are you going to be a fireman or what?

and I thought, what the hell did I do to Donald Duck to get a drink like this? that’s my joke for today, that sentence. remember drinking that crap, out of those metal government cans? now I’m free to drink the real stuff. and to write, to read, to really appreciate reading. back when I was drinking Donald Duck, the only book I read was Herbie Goes Bananas. even that was a big deal. but I had a book report. my mom used to help me through the book reports. one was on leaves that I had collected and pressed into this big notebook. and I had drawn the names of the leaves on construction paper. for growing up, I wanted to be something generic like a fireman. not that firemen are generic, even, but just saying something like that at such an age, it wasn’t real. it was just to appease some adults. it was the entertaining thing, too. like, there goes our little fireman. when he grows older he will make us proud and protect his leaves. he’ll fireproof the world.

I read Fahrenheit 451 where they were burning houses up left and right. I lost my innocence – to an extent, as it was destined for any kid to come into knowing the world as it really is, the real temperature. it’s cold. so you gotta fight against the cold. you gotta fight against the distractions and not get down when it looks like everyone else on this damn train is about to slit their wrists.

but that’s some generic stuff.
today I sat in the park
and because of the birds
I tried to think of a
few extra pleasant things
I was half guarding against
anyone that was about
to approach me for money
pretended I was a writer
with pen tip against the page
wrote the forced word
nothing special came of
the forced word

I just worked in that damn sweatshop
tried to stay true to my thoughts
meaning I tried to stay
right by them
not entangled in conversation
laughing all the time
talking about other people
scheming for food or . . .
the schedule
rape of everything possible
“hate comes easy . . .
when pushed too far
hate comes easy for me too”
when Zac and I first met each other
we put in that Downcast tape
and used to scream in the car
I’d fake out the pedestrians
make them think I was going to hit them
I was a real show off bastard.

I’m lucky my house didn’t burn down
one time it was robbed though
and firemen showed up for that I think
funny how I can’t remember for sure
whether or not a big ass fire truck was
out in front of my house
I used to chalk up the driveway
with anarchy signs, hardly even knowing
what it meant, just that it was punk
and probably the right political and personal
stance for me
it took years to learn it deeper
I thank Emma Goldman for that.

my mom was mad at me for making that conversion
she always was such a mainstream sellout
when I would listen to Minor Threat and Ian would
scream: “do you fuckin’ get it?”
she would get so upset
the more she hated The Misfits and The Exploited
the more I loved them
what a time of transition
I could write on and on about it
and probably will

what are you going to be when you grow up? what do you see yourself as? people have all these kinds of questions for me. I don’t even feel like talking. my meditation at the end of the day comes down to the antithesis of their take and take some more if you can conversation. they’re always in disguise. I’ve always let myself down every time I wouldn’t tell it to them straight. they’ve got all these put downs for you, and you’re a small little kid in school just trying to make it by with one challenge after another. you don’t need all that. just get in their face and say, “you’re boring as shit.” and walk away. well, I have it down now.


sumb dumb noat frumb da dumb kid

it’s hard to sit down and write all this sometimes. a weekend’s end and you feel like there’s nothing to say. if you were only here to share it with me, well then still I would probably go and close the door to trap myself in to write it down. I save this file as junk. Sunday. I think that I’m falling in love with my wife some more.

my cat is sleeping so peacefully and I’m in a pretty good mood, even though I did just watch the depressing American History X two times in a row. as I was writing to my friend, you usually have to watch something more than once if you think you’re going to own it in your memory.

and yes, I broke out and saw another movie. won’t comment on it now. that was yesterday, when the power went out all over the whole area and cops were out directing traffic. Friday and all that hell were behind me. all I had to worry about was getting some basic groceries and medicine to get Casey better. a couple months more of this and we’ll be in the clearing. yet with that, we lose something there too, as if we don’t feel as spiritual as we did in winter. we start to feel like we can party it up and there will be no repercussions. winter is there always not letting us get too happy.

I don’t think I’ll write that much more. not much in the mood to write something down. I hope everyone is doing okay and able to ignore the new Survivor and all that Super Bowl nonsense as much as possible.

diary of a madman

“Up home we wear a hat like that to shoot deer in, for Chrissake,” he said. “That’s a deer shooting hat.”

“Like hell it is.” I took it off and looked at it. I sort of closed one eye, like I was taking aim at it. “This is a people shooting hat,” I said. “I shoot people in this hat.”

yes, I’ve been reading Catcher in the Rye. it’s a sick day. well now it’s evening and I’m wondering what I’m going to write for myself, for God, for my friends out in the world – who all possibly want to hear something new. I want to be like other people who I admire, to be honest, frank, sincere, and strong, faithful, always putting someone else first, myself last. these are the qualities I seek. I think how lonely it is, though, boxed up in winter like this, barely in contact with anyone, just to work back and forth exhausted all the time, very little exercise, very little quality of anything like meditation, reading, writing, anything creative. just an awareness of the lack, however, could be the first step in reviving it.

all I know right now this very second
all I know to do
is carve out a tiny sentence
that can be seen
from space with our technology

dumb adults, these salespeople, they’re impressed if they just see a bunch of computer monitors. they know very little. it baffels the hell out of me. those that know very little sure know how to talk miles right out of your blood stream. you see ’em out on the wide sidewalks with their coffee, maybe smoking too, trying to talk to someone. it’s always so important. like they should have their own news channels. I’m so sick of it.

I can just be silent. they’re the joke of themselves. like if you check out sci-fi’s stuff. all that junk is staged in pristine quality; the kid electrocuted on the fence; the ladybugs swarm the family picnic, the UFO over New York. they haven’t literally built an organic magnet for the human body. rather, the mind has to be persuaded, convinced. and once the desire is developed, God help them if anything gets in our way.

what am I talking about?
God help us.
various stuff
pet shops, stuff like that.
what, you don’t think it’d
help you to read J.D. Salinger?

life is too fast, to world wide webbed
from one site to the next
your head is all channel surfed
you can’t concentrate on the classic
grain of the pages anymore
Holden is checking into his hotel
in New York, lonely like a madman
lip busted up from a fight
back at the school he left
he needs a sabatical
some good company

maybe some direction. sometimes we want good direction, other times we want to relax, or be spontaneous, enjoy life as creative people without labels, not as writers, painters, photographers. breathe the mountain air.

Thom Yorke: “if you look at the artwork for ‘Kid A’, well that’s the fire from afar. ‘Amnesiac’ is the sound of what it feels like to be standing in the fire.”

getting our bikes back over the fence

oh hell. what frustration.
in this terrible sickness
I breathe a different air
a planet where there is
less of everything
you spoiled Americans
are ruined by your oxygen
soon someone’s gonna
cut the supply

our radio friend Art Bell returns to the air and net waves February 5. I can’t wait. many days were spent at my old job leaning back in the chair listening to the paranormal classics. he went off for about a year, but he’s coming back – hopefully to stay.

like this
head ain’t clear
it’s the body’s rebellion
going into work like this
is absolute hell.
going to work healthy
is absolute hell.

I can’t type it out.

dreamt this: casey and I had our bikes, which is strange in itself. we climbed over a chain linked fence with the bikes to video tape some random footage, God knows what for. busted by this raspy voiced cigarette smoking lady, Casey, by this time is now a boy, transforms into a little boy, and so do I, and to get away, puts on this cute act like, “Look at me and my Matchbox cars. When I grow up, I want to be a race car driver.” a “wace-car dwiv-uh.” he gives her the thumbs up. surely this worked. and he tossed her a Coke or something. laughing so hard inside, I knew once we got back over that fence and were running, I’d be slapping this kid over the head for pulling such a stunt.

each dream is telling me
I’m going out of my mind


strangle a man with a rope in your upscale apartment and put the body in a trunk, have dinner on it . . . pressured into the whole thing. can’t help but feeling guilty, nervous. who else but Jimmy Stewart’s character to catch on to you. play the piano like a fiend. cannot possibly cover up. the intellectually superior manipulate the whole crowd, the whole party. it’s an upscale New York dull group with only one sharp professor to catch on and develop a suspicion. it’s like Crime and Punishment – not all of you is evil so a terrible act cannot be contained, a confession is ready to burst out of you.

sick with manipulation. this all falls apart and good prevails once more. did you think you were God? I thank you for this shame. from this day, I will no longer think I’m superior to anyone else. we are each individual human beings. you’re both going to die.

three shots fired out the window. sirens.

you must have had it in you from the beginning. and I know I’ve never had it in me. you’ve twisted it all.

five stars.

a mention of American Beauty

good evening. I’ve been out for a while, working on my thoughts, wondering through the ghetto health food store for something small to eat for a small allotment of time. I’ve been on the train, wordless, curious, and annoyed. off doing other things, upset about other things, worrying, because worrying is in my blood. a curse handed down through the family. and when I’m not having nightmares, I’m inside of them – with a large front window to the street, and behind me the rows of dysfunctional people and computers. no one cares. no one around here cares. if there’s someone, if it’s you, I wish you’d step up closer just so that I could see. a demon hears a little radio song – a song played over and over a million times in life – and she starts singing, a tiny part of her starts singing next to me . . . and it makes me want to cry. because my hatred was feeling so righteous. life is complicated. I want to have that vision like in American Beauty. ultimate rebellion, and living your life the way you want, the liberated feeling. and finding new beauty, the kind that startles you. he videotaped a plastic bag being tossed around in the wind and that was his whole movie. if you’re filled up, you see things like no one else, like no ordinary person around you. I can tell if a person is special, if a person is caring, right off the bat. heading back from lunch I realized the direction I was going was in the shape of an L, and began to brainstorm words that began with L, like luck, love, and so on. and decided to go with love, that, being the most important thing in life, it made for a positive trip. we are all travelling in the alphabet. my words and letters want to be servants, don’t want to be full of themselves. they want to do what’s right. not to listen to the whispers of doubt, the shouts and screams of anger, the blood boiling up in the head because you can’t see a way to turn a disadvantage to your favor.

fireworks will go off in rush hour. winter sky like a fourth of july celebration, but now, to bring in the president. others, protest against the whole thing, as if it’s going to be reversed now. no matter. people always have a cause to horde together, whether it’s love or love of money or to catch on to something unnoticed. I like to be out on the sidewalk . . . no, not really. I like to be connected somehow, and I’m admitting it. I’m not the desert hermit people think I’d like to be. though I transport myself away from everything. it’s my only way. I freak out. I don’t see any beauty anywhere. all the horror movies lose their fun. horror in this real world wouldn’t make any kind of movie for the people.

where the hell are you going so late at night? didn’t you know? I’m spontaneous, I could use a drink. you know what I mean. I could use a soft, cold tea that’s going to be gentle with me, and sing me a song. kafka, thoreau, baldwin, miller, dostoevsky, salinger. I’m going to read. and I’ll be back. a different person all over again.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

turns out, this is not a review after all, but some writing was evoked afterwards. why not put that down?

after this movie, this mystical other world, I can only think of how petty this one is, the one I’m living. caught they are, no flow. petty people concern themselves in creating problems as if none exist – so to solve something small because they’re crushed under this mountain helpless, the horror of a whole life. so little and bug like, ungraceful – like the child who understands only video games and walks up the isle with his friend with the mind same. you pose as adults with a rule over me. I challenge all of this shit with a large heart as a sword. you will slice to bloody pieces. you do not even deserve this fakeness.

five stars.

scatter brain

you put your own holes in that shot up personality of yours, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to say anything about it, at least for now. my theory is, leave me the hell alone, leave things nice and quiet, what appears boring really isn’t boring, but at peace. peace, however, sometimes isn’t the catalyst for clarity. I’m thinking of you, who upset my mind, but inspire these words. I want to go in the opposite direction. you scare the absolute hell out of me. you’re helpless.

they say enemies can reincarnate with you into this life in a position close to you, reaking havoc in the family. the kid with small hands can’t knock anyone out for fifteen years, so they take advantage.

I know, it’s disorganized ranting. associations one after another. they warned me about speaking my mind right from the start. it was the right thing to be brave and get punched right in the mouth, to get bloody in the lunchroom. I know that I am on top of the world, even if I lose a fight. my heros were the Transformers. it was the sci-fi, the other worldly that had me.

Discover Card is not my idea of discovery. telemarketer tried to sell me on the hype. I’m not interested, and I repeated… I’m sorry, I’m not interested. Okay, he said, and proceeded to tell me some 1-800 number with an extension, in case I changed my mind. I just memorized all that, thanks. what a joke. what a fucking joke.

my lips chapping all to hell.

announcing: soon – movie reviews from a whole different angle. critiques down to the movie theatres themselves, up close and personal. audience reaction. the whole event. Rear Window, Hitchcock classic, released on DVD in March. Radiohead’s fifth album, “Amnesiac,” set for June.

saturday night notetime

kick back and feel the feeling
go out of your leg
check out my friends list, btw
spent some good time
on new apps
long 3 hour nap
rebellion against this horrible horrible
week that
dehabilitated my reading of
go tell it on the mountain
and lose focus on train writings
yet I made my way
50 f. days

that’s all I’m going to say for now

repeat after Will Shatner

the end of the day
report on today
I’m still alive
I’ll say that
this evening D.
came over with a friend
and we went out
and walked for what seemed
miles and miles
into the heart of downtown
where it is quaint
gawking at the houses
the pier was closed and
couples walked, dark and quiet
ducks perched, sleeping on the ice
water’s edge
why didn’t they fly south, he asked
I guess they like it
they’ve adapted
try not to talk about your day
your frustrations
I brought up the past
remember when we did this…
freestyle walking and
went to that lame cafe
with too much sun coming
in the window and the flies
no chess board for the patrons
no games, no cards, just the change
put on top of the bills and the whole thing
handed to you – the worst way
(cashiers, hand change and bills seperately)

a man is lonely when he tries to be a pimp across the united states, needs a woman he can actually talk to. where’s that balance in you? baby girl waving to us in her mother’s arms on their way off the train. I wave back shy, because I’m conditioned not to interact with people. you read, you read anything, newspapers, instruction manuals, magazines, napkins and coupons, to pass the time looking down. I wanna bust the ceiling and get out of this place.

should I call in sick tomorrow?

check this joint out!!! I think it’s going to blow up real fast. what are you doing right now? reading this? I feel sorry for you.

well, just kidding. welcome back. today I was sitting in the cafe at the bar drinking down the water until it was all gone and only the ice cubes left. crunched on those for a while and wrote what was happening to me in the moment, what I predicted for what was to follow in our little gathering. you see a department meeting. I see murder. you see procedures. I see seizures. I knew the sky was going to turn red, and I was right.

back to the ice cubes. all I’ll say is it was a simple moment. out of all the horrible things that happened this afternoon, somehow it comes to mind as I sit back here and listen to Coldplay.

I’ve stopped talking about revolutions, I know. I’m starting to realize what they are again. Break out on your own, D.I.Y. “I baptize you with water, but He will baptize you with fire.”

He is that nature. blind.
blind behind buildings
crying into bathroom sinks
red faced

“I swam across, I jumped across for you, oh what a thing to do. because you were all yellow…”

some people are grade A morons from bovine university. there’s nothing you can do, they’ll never listen to a single word you have to say. and if you’re unlucky enough to be employeed under one of these fools, you’re gonna wanna die. and then you’re gonna rise the hell up and be bigger than that. then you’re going to love yourself. not in an egotistical way. but you’re going to love your opportunities. you’re going to love your life, love being alive. you know you’ve got something so much more than them. more than the cheap salary they give you.

winter is treating me just fine so far, all things considered. thank you, I’m feeling fine. thanks for asking, thanks for being a true friend. I don’t have too many. I don’t read too much either. and I could go on. okay, that’s the writing for tonight. everyone get good rest.

this year, in ice – brought to you by… a sheet of ice

here comes my cat. he’s going to help me write this. today’s subject: ice. not to write a scientific paper, but to point you in the direction in case it has gone unnoticed or has been underappreciated. then I’m going to eat some bread and go to sleep. every work day I pass over the Potomac River on my way to work. it’s just cold enough so that it’s frozen over, but warm enough that it’s began to melt and crack in what seems to be perfect shards in place over the surface. it never ceases to blow my mind every time I see it. at night, the lights of the city reflect off it, and as I described it to Amanda, it’s like a dark marble floor down there. how miraculous it is that a large body of water freezes solid and you can walk across it. tragic that it sometimes breaks and becomes one of the most dangerous deathpits.

moments in ice history: George and his friends from It’s a Wonderful Life slid down the hill on shovels and across the ice at the bottom. He rescued his brother who cracked a thin patch, but not without harm to himself; he got pnuemonia and lost hearing in his left ear for life. “that’s my trick ear,” he would say. we were told Eskimos walked across the ice to reach whole new continents. don’t know that much more about it because I slept through it in school. I’m catching up now because I have a real curiousity about things, to be an explorer. my teachers were wrong about me after all.

it is recommended: once a year, go somewhere you’ve never been. hell, my challenge is to do that every day. idealistic? maybe. hopeful? yes.

the metro floors, when wet, mimic ice, taking a liking especially to my new shoes which seem a little squeamish on that particular surface. take note of that, that I cannot act like a bad ass on that platform lest I want it all pulled out from under me.

slush turns to ice. ice in my cup of water, despite being told that room temperature drinks are better for me. I’m stubborn, I like a cold shot of water, or orange juice, or carrot juice.

why notes on ice? why the hell not? why the hell not? I’ve gotta scrawl about something. it’s a part of my life now. a certain time period. I’m learning to like winter. it’s the hardest season for me, but so far I’m getting through it and living life . . . remember back in 2001 when you worked that crappy job (which one?) and crossed the river every day, and how beautiful it was, how if you had kids you’d point it out to them with affection and they would be so glued to that window? yes, you’d be a good father.

people tell you all kinds of things.

Arlington is awesome

I’m looking at the serene, almost drugged, face of my cat. so still.

there was one conversation today: please do the dishes.

there was a walk. went up and caught the train to Ballston. turning down the idea of a movie, I proceeded on to the library where I sat in the second floor bay window and looked out to the lot, the field, the tennis courts, the buildings, sky, and what was left of the snow. Ulysses read well for one page. but I couldn’t concentrate. only day dream. girls in my past, all of it. all of it gone. I don’t know where anyone is any more. maybe I’m saved from it.

I walked by the church sign – don’t be afraid, just believe. omens. I see all those Arlington streets with very curious eyes, as if I’m setting into a very extraordinary, mystical land. this is where I used to live. just down the street I rented a room, hung out with my old friends, had that stupid job, watched Millennium as it started out. in that doughnut shop I laughed with J.S., my heart started to hurt and I rushed, holding it, into the bathroom, silly from all the sugar. small things mattered, like toast parties. toast your bread, get the butter, cut it like a bunch of ships. you and one other person would make up the party, talking, sitting in front of the TV, or in my room talking there, or reading. we would read to each other whole short stories in one afternoon. J.D. Salinger is a master, I said. and I still mean it.

Arlington also gave me the usual opportunities to be a jackass and make some terrible decisions – such as giving up on friends who were driving me crazy. of course half of me still says it was for the best. I don’t have any hard feelings now. turns out I had a little more life with them and all the risks than I do now with everything streamlined and routine.

tomorrow, work and more work. it’s all I will say. everyone get good rest.

in the meantime

attention: absolutely nothing is going on. could be outside in the freezing cold doing something. I am inside dry, dried out, waiting, waiting on files to process, waiting for the clock to strike lunch, waiting to get back out into the cold and be . . . myself. where I don’t have to talk to anyone. me and my war with the choking wind. one day in November I walked down and slept in a field. I repeat this again, it was a beautiful moment. I’m trying to find them everywhere, and even . . . get along okay with the best of the bastards. that’s me. I get along.