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May. 22nd, 2008

Crapshoot Summer

It seems that every year I hope to have the best Summer ever,
but instead it's been a never-ending cycle of "Next Year HAS GOT TO BE BETTER,"
spoken with increasing urgency.
But I'm putting my foot down, god-dammit!!
I've got a full-time nerd job now with hours more suited to
my cheap plastic Casio of a biological clock.
My mother just called  telling me that my dad is having
chest pains when he exerts himself, and I am trying my best
to believe that everything will be fine ("fat chance," says my neurosis).
Please, cosmos, please let me believe that I am something other
than a cuddly plasticine shitter for the dysentarious  gods of
emotional baggage and harsh reality.
Things have been due to come around for so long I'm starting
to think that my karmic stock-car  made a pit-stop and ended up
making out with the trophy girl.
I'm gonna have to see if I can meet the fucker half-way.
As testament to this, I'm gonna burn a line through my left eyebrow
with a hot butter knife, 'cuz that's how I roll, bitches.

Feb. 12th, 2008

Peanut Butter Puddin'

 So, it's raining like the Moses outside
my little hovel, and I'm too lazy to risk the soaking
required to drive down to Fosters and get a 
big fat piece of cake. So I creates this amazing
and relatively healthy dessert using common
household ingredients.

Liam's Peanut-Butter Puddin'


1 cup water
1/2  cup oats
2 tablespoons peanut butter
2 tablespoons honey

Mix water and oats in a medium saucepan. Cook on medium heat
and stir until the oats are cooked and creamy. Stir in peanut butter 1 spoon at a time, being 
sure to saturate that oatmeal with nuttiness. Stir in honey. Pour into bowl. Serve.
Makes a single serving.
(feel free adjust honey and PB amounts to whatever levels your tastebuds desire)

-Add some banana slices for a banananutter sandwich puddin'. Add vanilla yogurt for 
fluffernutter puddin'.

I don't know about you guys, 
but even hinting at the concept of eating
a whole bowl of peanut butter
totally fuckin' turns me on.
If you wish to experience a 
a proper simulation, 
try this shit, for real!!

Feb. 4th, 2008


 You know, I've done a great many drugs
in the past, but I don't think any of them can
quite compare to the feeling of euphoria that
comes with the final breaking of a 17 hour  cluster migraine.

You know, I've been needing to see a doc about getting
medication for these fucking things, but then I'd just feel
all doped up and wonky from the medication, and not
like I had just purged some sort of elusive Oni from behind
my eyeballs. Plus I haven't had any serious headaches for the
past few months. 9 times out of 10 these things come from
mental or emotional strain, but I'm gonna blame it on the 
half a beer that I drank last night, and that's that!
Now to eat a nice bowl of cereal and get some actual sleep.

Jan. 31st, 2008

Oh, Jack White, You Silly Silly Man

This album is dedicated to, and is for, and about the death of the sweetheart. In a social plane, impossible to exist, and in memories, past defeating present. We mourn the sweetheart’s loss in a disgusting world of opportunistic, lottery ticket holders caring about nothing that is long term, only the cheap thrill, the kick, the for the moment pleasure, the easy way out, the bragging rights and trophy holding. The thirteen year old tattoo, the hard attitude, devil may care, don’t call your parents, drink, insult, thank only yourself, and blame the rest if you don’t get yours. Gone to the ether, gone to your mother’s hope chest, buried in the boot of the rocker, the trunk of the car, and they get laughs, they get home late, they missed the rent, they forgot your money, they’ve got a new friend, they won’t be told they are wrong.

Burn baby burn, take the trash to the living room, laugh at the sweetheart, you and your friend can kill it if television’s aim is bad, break it, hard or die. Hard or die. It keeps going, you’re not wrong, don’t worry about it, what matters? You’re having fun right? Break the rules rebel, break them hard, help yourself. Make yourself at home, turn on the video games, don’t bother to contact, gorge yourself, it’s all here for you, take your sweet time, if you’re confronted by it, blow it off and get paid quick. This is what it’s all about, and we’re with you baby, take my bite as high support, take my argument as just something that’s my problem, you don’t need this, you need to please yourself. The dream is alive and well, and we don’t want to wake up from it. Ethics, morals, spirits, breakfast cereals.

Honesty in bloom, heart on sleeve, life ever exposed and safe, Courtesy to them and all you know, cinnamon and cider mills past last night’s drenched roof shingles, down and cotton covered breath, out in the open with nothing to hide, mention of soft paper and pine, soda powder and brown paper bags, angora and hound’s tooth, youth and canvas, fresh color, blind chance and forward stumble, scarlet mood, and white ivory shimmering laugh, safe in mind and comfort in home, absent of flies and anger, blankets of your own, peaches in cellar, subtle hair and skin, sand and leaf, felt napkin and clothing line, warm air from heating vent, snow on ground, reunions of sane unforced presence, motherly intervention held in suspense, enraptured holy sight, reception in halls, your Sunday go to meeting, your helping hand, your summersault, your attic, your home and your preservation, so simple, so untouched, this is as wise as raven and as easy to trust, yet have they known, and yet may they wonder, with words and thought and thorn, this spirit and persona under.


Jan. 29th, 2008

Come on, Spring!

Hard to really express the current state of mind
I'm in, where the sound of a single nameless
bird outside my window causes me to stare into 
space and lose all grasp of thought for about 15 minutes.
This fucking Winter needs to end, seriously.
Can we just skip February? Really?!

Jan. 24th, 2008

*Ching Ching-A-Ching!*

You know, I don't usually put that much stock
into online horoscopes, but my Astro.com 
shit has been absurdly spot on the past few days.
Not that I check it that often, since I totally
don't believe in that crap. It's wack.
Now I'm gonna go light some incense and pray
to the 4 winds like a real man!  

Foam Nun-chuku

I remembers my first pair of nun-chuks. 
They were toys made of black foam rubber
grips emblazoned with golden dragons 
and held together with black nylon shoe-lace.
They cost four bucks at the Asheville flea-market, 
and beckoned me from their display case
where they lay nestled between an array of money clips and butterfly knives.
I begged my lardo friend, Andrew Clark, 
a devoted Christian and the first pervert I was close friends with, 
to buy them for me with his holy allowance moneys.
He owed me a favor for taping a post-it to my mom's ass 
that said "Fuck this Pig!",
as well as for my playing point-man while he snuck a peek in the Girls Locker Room
at the YMCA. I still remember his him locking his 
fat fingers together in near-prayer.
"They were in towels, man, and I saw EVERYTHING!!" 
So he paid up the 4 bucks, and those fuckers were mine for 6 hours. 
Never had I felt so proud, and bad-ass, as when I was
bopping ashtrays and empty cups at the picnic tables of the market,
watching their contents whip and spiral on across the parking lanes.
Then I got home and mom saw them. "No, LIAM, NO!!!" was the tune
for 20 minutes in the kitchen when she caught
me trying to stash them into the corner loft over the porch.
Dad was recording dulcimer music in the basement
and mumsy and me were having it out real loud and screwing his takes.
He stormed up the stairs and into the kitchen, 
took one look at the chucks in my hand, and snatched
them up as he stormed out the front door, where he 
proceeded to toss them up into the high branches of
the oak tree in our front yard.
"Go fucking get 'em if you can, Willy."
I couldn't climb that god-damn tree.

Jan. 23rd, 2008

Knew it wouldn't last

What a lovely Manic Monday it was.
Restful and creative. Before the crash.
And man, I had it hard today. I tend to bottle
up and explode, and my bottle done exploderated.
Now I'm all cut up and I have to try and lie in it,
and during a full moon, to boot.
Sleeps will be a hard won prize tonight.

My dreams of romance are pretty much bust these days,
and it's hard to maintain hope.
A lot of my friends are well off enough to actually
have free time in which to pursue their prospects,
free of worry over check to check survival.
I work 2 jobs so I don't have that much time to play,
and it looks like my prospects are back down to none.
Totally got a broken leg on the edge of the playground 
and I'm watching all the other kids have a good time. 
*mutter mutter*

Fuck you, mean-ass world.
I'm curling up on the futon and listening to Aretha.
She understands..... *sniffle*

Jan. 21st, 2008

Rested?!! What the shit?

Okay okay, this may seem like no big deal, but I actually woke up RESTED this morning. 
I honestly can't remember the last time this has happened. 
Literally could not sleep for another minute, and actually had the desire to get up.
Fuck, man, I even slept well. No tossing and turning over some girl, random thought, 
memory, or worldly pressure.
Woke up with my mind completely empty. This is really disorienting.
I have energy. I'm not upset about anything, or even mildly bothered.
Can almost feel my body reaching for that daily mild fatigue, like
the craving for a cigarette. But it ain't coming.
Keep turning over the details as to how I could have set these events in motion.
Was it the Ice Cream? Going to bed at 1:15? 
Or could it be the fact that it's a full moon tomorrow.... Genuine possibility,
considering that I'm a genuine lunatic (not crazy, I just can't sleep when there's 
a full moon in my window).
But, regardless, I wish I could feel this "blank slate"ey all the time. 
It actually seems possible to get things done, and I'm not dreading the day.
Could this be the beginning of one of those brand new days, with wonders to come,
or is this the quiet before the storm? We shall see.

In other news, I nearly hit, with my car,  a 70 year old white dude
who was crossing 3 lanes of morning traffic to retrieve a "spinner"
hubcap from the side of the road. The price of fashion these days. 

Jan. 7th, 2008


Those of you who know me well enough are
pretty used to hearing those words. Granted, working
2 jobs is quite draining, but not as draining as the
idea that I spend to much of my time being tired.
Every nap I take leaves a pang in my head, and I really
need to stop taking respite so oft.
So much to do, and the Work is beginning to gather steam.
Fed even more-so by the shiny new digital camera
given to me by my closest adored ones.

This seems to be one of those, "I'm being avoided," days.
I've spat a lot of fire recently about things that seemed 
of consequence, only to find the room cleared when my
displays were done. *sigh* How moribund it all seems
in a world devoid of all but second-hand complication.

For now, I thrash. The glee to be found in the Durham Metal scene.
Tooth, Collosus, and Battlemaster tonight at Volume 11
where I can writhe with the bearded champs and slam
myself proper. And hopefully, when I'm nice and weak and
maudlin again, I can give the Work my all and urge the
second fiddle to solo.

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