January 2, 2009 There was a time when, Im pretty sure, I admitted to wanting to be a writer. What happened? Why cant I do it now? Is it the Internets fault? Or what? Okay, now let me get this straight. Why are we pissed at Holly? Okay. Innumerable little thefts and deceptions. She used to rummage through our closets when we were out of town. She stole CDs, clothes, perfume, etc, and always lied about it, baldly, barefacedly. Then there were all the parking tickets on the old Honda that she never acknowledged, let alone paid for. Then the check off the fridge--that we cant prove, of course, but. There was the lie about Dennis stealing all our stuff that we gave them, when she had it all along--but of course, why should we care about that piece of shit futon that belongs in the trash, and so on. And of course, theres the little matter of identity theft--which she still wont admit--reminds me, we need to get that printout--which caused great expense, stress, and confusion, and which Im pretty sure is a felony to boot. So its up to each individual how much of a pass they want to give to anyone for whatever reason, but I do not have time or resources to have someone like Holly in my life. Period. It is extremely unfortunate that Sharon sees all this as Anns fault, blames Ann for not being forgiving enough. I personally feel betrayed by Sharon in this regard, because she turns bitter and alien every time the matter comes up--which it does, apparently, only when she brings it up, although she also blames Ann for that. Thats some fucked up shit, as they say. Pretty much everyone else in this family is very helpful, especially when asked. Pretty much nobody asks for anything specific in return. But I mean come on. There are limits. At some point, reciprocity has to kick in, in some way. With Holly, it never does. --- We seem to have entered a deeply unimaginative era, says P. J. ORourke. You know what? I noticed that. For my little reactionary stab, I want to go back to that bricked and stacked place where its okay to make weird little experiments with words that dont always quite make sense. I miss that. And then go get a drink from the bubbler, find another quiet, hidden spot away from the elevator, and try again. 1/14/09 Nobody is as simple as they seem, nor is any moment. Never look longingly on someones simplicity; its an image of your own making. Youve seen too many movies/books/country songs. Its not only arrogant, but also stupid. Theres something else hes not saying, behind, in front of, beside, or beyond what he is saying. Keep Didn't Think It, I Felt. Like that, it's fun again. My head, isn't it. * Organic memory is massive, compared with synthetic, but I'll say it wasn't any other thing. I wouldn't mind sitting here on my contentment right now is not happy. I've agreed to remain as evil as much a lot more universal networks that ruddy, low light was a thing 1/20/09 Obama said: Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America. For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. Millie said: We never stopped working. -- FUCK APPLE. iPhoto and iWeb both behave erratically, no matter what some blowhards on the support forums would love to believe. iWeb is too fucking stupid to show the changes I JUST MADE AND SAVED. It keeps opening the previous version of my site, even though I have literally saved the new one and thrown away the old one NUMEROUS TIMES. And no, you stupid hypothetical dickweed, it is not user error. Just like it wasnt user error when iPhoto DESTROYED MY FUCKING PICTURES. Lets face it. Apple makes buggy software. Its really as simple as that. Pages wont even cut and paste noncontiguous text sections that it lets you make. Thats right. You can make the selection, but you CANT DO ANYTHING WITH IT EXCEPT DELETE IT! Fucking BRILLIANT! And then theres the OS itself. Howcome half the time I log out of my account, it freezes on the blue screen? Didnt we make fun of Microsoft for the fucking BSOD? Fuck Apple, Fuck them ALL. Fuck software. Youve got to keep the layers and formats as simple and basic as your technical proficiency can realistically handle. The less the software DOES FOR YOU, probably the better. Im going back to Nisus Writer. January 28, 2009 I hate TV. February 3, 2009 Tried Ubuntu just long enough to really appreciate Leopard! Tried OpenOffice just long enough for it to crash (third launch), and to really appreciate NWP! Ai, ai, ai. Freetardation is appropriate sometimes, not other times. NWP is the best of both worldspolish, cohesion, features, and reliability of commercial, but uses a wide open, simple format. February 7, 2009 Dude lists as among the e-book readers advantages: Add and remove highlighting an infinite number of times without degrading the text. Okay and yes, but still. Wheres the history? The greatest limitation of the ephemeral electron, in my mind, is that lack of physical history. Who can see what your eyeballs saw? The best they can see is a theoretical, probabalistic extrapolation. A history, a paper trail, becomes an extra effort, not a natural by-product. It becomes artificial. We are in an era where history is an artifice, voluntary. At the same time, it has the potential to be mind-blowingly detailed and complete. Weird. February 8, 2009 Mat is having another beer. Mat is reluctant to talk about himself in third-person-present-presumptive. Mat is a fucking cliche--or at any rate is about to be, and that may be the best thing thats happened to his evil little freedom-loving soul since, oh, I dont know, lets say about 1999. February 8, 2009 The hidden side of mens favorite sin is, it helps them love their wives better. It helps them see who they really are. February 15, 2009 Apples with peanut butter are good. February 19, 2009 How can I (and why should I) explain this? On first reading of Hiding Man, coming to the second paragraph, the feeling of quietly overwhelming gratitude and relief when the Negro speaks? Apparently there is going to be a conversation. Thank God. Thank god. 031909 The phrase I feel like Im on the edge of something popped into my head again the other night. I remembered when I used to say that all the time. Five years ago I was smoking, playing Capoeira as if I really meant it, and writing a bunch of fun words. Now--? Well, I certainly am on the edge of something. Not sure what. Its not as bloodyvalentine all steamed up and pulsing on the driveway. But well see. Its something. So I can guess I can go on living for a while. It is totally, totally true what they say about the reek of desperation. I dont want to be like old greasy David: Hey Mat, do you know of any jobs . . . ? No . . . . *grumble, grumble, grumble, piss, moan* So Im not going to be desperate. It really doesnt help. It only makes your misery more arid and acrid. I just refuse to worry that much. Ill get a job when I get a job. Im going to age gracelessly for a while, though. Ive just remembered that the major obstacle to having any kind of fun is doing everything right. Fuck it. Im going to pretend to be younger than I am. Act inappropriately. Jump over railings. Walk on walls. That kind of thing. No but seriously. I just sloshed boiling water out of my cup and its hot right through my shoe. theres a reason i embarked on this ride. Im not always sure I know what it {the reason) is. But theres a reason. It started when I moved into that shitty apartment on Independence Ave. Theres a reason. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, Thats entrainment. Smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke in someones living room never once never once never once looking backwards looking backwards organ. organ. organ. flute. guitar. sing it. drinkin wine in the alley blah blah blah blah blah happy forth of julio. god bless god bless god bless. so anyway im listening to enlightenment (not of course attaining it ha ha) and hurting hurtling down some sleepy highway when i was young and i really want to smoke and drift away like smoke on the night breeze like the smoke after the crack crack pop pop fireworks have all died down and its so and its so so quiet so quiet in here 7/21/09 I think youre a little bit addicted to wanting to kill yourself. I had forgotten what an actual day looked like, and when I saw a morning, I almost crumpled and threw it away before I recognized it. 7/26/09 Annie gave me a desk. I love it but Ill need a taller chair. A taller chair, and some kind of a keyboard drawer stick out thingie. But yeah, its awesome. It has the hint of Fall in it. 08/05/09 Ad the the et orig eilia was or She was or as eeryoe kows y ow o the Freeway Shes so awesoe 08/07/09 I lov eher. 08/10/09 I read that a famous and beloved movie maker who just died had said that disappointment is the great secret of the American suburban middle class. There are not flesh eating bugs under the grass; just dirt. Im honestly not sure whether were exactly middle class or not, now, nor even whether were technically suburban. But I do think I can relate. From Vacation 58: “Our odyssey was nearing an end, and even though we had less than a day to spend in the fabled fun capital of America, it didnt matter. Our tears were now for joy. I patted Dad on the back and said in a choked voice, Thanks, Dad. I love you. Mom gave him a kiss and so did Patty, and Missy grabbed him around his neck and squeezed.” That reminds me of what was kind of gnawing at me about our trip to Six Flags yesterday. We got a late start. We took forever to go shopping, get packed, eat lunch, get gas, drive through construction, etc. It was hot and crowded. People were thick, everywhere. I was scowling, inching the stroller through the masses. We were bitchy with the kids for every petty infraction of behavior. We hemmed and hawed about the logistics of going on the Hometown Fun Machine--whos going to hold the baby? Can Libby go on? I could have just said come on, and taken them on it, but I was nervous. We ended up not going on it at all. We kept plodding through the crowd instead. Maybe the line will be shorter later, we said lamely. We didnt even get them on a ride at all for probably an hour at least, and that line was way longer than the Fun Machines. The water park was full. More waiting. They went on the little kid rides at the Wiggles area. The big red cars were closed. We did get into the water park later. Megan and Libby had time for one slide each. Millie got a little scared, so no slides. We splashed around with Libby though, and she laughed, and the lazy river was nice. I waited in the cotton candy line for freaking ever. Millie was mad because she didnt get the carousel horse she wanted. We got mad at her for getting mad. Megan saw a big light-up, spin around in the air ride, and Mommys going to take us on that!but it was closed for the night. By anything approaching an objective standard, it was a pretty mediocre trip. Not disastrous, not epic in any way, just okay. At least we didnt pay for the tickets. But you know what the kids had to say? They said I was the best Dad ever, and Ann was the best Mom ever, and thank you for bringing us here! God bless them. I just feel a little bit dirty with guilt. But, just like I told Megan when she didnt get a part in Alice in Wonderland, theres always next time. 08/16/09 Whether you want to call it love, affection, sex, or whateverIve got it for my wife. I love her vulnerability, the candle of her brain, and her wide white ass. I love how she said the weather forecast overnight said it was going to be moony. Get it? It didnt show a sun. It showed a picture of a moon. Actually, it was partly starry. Shes sideways under red satin now, flanked by two babies. Shes milky and sometimes she hurts. I love her. The website for the survey that measures how much grit you have isnt responding. Thats not important. Whats important is whether how much grit you have is a mutable commodity. Is it ever too late. And I have enough grit to say, no it isnt. I have what it takes. Even if I spent way too many years not thinking so. Im making up my own mind. Im keeping on. Not giving up. I dont need a website to tell me that. Im defining it for myself. Tell the whole world Ive gone insane. So I was doing this survey and they said pick eight top friends and assign them points in descending order and the total must add up to 1000 points. I quit the survey in the middle because it got boring, but the notes I made are quite something in themselves: Ann 800 Kate 100 Anne 25 Taelin 25 Wayne25 Scott 25 I dont have any other god damned friends Im sure Im forgetting somebody, and when I realize that Im sure Ill feel properly remorseful, as much as one can get remorseful about ones own pointless journal entries, but. Im just reporting what happened. This is what happened. This is where Im at. Have another beer. 082309 Theres a young me over there. His glasses arent broken. His hairs not greyed. Hes a little more muscled a little less flaggy. Hes lookig aroud ad uhig the way I used to do The oly thig wrog is: his Jads too ew Hes ee sokig Sao Youe got to e kidding me. 09/22/09 Perform the smoke test. Understand? Youve already messed up your life. At least that you have with them in common. The hardest moves have fundamental starting points that arent impossible. 09/23/09 God I hate this. 10/03/09 St. Dominics Preview is not available thru iTunes nor Amazon. Dude thats so fucking gay. God I want a smoke. And then some fuck me pumps and a long tall hit of the finest weed. And then a dog, a fine old girl, a path by the river, and all the time in the world. Where did it all go? The long age of ignorance is upon us, and I, for one, am relieved. The next Shakespeare may now appear. Drink! Which is kinda all interesting and stuff, given that I just now read in an essay http://www.paulgraham.com/essay.html that as you grow older, life should become more and more surprising. When I was a kid, I used to think adults had it all figured out. I had it backwards. Kids are the ones who have it all figured out. They're just mistaken. Okay. I guess in a sense what Im saying is, Ive really got it now. I still suck (think Capoeira), but Im in the game. Ive got the proverbial bug. Lets just admit it. Im a teacher now, and Im thinking about it. All the pent-up, pulled-back rubber band power of the gun-shaped hand is driving me now toward the climaxxx of the next chapter. I care. God damn it, I care. And Im going to do something about it. God I want a smoke. Shes my baby! Dont mean maybe! 10/12/09 Once a week I have a gay dream. 10/15/09 Mediocrity reigns. Even here. The general run of things is shit. Antonia says most people are mean, cruel, without feelins, and dont care about anybody. I am so tired. I look like a corpse. Tuesday, October 20, 2009 Once a smoker, always a smoker. In case you were wondering, being a genius does not make you disorganized. Thursday, October 22, 2009 I’ve [still] got [at least] one [more] book in me. Sunday, November 8, 2009 Why don’t you take care of yourself? Why do you masturbate? Why do you have belly fat that is poisoning you? Why did you forget your dreams? Why do you still want to smoke? Why do you feel guilty about that? What is tomorrow going to be like? Why do you always procrastinate? What are you going to do for your next career, and hopefully it won’t suck as much as this one? Why do you feel a twinge when you say that? How could you focus on the good parts and get rid of some of the bad parts? Or do you just want something that’s easy? You keep suicide in your back pocket like a bank note you’ll never cash. She said, “The story of my life is that i should have been less goddamn responsible and just done what i wanted.” And I said-- Monday, November 9, 2009 It was obvious to no-one except me, and I kept it hidden in the one room in the castle into which it was forbidden to venture. Peer, yes. Rummage unsupervised--no, they held the key for that. Who were they? Tuesday, November 10, 2009 Erase the guilt. Stand tall. Come in the doorway. Be fully present. Look up. Saturday, November 14, 2009 Just waiting for her to come home, even though she’s only out with Schmitty & like almost certainly isn’t “doing” anything, is the most potent sexual metaphor I’ve viscerally lived for months. Okay, it’s 1:30 now. Still turned on, but got that worry thing going, too. 9 times out of 10 she planned it that way. Bless her. Still.... I’m going to start drinking now. With my red bumpy shaven pubes and my hard, strong, fucked up, relentless old memory. If the poetic impulse drives you (tangentially?) to something non-poetic but essential, then so much the better. All my niggaz Is asleep. But th sun gon shine tomorrow lolzz Wednesday, December 9, 2009 It used to be about smoking and typing. Now it’s pretty much about smoking. But I still come here, occasionally, when I “can,” even though the knowledge of everything I “should” be doing is like a necklace of hogs. Activation energy (whether or not you write something down). Is the hump bigger, or my energy source smaller? Or doesn’t it matter? “No, it’s not real fire--but don’t touch it!” All right. One more old journal and then I go. The fucked-up-ness of feeling guilty about sitting here saving the wretched remains of my opera-throated life.