Blog Thing

Incognito

I need a place to write that nobody knows about.

Why do I look confused?

And then there was girl

R.A.D.

i spent time with her today
we haven’t really seen each other much the past few years
i still feel love for her
after ten years
deep love
but not like before
i no longer feel desperate towards her
a part of me wants to but that part is foolish
friendship is enough
instead i feel lucky
lucky that i have been through so much
we both have
and i can still love someone 
anyone
for ten straight years

Sunday List

Current Infatuations:

• Slipknot’s new album
• Blocks of cheese
• Ribs
• Dexter (how did I not see this right away?)
• “Forgetting” to shave
• Fall
• Ham on Rye (bless you, Bukowski)
• Fallout 3

Current Blahs:

• Having one of your best pals fall for a girl you’re into
• Work
• Dane Cook (seriously, we get it. It’s just too much right now)
• Star Wars (see above)
• Hurricanes
• Being empty
• America

Chrome and Making Out

Right now I am posting this blog from my shiny new Chrome browser. I like it. A lot. It’s fast and sexy like a lady from the 80’s that’s really into in AC/DC. I like AC/DC.

Lately I have been doing a little makin out here and there. Afterwards, the woman becomes completely insane and I don’t hear from them again. OK, the amount of makin out here is quite overstated but the crazy isn’t. Why can’t I be gay?

i’m better with women than with writing
and i’m single

at least i smell like music

Importance

I want to be important.
I want to feel like Kennedy
or Kirk
or the Stones.
Instead I feel like glass.
Maybe I have to wait
until I’m dead like O’Toole.

Problem is he had someone who loved
him that fought for his cause
and all I got is a couple cats.

Faded Scar

“What’s that thing on your ankle?”
she says, pointing at a fading charcoal scar.
“I don’t want to talk about it”
I say with too much acid on my tongue.
“Tell me” is the reply,
in a way that says or else.
“An ex cut me with a razor and
rubbed soot from the hearth on the wound.
It’s her name”.
Bewildered she asks “You let her do that?”
“Yeah. It’s her name. She wanted me to remember her”.
“Would you ever let me do anything like that?”
“No. That was a different time in my life
and I guess you came along at the wrong point.
I have different issues now”.
At that, she put on her skirt
and walked out the door without
uttering a word. I haven’t heard
from her since.

The memory of her has faded like the tattoo.

I’ve been reading too much Bukowski.