the humanity

i went to whole foods during lunch today to buy some fruit and graze the samples. the green gazpacho sucks. when i got up to the counter with my apple and orange i realized that i didn't really have any money on me. so i just got the orange. after i paid and started to walk off the cashier was like "wait". i turned around and he handed me the apple and said "it's a sample."

this entire incident was followed up by me relaying this story to dustin/jimmy outside of marakesh. the old man that harrasses everyone for money really loudly "hey man, can you give me some money to get somethin to eat?" was sitting across from us asking that of everyone that went by. when i got up to leave i saw a dollar on the ground just a couple of feet in front of him. i picked it up and put it in my pocket. i'm totally a dollar richer.

my insomnia is killing me

i'm starting to wonder if this is going to turn into a whole edward norton/brad pitt fight club thing. or maybe i'll just be running around like helena bonham carter not knowing who the hell i'm fucking and just being confused about it all the time.

masturbating and crying just doesn't work like it used to. masturbating and crying.

prickball

from the bench she watched jl pull up on his motorcycle and walk towards the group. she felt it was time to apologize.

lb: hey, jl, i'm really sorry about punching you in the stomach the other night.
jl: actually, it was the face. i mean, if you want to get specific about it.
lb: oh. gosh. ..... i wonder how i confused that with your stomach. .... well, jl...i'm really sorry for punching you in the face the other night.
jl: actually, it was 12 times. i mean, if you want to be specific about it.
lb: oh, wow. yeah. sorry.

and this dream...

i had this dream last night where i was involved in the crew of this modern-day stage production of an movie classic based on a romance novel. it was a cross between marooned-ship-desert-island and the price is right. it was being staged by salvage vanguard theatre. the unfortunate part was that they had the actress who originally played the busty heroine make a cameo appearance. she was under the impression that she would be playing the role she had been cast in 40 years before. so throughout the whole performance she kept commenting and asking questions onstage about why things were different and openly critisizing the rest of the cast.

then at some point thanksgiving dinner was involved. there was a snow storm. i had to take the bus home. as i walked down a country road towards the bus stop at sundown a red volkswagen beetle pulled up to the stop, forcibly threw a teenage boy from the car so that he hit the stop sign really hard. then his mother got out of the car holding a wooden kitchen chair above her head and she started beating him.

later i was in a convienience store looking for vitamin water and someone was trying to fuck with me. i woke up to my fist hitting the wall.

i had this crazy dream about shayla

and it was a lot like my normal life. except for the part about my nipples being on the outside of my shirt.

lost in translation

when i lived in holland i had this girlfriend named lisette. she worked in the restaurant. we were always together. until one day henk decided that she wasn't allowed to come back to work until i left the country two months from then.

the next morning i went into the restaurant. i was sitting in the staff break room. crying onto my breakfast when henk came in, put his hand on my shoulder and said "stop crying. you're too old to cry. this is safya. she's going to teach you how to shoot a gun."

i am currently being semi-stalked by a guy that i believe thinks i'm somebody else. there is a language barrier. in a way. it's a little creepy.

she's going to teach you how to shoot a gun. talk about stress relief.

and friday night is...

drunk and drinking. happy hour, unsucessful. late night. paul and fleetwood. no second guessing. fer real. any body in the world would do anything i want to with this thing in my hand. we literally had buckshot raining down on us. people who are mentally weaker that want power. that's what makes guns dangerous. it's not their fault that their mentally weak. it's a nice little balance. i was not allowed to have any weapon ever as a toy. ever. i gave jack a gun. non threatening. wooden. cork. wow...it's really more about the popping noise. he loved it. safety.

did i ever tell you how i learned to shoot a gun? he's a smart boy.

she-bop

it's been that kind of week.
actually it's been that kind of life. she-bop. she-bop.

anyway, last night i had this dream that was kind of animated. i was in the simpsons. i was not a cartoon. anyway, the mr. burns and smithers characters enter the plant which is not a nuclear power plant. instead it is a logging camp. but it is indoors. logging camp might not necessarily be what i mean...lumber yard. so burns and smithers walk into the indoor lumber yard and ask why that machine isn't running. everyone asks which machine? and they point out the super long table saw that takes up most the room at which point somebody resembling homer simpson says
"oh. you mean 'the believer'"

billy bob was as stupid as he was thoughtful

i was on the bus this morning and at the corner of 5th and congress i saw this woman on crutches moving really slowly, kind of struggling to make it to the bench. i only saw her from behind at first. she was relatively well dressed. designer flip flops, capri pants. swollen ankle. black blouse. shiny crutches. blonde hair kind of clipped up like buffy's. she looked like she may have been in her late 40s, but in good shape. i desperately wanted to see her face, but she kept moving in ways that i couldn't see it until finally the bus started pulling away. she was sitting on the bench and put the crutches off to the side and i got a glimpse.

it was like hatchet-face meets shakes the clown. no joke. her face was busted. and then she put make-up on it.

does anyone have any pictures of hatchet-face? or shakes the clown, for that matter.