The Obscure

Another day successfully defeated, tomorrow: to face another foe!
My internal clock got thrown off, this week, so now I'm more energetic than I have been all day. Wouldn't you know it? Nobody is online. Nobody is offline either. Makes you wonder where they are.
That's the trick, isn't it? There are two universes made for every choice, or action. The universe where you chose to, and the universe where you chose not, right? I chose to eat these wheat thins now, but I have to ponder this question, What if I didn't choose to eat them? I mean, how different would my world be, right now, if I weren't eating these wheat thins? I would have to use a different aligory, we know that much.
Then consider this: By giving someone an option, you are boxing them into only two frames of being.
One either chooses to, or chooses not to; if one does neither, one does not exist, correct? There are only two universes, if you live in neither of them, you can't live at all, right?
We are closed off to all but two planes of being, with our "free will".
That would mean the less will you have, the freer you are; as you are free of your two-plane prison. A slave is freer than a master, a serving dish is freer than a slave, a fig is freer than a dish, and so on, and so on, until you reach non-being--that which does not exist. If something does not exist, it cannot lose it's existence by refraining from existing on a given plane. Total freedom would require utter motionlessness of mind, body, and soul. You would have to become nothingness.
Entropy wins all, m'dear, and that is the cosmic truth.

I got this zit right under my right nostril. Touching it brings water to my eyes, but not touching it makes me all nervous and makes me think, "Hey, what's up with that zit?" a lot.
Oop, I just poked it a final time and it exploded. Isn't that pleasant?

I guess I'm out now, Seeya.

Hey hey everybody.
My family had a rough night last night, but I don't feel like describing it here, I'm sure I vented to all of you about it already, because that's how I roll.
End Result, though, is that I didn't get to sleep till 7 this morning, and I slept on and off till like 1. I kept waking up, but I was too tired to want to move so I just lay there until I drifted back out of consciousness.
Missed school, n'all. The whole thing left me with quite a headache.

So I took some of my mom's anti-headachin' juice. It's not really working, which is rare. Actually, it's never happened to me before.

Anyway. So, now it's the weekend. I've driven around for like 10 hours, total, over the past few days, which is pretty ridiculous. Fun though, I'm getting more used to it, and stuff.

Man, I really can't think of anything to write, right now. I feel really burnt out. I guess I'm done here.
See y'all later.

There, where all the Kings of time have sat
We ride through the dusk of another day
In the dark we see the hills laid flat
Ran through mountains, forests, fields of hay
And the horns of a young buck lope along
And I, I feel a kinship there
I hear the quavering nightingale's song
I see the bright moon's constant stare
And I put on my morning mask
I wonder where she went this time
And I wish again, as always, that
Our blood, for once, was sound of mind.

Hey everyone! I passed my road-test! Weeee!
Also, the Stones have offered to sell me their ol' Buick, for a low price! Like 200 bucks or so. It requires some expensive repairs though, but my mom said (pending my dad's approval) that they might absorb the cost of the repairs, provided that she can use the car in this upcoming spring to travel to and fro her observation classes; she's becoming a calculus teacher, I think.
So, within a day I both have a license and a car (though the car is not yet entirely a sure thing) so I am very elated! Woo!
Currently, my parents just put me on their insurance plan for the Van. It's the Van with the Plan.
So I can drive that around, sans madre y padre--or some other combination of two romance languages that would aptly explain my sitch. Speaking of Sitch, "Hey Ron, what's the sitch?"
Ron Stoppable, ladies and gentlefoots.

On the downside, I need a job, quick. Insurance will apparently cost a lot more than my LYING, THEIVING, CONNIVING, Mother had led me to believe (I love ya, Mom!)
So it's going to be like 130 a month, and it would actually cost less for me to have my own policy with my own car than it would to be put on my parents insurance with my own car; and we can't have three drivers for the one van, it just wouldn't work.

So, my life just got a whole lot busier. BUT, it also got a whole lot drivier. That may not seem like a big deal to you, but it means worlds to me.

Hey hey everybody. I'm as tired as deuce, all wacked out my gourd and all.
Anyway.
I got my road test tomorrow, so wish me luck! I really would like to pass. Thought, I guess nobody actually wants to FAIL. I am really el nervouso about it.
Goodnight one, goodnight all.

Well, it's official, I have no soul left. Or that is to say, what's left of it is nothing but a raggedy ol' dish-towel, so used and worn that it has become filthier than the very dishes it has devoted it's life thus far to scrubbing.
Or something like that.

So how is everyone else? I don't care how you are. Why do I always preface my posts with, "How is everyone?" Because, I don't really require an answer, nor do you supply one. It makes no sense!
Maybe it's something to do with my "being polite" complex that seems to have gotten me OUT of so much trouble (not like those other pesky complexes). Who knows?

I have four sketches due tomorrow. It's depressing, how I even slack in Art Class. Is there no level of laziness to which I will not descend?
Actually, technically I have seven due.
Ah well.

I made it to school on time today. It is now hypothesized that if I take a 3/4 dose of Seroquel at 8:30 PM, I can fall asleep at roughly 10:30 PM, and can wake up at roughly 6:30 AM. Tomorrow, the continuation of the testing. Bringing you the results, day by day, this is Acme Mail-Order-Science--in conjunction with the National League of International Ambassadors for the Nation of New Brunswick.
Amen, and Amen.
Is New Brunswick a country? I think it's actually a city. The answe to this, and further New Brunswick related questions, tonight on Nightline.

Baklava, anyone? I love Baklava.
I haven't seen Joe in like months.
Joe is Greek, see the connection? I do.

If I shower before I go to bed, then perhaps waking up in a speedy manner will become ALL the EASIER!

EUREKA!!

Alright, I have better things to do with my time than supply you with jokes that Tim or Taylor normally would have borne the brunt of. Well, no I don't. Nevertheless, I am leaving.

H'leau. H'LEAU!
H'leau.

Moving on, H'leau!
How is everyone? I am good. I just dropped in to say, "H'leau!" as I do, so very often.
So here it is. H'leau!

Y'all have a good day now.

Hey hey everybody. Tis a fine night for a morning, if you get my meaning. I certainly hope you do, because I don't.
I'm on an artistic high today. Or at least, I drew something just now that I kinda like. I just like to experiment, even if it aint good. That's a good thing, when you think about it, I can't be dissatisfied with the quality of my work, I can just say, "It was an experiment!"

Moving on. Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
That song always gets me, right hea'.

So we were trying to buy this half-of-a-duplex on Plymouth Street, so that we could... y'know, live somewhere; but that fell through, I guess we waited just a smidge too long to place an offer on the put (and put an offer on the plank. WALK IT!)
Long story short, dat' ain't hap'nin' no-time like suntime, 'right b'now, sh-leastawise.
If I ever go professional with my dancing...
...I should be sure to get paid, UNDER THE TABLE. *laugh track*

Funk my funk the funked funk
I'd like some high quality funk, please.
Don't smush it, put the cans on the bottom
The Funk on top.
Welcome to Funk'n Shop.
HO!

Holy god, man. My brain has finally melted. I can't actually think of a single thing to say, yet I keep talking, and TALKING.
I see by your outfit, that you are a cowboy
You see by my outfit, that I am one too
We see by our outfits that we are both cowboys
If you had an outfit, you could be a cowboy, too.
Now, do the La-re-do Do-si-do!
I think that's how the jingle goes
After all, who really knows?
Promenade, and away we go!

Halloween is coming up. Halloween is not my forte. I'm not good at dressing up, it invariably turns out looking better than I actually look, which is really a bummer. Everyone gets all excited, "Hey, John doesn't look quite as orangutan-hick-ish as usual!" and then I take off the costume and it's back to (insert supplementary combination of Ape-Man and Hick-reference here).
I remember in like, seventh grade, I dressed up as Columbo, except I didn't know a thing about Columbo, so I just carried around a cane and an overcoat, crossed my eyes, and said, "I AM COLUMBO!"
Columbo never had a cane. I got a lot of candy, though.

Wall to wall feces, all day, every day.
Lookit me ever'body, I'm up on time for school this mawnin. And I feel like my face is melting, into weird, drippy, cylindrical pieces. Like it's in some kind of cylindrically inclined microwave which, in turn, loves Expostulation!
I was born a Dictionarian Man.
So anyway, I've got an hour before I have to leave for school. I'm going to have to shower quicker than usual, and drink this coffee up pretty fast because otherwise I will die. This'll be the first whole day of school I've seen in over a month.
The Question, m'lads, is whether or not I give a damn.

So the other day, right? I'm sitting on this chair hair, minding my own business, when along comes this hoppinin', poppinin', lil dopplegangly hupzi-doozit. He says to me, "Hey Man, what's going on?" and I'm all like, "Duuuuuuuude, you don't even want to KNOW."
That never happened. I was using poetic license. Licensed to quill.
Get it? Quill. Pens. Poetry.
Wazam! ...that was the best I could do.

Oh god, I love coffee.
Not quite as much as I love horrible bowel movements, but close.

*Additions, munitions, fuzzdilly whum*
So I'm adding more text to this now, about twenty minutes later. I didn't feel like making a SECOND blog post, you know what I'm saying? Yeah, I think you know what I'm saying. Yeah, that's right. You know it.

So, teen angst. What's it all about? I mean, come on!
Am I right here?
Seriously.

I need to devote my life to drawing. It's stupid, I know, because when it all comes down to the bare bones, I'm not great at it. I looked at the stuff I used to do, like two years ago, and man... I don't have natural drawing ability, just tenacity. But, this is a democracy, and it's tenacity-ruled, or something.
I have things I want to do, but I don't know how to do them. I just need to get STARTED one of these days. I know if I had the motivation I could make something read-worthy, or at least glance-worthy.
Or maybe I couldn't, but man, it's worth the effort, you know? Why just sit around and stagnate, with the opportunity to create (comic books, in my case, but it could be music or plumbing or something else crazy as well) sitting right in my lap, just taking up space?
Because I don't know what I'm doing, that's why. I can't combine my odd, only-funny-to-me sense of humor with my odd only-looks-like-what-it-is-supposed-to-be-to-Me artwork, I don't know how.
Maybe someday I will, but I keep on givin' up.

Anyway, that was my stupid disillusioned rant for the morning. What a way to start of the day, fweakin' dazz.
(Completed at: 6:30 AM)

I finally got a copy of Windows 2000, from Greg Ochs. So I put together a boot disk, on my ol' 98 here, and now I am trying to reformat the hard drive of this other computer. Except... I don't think it is working quite as well as planned, I may end up running two Windows 2000s at once, in which case I'm going to have to... undo that, somehow.
In any case, I look kind of ridiculous right now, in my New York Giants sweatshirt (that is actually PT's), Ponytail, with a bowl of cereal, and two keyboards in my lap--but, who's to know?
Except anyone who reads this, which I think, are many.

Anywho, this whole... computer thing takes is more time-consuming than Hogan's Goat. It's even more frustrating because I know that what I am doing right now will ultimately not work, I need to get my hard drive formatted, first. But Windows 2000 is unknown territory to me.
Oh where is Niles when you need him. Damn Windows 2000. If only they would remake Windows 98. As is, but state-of-the-art (somehow). Or maybe something that is as good as Windows 98 is, but... y'know... not obsolete.

I need more cereal.
This family goes through cereal like most families go through soda; and we go through soda like most whales go through plankton.
That is to say, quickly, and in large amounts.

Speaking of which, I found a fish today. No no, it's not what you think. People don't do those kinds of things to fish.
No, I found a clay "sculpture" of a fish I made for my father, in the fourth grade. It's the best fish you'll ever see, and I say that with the utmost confidence.
Speaking of confidence, I need slightly more cereal.

There are no inhibitions anymore, the monk has found the secret to his losing standard nation. The lost McGovern boy without no land to call his home can no longer fight his way into the lost mountain of trust and the final kiss; who knows no other lover. This distinction alone shows me that I am not the one who's drums can see time itself, incarnate. Carnations by the moonlit sun can tell me where I am to go to see my heroes fight their battles with the gilded iron ships of Man.
Taste me, I am beautiful. Love me, I am shapely.
The blue can no longer show me where, or when, or what, wherever it has stood alongside myself, beside itself, and glaring, staring, never caring for it's glances of damnation and implications of confustication.
Hand me my Eyes, they are smooth enough. My hands, though, they are made of glass, made of glass, and wreathed in brass, giving birth to the children of grass. Handel said, and I concur, that Man has no rule, only Her. She has the sticks and funny logs that make these shambled houses; and we can only shingle roofs, we do our best to please our spouses.
Seeing, fumbling, punching sand and shutting myself into the closet of two-way sex and childish secrets. Canine lovers, golden necklace, and dance steps no one could ever fully learn. Kicking, swinging, hugging, molding, I see my own kneecaps of grey, and dryer hasn't seen the day in which my lips shall join the fray and battle all that ever is, and all that right now: was.
And all the while, looking with ease and glee, is Me, or is it She? She whom I have, till this day, roofed. But I shall Roof no more.

Hey hey everybody. How are you all doing this fine, fine afternoon? I am as cold as a young man in an unheated second floor apartment in the middle of Rocktobre, here.
Just turned the heat on, though. Maybe someday soon, there will be warmth for me and mine.

It is tradition for Taylor to come over on Monday afternoons, Tim usually, too. I don't know if either are going to happen, as Tim has a bad case of the subdues, and Taylor's got his permit test and all. I will leave that for the fates to decide.
Meanwhile, back in funkytown...
Our hero has been feeling rather strange, an ailment that was eased but not quite cured by a bowl of piping hot chili.
While making the chili our hero's mild-mannered counterpart, "Brock Bwenhenitsyn" suffered from a momentary lapse in reason; adding just a little too much Red Hot to his bowl of delicious hispanic stew.
Creating a gateway for his nemesis, the Cayenne Inducive Runny-Nose Baron, to make his move!
BIFF! BAM! BLAMO!
and, of course, the cursory THURKALACRUNCH!

Long story short, my nose is all runny now, because all kinds of cayenne peppers were stuffed into it, and then set on fire with the heat of the Sun God's flaming loins.
I'm gonna go... sit... elsewhere.

I got'dis song stuck all up insmee head, h'yea. Soums I'ma post some lyrics, like you know hows I do it.

Frank Zappa- Cosmik Debris
The Mystery Man came over
An' he said: "I'm outa-site!"
He said, for a nominal service charge,
I could reach nervonna t'nite
If I was ready, willing 'n able
To pay him his regular fee
He would drop all the rest of his pressing affairs
And devote His Attention to me
But I said . . .
Look here brother,
Who you jivin' with that Cosmik Debris?
(Now who you jivin' with that Cosmik Debris?)
Look here brother,
Don't you waste your time on me

The Mystery Man got nervous
An' he fidget around a bit
He reached in the pocket of his Mystery Robe
An' he whipped out a shaving kit
Now, I thought it was a razor
An' a can of foamin' goo
But he told me right then when the top popped open
There was nothin' his box won't do
With the oil of Afro-dytee
An' the dust of the Grand Wazoo
He said:
"You might not believe this, little fella, but it'll cure your Asthma too!"
An' I said . . .
Look here brother,
Who you jivin' with that Cosmik Debris?
(Now what kind of a geroo are you anyway?)
Look here brother,
Don't you waste your time on me
Don't waste yer time . . .

I've got troubles of my own, I said
An' you can't help me out
So take your meditations an' your preparations
An' ram it up yer snout
"BUT I GOT A KRISTL BOL!," he said
An' held it to the light
So I snatched it
All away from him
An' I showed him how to do it right
I wrapped a newspaper 'round my head
So I'd look like I was Deep
I said some Mumbo Jumbos then
An' told him he was goin' to sleep
I robbed his rings
An' pocket watch
An' everything else I found
I had that sucker hypnotized
He couldn't even make a sound
I proceeded to tell him his future then
As long as he was hanging around,
I said
"The price of meat has just gone up
And your ring of fire have just gone down!"*
Look here brother,
Who you jivin' with that Cosmik Debris?
(Now is that a real poncho or is that a Sears poncho?)
Don't you know,
You could make more money as a butcher,
So don't you waste your time on me
(Don't waste it, don't waste your time on me . . . )
Ohm shonty, ohm shonty, ohm shonty-ohm
SSHONTAY

*Altered to fit the lyrics of El Live Versiono

So dass all I got right now, hea. I don't have nuffin to write about, presently, but as you'um mayhaps b'able t'ell by all my be-speechins; I'm funked out my mind.

Hey everybody, it's been a while. Or... a day.

We are placing an offer on this house. It's half of a duplex, y'know? But it's really nice. I like it.
That's all that is happening with that.
I haven't had any coffee yet this morning, I think my body may well collapse under the strain. Or better yet, my body will implode, and I will become nothing but a floating red sphere of bloody consciousness. Watching, biding my time, I will sit in wait until the time comes--and then I will explode, wreaking havoc on the unprotected coffee beans of Columbia!
ANYONE ELSE WANNA BE A HERO?!
J'u Wanna play ga'es?! Ok, OK! We play ga'es. We play ga'es. J'u Wanna play ga'es?! Ok! SAY HELLO TO MY LI'L FRIEND!

Ugh, I need a hobby. Seriously, I mean, besides drawing and my penchant for playing the fiddle (I think we all know what I'm talking about here, AM I RIGHT?!) I don't have anything to do.
I've never played the fiddle in my life.
I'm seriously losin' it lately.

I got this chip-clip here. It is reminding me of when I spent that week going through all the Penny Arcade archives, when I had Dial-up AOL and everything.
I actually have that dialogue in my AIM profile. Here, I will copy it for you.

"Why do they call them chip-clips? I mean, everyone just puts them on their wang. They should call them 'wang-clips' or 'wang-hangers', or something."

It makes me miss times that are gone now. Every time is gone now, do you know that? I'm seventeen and I'm already a tired old man, regretting how he's wasted his life away. Lamenting how he took everything for granted until it drained away from him; and how he didn't realize, until after the last shred of it slipped through his fingers, how much it meant to him.
Eh, what're you going to do?
I guess it is the unfortunate position of any youth on the threshold of higher living, to regret the actions and lost pastimes of his earlier years. I just wish it didn't happen to me so damn much.
Don't get me wrong, I love how things are now. My short-term memory is just screwed up that it's hard for me to remember that I love how things are now. Unfortunately my long-term memory is in slightly better order, and is remembering only the parts of my earlier life I enjoyed (and deleting the ones I hated, which were numerous).
So, to hell with this shit, man. I'm just gonna sit down and feel cool, for a little while longer.
Shit, I'm gonna get some coffee.
Y'all have a nice day.

Sodilly, wobilly, upsidizey dori.
Don't ask me what my name is, cause I can't tell, I'm sorry.
Shut 'em down, load 'em up, dump 'em in the quarry.
Sodilly, wobilly, upsidizey dori.

So I take a longer look at
That nefarious, wretched cat
Who stole my shoes, and buttons that
At one time adorned my hat

Sodilly, wobilly, upsidizey dori.
We have been evicted by a white trash bitch named Lauri
She and her ugly dog don't want us 'ere no morey
We can't fight our way back in, that ship has left the shorey

And I find my moccasins have left me standing sideways
Without shoes, I don't know how I'll walk down all those highways
My shadow argued with me, so I knocked his head off sky-ways
Without me' shadow to lead me, I was left to forever skygaze

Sodilly, wobilly, upsidizey dori.
I'm so broke, I couldn't afford a fictional charity whorey
the fiction is the riddle; methinks that sets the scorey
Sodilly, wobilly, upsidizey dori.

Hey hey all. I'm sitting here, contemplating the universe, as I do so often. It aint none be bestin' yon thing to do. Dig?
I think I'm going to haul ass to lollapalooza later, after I update this bo'dizz. I just felt guilty about not updating last night, for some retarded reason.
What's going on with Johnny, you ask?
Well then, dear inquisitive reader, I shall answer your oh-so-polite query.

As all of you may (or in some extraneous cases, may NOT) know, my family's presence is soon to be moved elsewhere. That is, we are soon collectively to be no longer in direct conjunction with this vicinity, breaking free entirely from the living-pattern we have hitherto inhabited. Dig it?
Kickin' yo ass, we do.
As of now, though, I am eating cashews in all our mid-move artificial squalor with all the confidence of someone who actually has a place in which to reside. Eating cashews is an exceedingly bad idea for someone who's oral conditions are as dire as mine currently seem to be; the salt on my wounds is like... salt... on my wounds...
Lately, as well, my dreams have been strange, and "characterized by fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtapositions" (y'damn right they are!). Also, my head has been throbbing as if t'were assailed by the constant thrum of a Scandinavian skin drum (djembe?!); and I fear that my favorite dome of fused joints may soon be torn asunder by the fearsome storm that is evidently contained therein.
Furthermore, my personal appearance at my after-hours art class has twice been abstracted by the base and callow criminal that is my short term memory, I have thrice forgotten to do my laundry (leaving me recycling clothes at a far more than usual rate), and have quice (although the fault was entirely my own) put off finishing my current comic-strip-to-be; leaving myself in a much more aggravated state than I would have been otherwise, under the strain of the remaining situations.
All this and more, on the ten o'clock news. Your news network for the new news, with news by the hour. This news, is shown brand-new, on the New Fox News Newswork for News.

On the plus side, I made it to my art class today. I had to draw a picture of my art Teacher. I have never thought my drawing skills were such that I could illustrate something realistically, but I must say: in this case, I was fair-to-middling pleased with the results.
News is a weird word if you look at it for too long, or try to pronounce it a few times in your head. But then again, most words are like that. Except conundrum.
Thank you, conundrum.

Hey everyone, it's Sunday morning and I am sitting here with a cup of coffee and my hair tied back, waiting for my mom to get out of the bathroom so I can brush my teeth and splash my face with a little cold water.
It sounds like a little thing, but it can do so much, that one splash.

It's not starting out as the best of days.
Ugh. Ah well, maybe it'll get better.

So the other day, me and my friend Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun were hanging out at the mall. We were there because Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun had wanted to pick up a Foghat CD at the FYE of that particular shopping emporium. Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun and I searched high and low, but we couldn't find it, I guess they were all out of that particular album.
Instead, Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun suggested that we go to EB to check out the N64 games and see if they had anything with Crash Bandicoot in it that he didn't already own, and though both Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun and I suspected that he already owned every Crash Bandicoot game in existence, we went anyway, just to pass the time.
We got in there, Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun looking in the PS1 section, and I looking in the PS2 section for my own mechanical diversions. Suddenly, something caught my eye. I turned to Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun.
"Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun," I said, "Come over here, check this out!"
For right there, in plain sight, was Former President John F. Kennedy, ladies and gentleman. (Applause)
I would like to hear another round of applause for my good friend and partner, Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun. Without ol' Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun-y, I would never have gotten to where I am today.
Abd Al-Baqi Abd AL-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun, thank you. You, Abd Al-Baqi Abd Al-Karim Abdallah Al-Sadun, are the wind beneath my wings.

Hello everyone, I am just chillin' at Taylor's house, here. We tried to play some music earlier, it was fun 'n all, but... y'know... I can't play drums too well.
Fun times, though. Fun times had by all.

I had this enormous zit on my jaw. I know that's not a very appetizing thought, but It must be told. It was a very large part of my day, you see.
I popped it, like, yesterday; then it resurrected itself. It inflated to roughly the size of a golfball, and got this horrible purple scab over the whole thing. So today, after hanging out with Tay and such for a few hours, I walked by the mirror and saw the damn thing. I give it a squeeze, and about three gallons of puss comes out. It's about half an hour later, and it's still bleeding.
All in all, I am glad to have had that experience. I doubt there is a zitier height I can hit, except for this one previous time that I won't disgust everyone by describing.

Anywho, I'ma hit the ol' fashioned highway here. Toodle-oo, y'ass.

I got a pretty bad case of the funks. Dude, I got something woiken into my bones here, something that don't quite do me right.
It is like I know less of myself than You do. You, in this case, is no particular person. You, is a thing I have come to think of as the Immortal You, or the Unkillable You. You is a part of myself that is projected onto people who I meet, and they all (to me) become this one entity that is always the opponent of My mental point-man, which is the "Cosmic Self". The Cosmic Self giveth, the Immortal You taketh away, and on goes the dance.
See, it makes perfect sense. I am two people, right? Two people, in one body. One of them, the Immortal You, is all the parts of myself that I do not like. The parts of me I wish I didn't have, but I know are there. The Immortal You is the person I dislike the most in the world, and I only dislike this person more because I know that they are an integral part of Me. Then, there is the Cosmic Self. The Cosmic Self is a child, innocent in mind and soul--but at the same time, wise and learned, having taken lessons from the experiences thrust upon it by the actions of the Immortal You.
So, the ideas of the Immortal You are projected by my mind onto the faces of the people I exist alongside, and I think of them as as person with the Immortal You's twisted judgement and skewed interpretations of reality. I judge them based on the qualities I know the Immortal You possesses, and hence I find it very difficult to be frank with people, to let on about how I really am. Because I know that one of the worst things about the Immortal You is that it must always be judgemental, and it is always mocking. Even though my logical mind knows that everyone is not within the Immortal You's sphere of influence, (it even knows that I am the only one within the You's sphere of influence) I still find it impossible to try and open up to people, to ANY people, because I think that it will all be an elaborate trick pulled on my Cosmic Self by my Immortal You, to humiliate me and expose my roots.
Z'at make sense? That's why life is complicated for me, or one of the many reasons. I think that everyone is part of some wacky conspiracy, that they are pawns of the "Other Man".
Then I actually THINK about that concern and laugh at it, because it's crazy.
I'm such a wacko.
Disregard this post, I'm half asleep. Goodnight everyone!

Hey hey guys, I got my scanner to work, check this here! Go ahead, just check it!

Seriously, I am so psyched about this g'damn... scanner... thing.
I also got my soundcard to work! It is all thanks to the magnificent Keith, who is magnificent in a new way everytime I see him. So a round of applause for my MOST magnificent brother-in-law, thank you ladies and gentlemen.

Unfortunately, I don't have anything else to write about right now. Thank you for your time.

Something is not quite right, here, to be sure. The way the shadows are hitting the floor lately, it is a little off.
It is so strange when you can feel your life getting skewed, things start happening in weirder and weirder ways. Sometimes it gets so that you are no longer living in a continuous stream; it is more like being presented with hour-long independent increments of existence. It is not that I am living a day to day life, it is that patches of time are being sewn into my conscious mind.
Wouldn't it be strange, if a piece of someone else's life at a different time were inserted into My patchwork?
I'd blink and suddenly be a German mercenary in the Revolutionary War, and then I'd blink again and be back in this place.
That would be kind of like Quantum Leap.
You know what always pissed me off about Quantum Leap? The main character's name was "Sam". Sam is not a main character name, Sam is a supporting character name. Al IS a main character name, but that was the name of the hologram guy with the cigars. Doesn't that just irk your irksome bones?
'Cause it sure as hell irks mine!

Maybe it's just the prospect of moving that's screwing me up, here. I don't know, but something is definitely making things shakier than normal; which is something I definitely could've done without.
I'm gonna head out now, fellas. Have a good'un.

So take from me all that I have
and challenge, in this sacred place
the marrow in my very bones.
When all the Earth has gone to rot
I, at least, will have another day
to love and care for all that is Not;
that's all I ever could do, anyway.

Hey hey everybody. I finally worked for the Coole's again today, in their Devil's Garden. It is the most difficult garden ever, it's really fun though. I love gardening, it cheers me up immensely, though I could never really tell you why.
I've been devoting a lot of my time to breaking very small housing regulations, recently. I tacked some things on to my walls, I'm contemplating borrowing a dog from someone for the next month or so. I'll make him drink coffee so he'll bark all night and then shit on everything.
What's she going to do, evict me? HA!

Round o' Golf? No? Any takers?
I'm sorry guys, but Golf is just all I know.

Um... Yeah, so I'm done updating now. My inspirations comes and goes as it pleases.

Hey everbody.

Welp, now that the pleasantries are disposed of, lets get down to talking. It seems that the world has devised a few new ways to make life difficult for the Colón tribe, of late. My white-trash/Robert Plant-wannabe/ratty dog toting/spawned out of incest/born out of wedlock landlady has grown to strongly dislike my family over the past few months. Today, our rent was four days late. She chose to evict us.
I guess we got a month to move out. November Fourth is the deadline. Haha, our fourth will be the day of undesired independence. Yar.
We'll probably get an extension or something, though, I doubt we could be out in a month.

Anyway, we need to move soon. That blows.

I've spent the past 15 years in this house.
Goodnight.

I got a set of golf-clubs today at the yard sale. I don't know why I wanted them, exactly. The point is, now I got 'em.
My mom wants to go out golfing with me, I'm all for it.
I also got a new coffee table.

I was going to update my blog a bunch, but now I don't want to. I'm going to go clean my room.

So I am almost to the end of this box of horrible crackers. They are some of the worst crackers I have ever eaten, but they are really salty so I keep eating them and now they are almost gone. I think I have grown to actually LIKE them, the triscuit wannabes.
The Church yard sale was today. It wasn't as busy as we thought it would be though, so I got to go home. I didn't do anything except help wash one car.
I also drew some scary faces on some balloons. That was fun.

I also didn't get any coffee this mawnin'. So I figure, when I'm done writing this and done taking the shower I am going to take shortly thereafter, I shall make a small pot of coffee and have a cup or two.
A feather or two, from me to you.

Alls I got to say on this one is, we want the funk. So just give it up.

I was going to go do more work for the Cooles today. But... my english es... not so good.
I'll give up my sunday afternoon for it, I'm much too tired right now to garden.
MUCH too good for children.

Alright, this post just made a crack about my ethnicity. I'm leaving.

Johnny can't hear too good, Johnny can't think to hard. Johnny likes the bank, but Johnny ain't got no money.
Standing by your apple tree
Seeing what there is to see
By and by, alone I'll be
Woe is me, by your apple tree.

The ministry of learning-to-comb-your-hair has outlawed the use of linguini as an inhalant mind-altering substance, following 11 year old Bobby Fiveshoes' death in Paraguay last fall.
Many bothons died, to bring him that deadly pasta. Or whatever the hell linguini is.
The other day I was sitting on a chair in the middle of the highway. This Mac Truck came speeding up to me, so I leapt off of my chair and out of the way.. The oncoming truck jut kept on coming, because it couldn't stop going 292 miles an hour in a two miles radius.
Transmission terminated.

-Sleepytime Jones

Hey hey everybody. I figured it was about time to kick back and strike up a few mini-vortex footballs, y'know, just relax a bit.
I worked for the Coole's today, but only for like an hour and a half. at one point or another I guess I developed a very large blister on my ladylike hands, a blister which promptly ripped open, spewing it's gooey, translucent contents on my palm and rendering that hand practically useless. Well, useless for me. I mean, come on, peeled open blisters hurt!
Also, it had a really big splinter in it, I had to dig open the skin more with a needle to get it out. So that was fun.

Anyway, I am home now, ten dollars richer. Tomorrow, after I help out with the yard sale, I guess I'll be going back to the Coole's to do more work. I really do enjoy the work, until my skin peels off. At which point I enjoy the work less.
My enjoyment of the aforementioned work decreases by one unit of enjoyment per centimeter of skin peeled. So sayeth the Lord. Amen, and amen.

My headache came back to haunt me today, so once again, I wear sunglasses. I think I should just give up my clingings to a normal life and become some kind of coffee-drinking, oddly-dressed, wannabe-artist slacker.
Oh, wait...

So tonight, I am supposed to be maybe doing something with Katie and all those other gals, but I also may not be doing that. I haven't figured out the specifics of my plan yet, but I have made a diarama of myself making the plan.
It also depicts a scene from Oliver Twist.

I don't know what Tim is doing right now, I hope he didn't come to my house while I was out. Maybe he's in my room, that would be nuts. And Taylor is in prison, or something.

Now, though, I must shower, as my body is EXTREMELY DIRTY.