his legs are as big around as surgical tubing, those in his heart as wide as a garden hose. His lungs are inflating and deflating, diaphragm flexing and relaxing, nerves firing in a symphony, time kept by the metronome made out of meat at the base of his skull. His jaw muscles twitch as a drop of water falls on the end of his nose. His eyes aim themselves at a broken Walkman on the sidewalk, exposed wires limp against the concrete, the circuit board laid bare, gray plastic husk gathering rain.

A drunk man’s mouth is shouting into a cell phone, feet pacing in front of the bus stop. Cars slice through the murk and leave glowing trails behind them like in overexposed photos. The rain pisses down out of the indifferent, slate sky. Pitter patting can be heard on the roof of the bus stop enclosure. Kids move by in clots, their feet tromping though puddles, their twisted little mouths trying out curse words, their eyes glancing over their wet shoulders to see if anyone’s ears heard.

Meanwhile his eyes shift their focus up the street, they survey into the distance, looking for the glowing orange symbols on top of the bus. The bus is nowhere to be found.

The Walkman has not been repaired, it’s full of rain. He wonders whom it belonged to, and why they didn’t throw it in a trashcan.