Monday, March 31, 2008

Empire Strikes

I am sitting in a library in Salt Lake City that looks like a space station. It has lots of floors of glass walkways. It looks a little like the death star in star wars or whatever space station the storm troopers matched around in those movies. There are storm troppers marching around. There are only two. Two police officers. A man and a woman. I wonder if they love each other.

Everything is very bright in here. It is very glarey. I am having trouble seeing my computer screen. I do not think there is one dark place in the library. Perhaps they are trying to make up for all the libraries that are filled with shadows and poor lighting.

A huge snowball just hit the window ledge next to where I am sitting. It made me a little jumpy. It snowed last night. These snowballs keep hitting the window ledge. It is like the roof is having a snowball fight with the other floors. It snowed last night. Why does it keep snowing? These windows are enormous. From the outside, the library looks like a giant sculpture that someone decided to convert into a library. There are some spaces for windows that aren't being used. They are just standing in the open air. One day, maybe they will give these spaces windows. The spaces will be fulfilled. They will finally feel cheery after years of emptiness and morbidity.

The horror convention is over. I went yesterday afternoon, but everybody who I was hanging out with had vanished. This was ok because I was feeling like hell. It might have something to do with drinking a lot the night before. Maybe not.

I had an awesome time. It was odd to meet people who I have known online for so long. In some cases, their real word personas were different from their online personas. I got along really well with all the bizarro lit writers and had a good time hanging out with them all. I do not often gel with people like this and it never happens with an entire group. I guess there is a reason why we're all involved in the same literary scene.

There is a row of three glass elevators across from where I'm sitting. Their cords are swinging ominously. They are making me a little afraid to use them. I am on the second floor. I took the stairs. It's been over three years since I've ridden in one of those elevators. Maybe I will ride to the top floor later. I hear it is all glass and a really good view. This does not surprise me. I hope the chord does not snap while I'm traveling to this really good view. I think I just saw someone who was at the horror convention in one of the elevators. I think he competed in the gross-out storytelling competition. I do not think he had any charisma. I think he was still wearing his badge from the convention around his neck. I think he is very confused about why homeless people keep calling his name. I do not know why he is still wearing his badge. Maybe he wants everybody here to know his name, like Cheers.

So far, I am failing at my mission to eat at all my favorite restaurants in Salt Lake. I have only been to Betos. Although Carl Jr.'s is happening later since it's near the library. But I am not hungry yet.

I woke up today and thought it was the first of the month and that I was flying home today. I checked my calender. I was wrong. It was a little surreal. Eric Blair has an extra day to convince me to move back here. He will have to try very hard. Everything is so spread out here. That is annoying. Everything is so close together in Massachusetts. It's nice to get exercise and all, but there's not enough time in the day to walk an hour to buy a roll of toilet paper.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

I like breakfast burritos because of the alliteration

The view from my friend's apartment is amazing at night. You can see all of Salt Lake City's lights. Right now, the view looks apocalyptic. Everything is pure white. Because it is snowing.

Eric Blair tried to convince me to move back here. I am considering it. Probably not though. It's hard to exist out here without a car. Maybe if I could get a job nearby wherever I would be living? I hate the public system. It is atrocious and confusing. And almost all of the jobs that I got when I was living here were on the outskirts of the city and required numerous bus transfers. This also involved sitting in the heat and the cold for a half an hour each time I needed to wait for another bus.

I had a little trouble getting through security in Boston. Because I have two pairs of black sneakers that look a lot alike. Because I accidentally wore one sneaker from each pair. Because of this, security needed to do additional testing to each sneaker. I do not know why. I think maybe shoe-bomb terrorists wear two different pairs of sneakers when they try to inflict shoe-bomb terror. Shoe-bomb terrorists are thinking about the future. They are thinking that if they survive their attack, the shoe where they didn't hide the bomb will survive as well. And then they will have the matching shoe at home and they won't have to buy new shoes. Shoe bomb terrorists are thrifty.

I have been meaning to buy new shoes for a while. This gives me an excuse. I hope I stumble across a shoe store.

I met Eric Blair and Andersen Prunty and his wife at the airport yesterday. I met Andersen Prunty once before at a midnight reading that I did at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Boston-ish. Amy Sedaris did a reading there the month before. But it was not at midnight.

Andersen Prunty just had his first non-self published book released by Eraserhead Press. I have published a few stories of his in the past. We all shared a taxi to the hotel where they are having the World Horror Convention.

Carlton Mellick and his wife, Rose, showed up outside while the cab driver was removing our baggage from the trunk. It felt It was nice to finally meet them. I wish I had spoken to them for longer. I regret this, but I will see them again today. Eric Blair was walking away, towards my friend, Jesse's apartment, where I am staying. He had one of my two suitcases. I needed to follow.

Later, since I hadn't eaten for like eight hours, we went to The Training Table with Jesse. The Training Table is a burger restaurant that I like a lot. There is a phone at your table. You order your burger through it. When your burger is ready, your phone buzzes and a light on it blinks. This is great. You don't have to tip. I don't think there's even a designated jar-like thing for tipping. It is nice not having to tip at a decent restaurant when you are poor.

Whenever I go to The Training Table, I always get an urge to report a Burger-related crime. Or ask them if there's a Mike Hunt there or something.

Salt Lake City has some really good eateries, unless you are vegetarian. It is not a good place to be vegetarian, unless you have a large sum in your bank account. I was a vegetarian when I came here to leave. A year passed and I was no longer a vegetarian. I ate a McDonald's Burger and went to a As I Lay Dying show. I liked both of those things a lot. I do not like McDonald's burgers anymore. I wasn't really fond of meat before I became a vegetarian. Now I like it a lot. I never heard of As I Lay Dying before I stopped being a vegetarian. My housemate, Jimmy who sometimes goes by Martin J, Dekay because he is either goth or something or really likes the work of actor, Tim DeKay, was working as a doorman at a night club. He told me that I could go to any shows that I wanted for free. So one night, I had nothing to do and went to a random show with a bunch of bands that I had never heard of and ate a McDonald's hamburger. I liked As I Lay Dying a lot. I still listen to them often. They are my guilty pleasure. I feel like only fourteen year olds listen to them. And guys who like to wear bandanas over their faces and do karate moves in the mosh pit. I've have a not-so-lifelong dream to start a hardcore band, get really popular, yank of sheets to reveal synthesizers at a show while guys are doing karate moves in the mosh pit, do the greatest cover of the Mortal Combat theme song while guys are doing karate moves in the mosh pit, and break up after that song.

Here is a list of places that I want to go to eat during the next week.

Carl Jr's: Home of the only edible fast food burger. And it is sooo good.

Hogi Yogi, which I refer to as Teriyaki Stix for some reason. They are like a fast food Japanese noodle place. It is awesome and cheap. It is in Sugar Bush. Sugar Bush is an area of Salt Lake City where I used to live by. It sort of feels like the Boho area, although there is not much there. Mostly, it has a coffee shop, a Barnes and Noble, a vintage clothing store which my friend manages, a used CD store, a Scientology recruiting center, and a dollar movie theater. I used to go to the movie theater all the time when I was unemployed. Movies are a lot less disappointing when they cost a dollar. My favorite movie that I saw there and thought was going to suck was the Dawn of the Dead remake, It was written by the guy who wrote Tromeo and Juliet. And the two Scooby Doo movies. I love the two Scooby Doo movies. I love Scooby Doo.

Betos: This is a greasy burrito joint that is filled with lardy deliciousness. There is a lot of good Mexican food here since it is close to the border, I think. It looks like Betos changed its name. There was a sign there that said something like Different Name, Same Owners, Same Great taste. I wonder why they changed their name? My friend tells me that it was only at that one location.

My back just started killing me. Last night, I slept on an uncomfortable couch-bed. I am considering just sleeping on the couch version of it tonight, or maybe in a hotel room.

La Frontera: This was a block away from my house when I lived in the barrio. I went there every day for a while because there were no other places to eat within walking distance. They have really good burritos. I used to order their breakfast burritos a lot. I miss their breakfast burritos.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

i love

I just bought a small bottle of water for $2.50. This means that I am in an airport in NY. If the bottle of water had cost $5.00, that would mean that I was at the Warped Tour. But it is not the summer, and the Warped Tour does not offer incredibly slow, free wireless internet. Still, this airport is nice for offering incredibly slow, free wireless internet. The Boston airport wanted my credit card number in exchange for the privilege. Same thing for the train station.

I am sitting at a table that is designated as a Mobile Charging Station. This means that instead of having a fancy umbrella, the table has a pole with a number of outlets in its place. This is very nice of the airport since my computer's battery lasts for like an hour.

I think I left my computer on in stand-by mode during take off. Oops. The plane may have crashed because of this. I may be in the afterlife. I may be in the afterlife because the pilot said that all electrical devices need to be turned off during lift off and landing.

I will try to remember to turn off my computer the next time I stand up and walk away.

I have a complex about writing in public. I think I am getting over this complex. I am not really bothered by it now. But I am not really writing. I am blogging. I do not understand this complex. I want people to read what I have written in its finished form, but I feel uncomfortable about them looking over my shoulder. I think it may have something do to with anonymonity. If people read what I have written in a book or online, they only have a name to connect me to. They do not have a physical body. I do not mind introducing my physical body to people have read my work, but it unnerves me for someone to watch me as I'm in the process of completing it.

I like this writing in places besides my room and work thing though. I will try to do it more.

It's not like people can even see what I'm typing from a few feet away. Laptops have an annoying glare. This annoying glare works to my benefit in this instance.

There's something romantic about writing while traveling. It is not romantic. It is silly. It still feels a little romantic though. I hate traveling. This is the first time I have left Massachusetts for a couple of years.

I meant to blog from my brother's apartment in Boston. It would have felt romantic. But I didn't because I was very tired. I did not get any sleep that day. I tried, but it did not work. It takes me about an hour to fall asleep. Falling asleep is very boring. I am not crazy about exposing myself to this boredom when I need to be awake in another four hours to catch a train. I get bored very easily these days. I don't think I ever really got bored until a couple of years ago. Now I am paying for all those years of non-boredom.

Monday, March 24, 2008

I am leaving on a jet blue plane.

I cannot bring a drink on the plane. I also cannot bring a lot of other things. I don't think I could make this list any funnier. Or maybe I am just too lazy right now. Do they really need to tell me that I cannot bring a hand grenade on the plane?

Yes, they do.

I am thankful for this. It cheers me up.

Sharp Objects Prohibited in Carryon Bags 

  • Box Cutters
  • Ice Axes/Ice Picks
  • Knives (any length and type except round-bladed, butter, and plastic cutlery)
  • Meat Cleavers
  • Razor-Type Blades (such as box cutters, utility knives, razor blades not in
    a cartridge, but excluding safety razors)
  • Sabers
  • Scissors - metal with pointed tips and blades longer than four inches
  • Swords

Sporting Goods Prohibited in Carryon Bags

  • Baseball Bats
  • Bows and Arrows
  • Camping Stoves
  • Cricket Bats
  • Golf Clubs
  • Hockey Sticks
  • Ice Skates
  • Lacrosse Sticks
  • Pool Cues
  • Ski Poles
  • Spear Guns

Guns and Firearms Prohibited in Carryon Bags

  • Ammunition
  • BB Guns
  • Compressed Air Guns
  • Firearms
  • Flare Guns
  • Gun Lighters
  • Gun Powder
  • Parts of Guns and Firearms
  • Pellet Guns
  • Realistic Replicas of Firearms
  • Starter Pistols

Tools Prohibited in Carryon Bags

  • Axes and Hatchets
  • Cattle Prods
  • Crowbars
  • Drills (including cordless portable power drills)
  • Hammers
  • Motorized Tools (such as chainsaws and generators, even if they are brand
  • Saws (including cordless portable power saws)
  • Screwdrivers (except those in eyeglass repair kits)
  • Tools (greater than seven inches in length, including but not limited to wrenches,
    pliers and screwdrivers)
  • Wrenches and Pliers

Martial Arts/Self Defense Items Prohibited in Carryon Bags

  • Billy Clubs
  • Black Jacks
  • Brass Knuckles
  • Dog Repellant spray
  • Kubatons
  • Mace/Pepper Spray
  • Martial Arts Weapons
  • Night Sticks
  • Nunchakus
  • Stun Guns/Shocking Devices
  • Throwing Stars

Explosive Materials Prohibited

  • Blasting Caps
  • Dynamite
  • Fireworks
  • Flares (in any form)
  • Hand Grenades
  • Plastic Explosives
  • Realistic Replicas or Explosives

Flammable Items Prohibited

  • Aerosol (except for personal care or toiletries in limited quantities)
  • Fuels
  • Gasoline
  • Gas Torches
  • Lighter Fluid
  • Matches (strike-anywhere matches)
  • MREs (self-heating Meals Ready to Eat)
  • Realistic Replicas of Incendiaries
  • Torch Lighters
  • Turpentine and Paint Thinner

Disabling Chemicals and Other Dangerous Items Prohibited

  • Chlorine for Pools and Spas
  • Compressed Gas Cylinders (including fire extinguishers)
  • Liquid Bleach
  • Paint
  • Spillable Batteries
  • Tear Gas

something I found on my hard drive that I like and don't remember writing

This would have been the first sentence in my story if I hadn’t been distracted by an email that I received concerning my penis’s disappointment over its size. My email program is set to notify me of messages of equal or greater importance by casting a fishing hook into my nostril. Taking my kilobyte-sized memory bank under consideration, I respond to the message immediately: “Yes, I would like to take advantage of your exciting new offer. Please tell me where to send the check so I can pay the runaway mule and strong rope rental fee.” Now finished, I can once again devote my resources to exploring the mysteries of the first sentence. I scan my creative valve for the name of the town that I want the story to be set in, but it has run dry. After two hours, staring at the blank screen begins to bore me, so I log onto an Internet forum to kill the time until I’m able to think of something that’s appropriate.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Tonight I Dreamt that Someone Sent Me a Good Submission

The stories in my inbox are getting better. I accepted my first unsolicited submission for the next issue of Bust Down the Door. Hurray. It involves firearms.

I think I once saw a movie where one of the characters used a gun to do everyday things like turn the channel on the tv and make a baloney sandwich. I wish I knew if such a movie exists. Because if it didn't, I would steal the gag.

Some doofus keeps turning on the air conditioning at my work. Doofus, it is winter. Or is it fall now? I don't pay attention to such trifles. I just discovered that the air conditioning was on. I have been here for seven hours.

Yesterday, I finished Essential X-Men Vol. 8. I am sensing a severe drop in quality.

Essential X-Men Vol. 8 was written by Chris Claremont. Chris Claremont wrote the X-Men for sixteen years. Chris Claremont wrote 186 issues of The Uncanny X-Men. It was not called Uncanny in the beginning. I don't know when they started calling it Uncanny.

Chris Claremont also wrote one Giant-Size X-Men, possibly more Giant-Size X-Mens, many annuals that I won't bother to look up, a graphic novel which may have been the first graphic novel ever, and maybe some X-Men Christmas Special, maybe not.

The greatest Giant-Sized title was Giant-Sized Man-Thing. I have one of them. The second issue, I think.

Chris Claremont also wrote three issues of a new X-Men title where they dropped the Uncanny before quitting after having a disagreement with the editors. Maybe he went on an editor killing spree? Maybe not, but if I wrote the same comic for sixteen years, I would go on an editor killing spree.

Chris Claremont is not a very good writer. His dialog/captioning is very clunky.

I had an urge yesterday. I could not fight off this urge. It was the urge to write this dialog in my friend's livejournal replies section:

Fools! You have not beaten me! Freezing has only made me stronger! Somehow, this infernal cold has lowered the electrical resistance within my living circuitry! I sense the term -- superconductivity -- enabling my system to work at near ultimate efficiency! I'm thinking with inconceivable speed! Spells, concepts, theorems--my mind is ablaze with knowledge and insight!

He has not responded. I do not care if it wasn't related to his journal entry. I am still very disappointed.

Chris Claremont is awesome. I will destroy anyone who defies Chris Claremont's awesomeness.

Chris Claremont has a few moments of brilliance, like the Dark Phoenix Saga, although John Byrne may be responsible for this brilliance, or the John Byrne-Chris Claremont symbiote (John Byrne drew the comic for a while and co-plotted it, I think)

I have been buying all of the Essential X-Men volumes as they come out. They are released about once a year. They are gigantic phone book-like monsters and are cheap. They are printed in black and white (even though they were originally in color) and on toilet paper. They look awful. They are kind of like the Cerebus collections, except Cerebus is on decent paper and was intended to be printed in black and white.

The art from the earlier volumes didn't look as bad as the newest one. It's like this artist's penciling just doesn't work in black and white, although the inking may be to blame. It would be nice if Marvel Comics actually altered the pages so they would look nice in black and white. They did not. Marvel Comics is not nice. With this newest volume, I often cannot distinguish one character from another.

I have been buying all the Essential X-Men volumes to fill in the holes in my childhood. I loved reading X-Men when I was younger. There were so many things that I did not understand. The thing about Chris Claremont's X-Men comics is that you really need to read all of them from the beginning to know what's going on. He sometimes develops plots from things that happened ten years ago.

During my childhood, these monster books did not exist, so the only way to understand the comic was to buy all the back issues and read them with tweezers. But I never bought all the back issues and read them with tweezers because I was not a kid gazillionaire. Now there's not much of a collector's market anymore, so I could probably get Claremont's entire run for ten grand or something.

I like these monster books.

I think that an issue of X-Men was the first comic that I ever read. It had a fight between Sabretooth and Wolverine (or maybe it was Psylocke?). I did not like the issue. It did not make any sense. I was confused. I did not read another X-Men comic for like five years.

I think I started reading the comic regularly around the time that Chris Claremont's descent into insanity was very noticeable.

There wasn't really an X-Men when I started reading. There wasn't a team. Most of the members died and shit and got resurrected as children or Japanese ninja babes with tremendous breasts. I don't think Wolverine died. I think he was crucified and hallucinated for a year's worth of issues.

So there was no team. The comics were more like solo stories with the members of the team with supporting characters. I think the X-Men thought that their team members where dead or something. I have no idea.

I keep reading these monster volumes, hoping to get up to the point where I started reading the comic. I think this will happen next year. Or maybe I am delusional and it will be many many many years.

I just want to know what the fuck it was all about, even if I am old and wizened when it happens.

Friday, March 21, 2008

the pharmicist's daughter

Every man who comes into my gas station to buy condoms feels the need to ask me if we have them and where they are located. I find this strange. I haven't bought condoms in eons, but whenever I did, I would feel uncomfortable. I would not ask the store clerk where they were located. Instead, I would spend the extra minute and a half it took to find them. I believe that these men who buy condoms feel a need to proclaim their manly-manliness to someone, and the person who they have chosen is me.

The managers made me watch some training videos on my first day. One was about dealing with armed robbers. This made me feel paranoid. I asked the district manager if our store had ever been robbed. He said, "No." Maybe he lied. I do not know. He may have been telling the truth. I live in a very safe area. I work in a very safe area. A trucker lady told me that I worked in the country about an hour ago. I have never really thought of it as being the country. I believe that she might be correct.

My gas station is next to a church and a courthouse. Perhaps armed robbers will rob my gas station after being acquitted of armed robbery. But that will happen during the day, so I am safe. Perhaps armed robbers will rob my gas station before being acquitted of armed robbery. This will happen near the end of my shift and I will be fucked. I think walking calmly to your court appearance is an excellent getaway plan.

The police station is 1.3 miles away. I just looked this up. I did research for this blog entry.

When I called the police about the fire, they got here very quickly. They might have taken three minutes. Mapquest says that it takes three minutes to drive from the police station to my gas station. I always wondered how they determine these amounts. Maybe the speed limit is the default traveling speed.

The training video about dealing with armed robbers said that the best way to deal with an armed robber is to pay attention while working. This is what an armed robber is looking for when he chooses a gas station to rob. He is looking for a cashier who is not paying attention so he can take them by surprise. The training video about dealing with armed robbers showed an example of a cashier who was not paying attention while working. She was a woman in her twenties who liked to read. She was caught by surprise by an armed robber because she was engrossed by a book.

I guess my overlords do not want me to read books while on the job. I wonder how they feel about counting cigarettes? When I count cigarettes, my back is turned. This is not the case when I read books. I wonder how my overlords feel about writing blog entries?

I do not think my mother wants me to write blog entries at work. When I told her about the job, she was worried about armed robberies. Now that I am still alive, I believe she is a little less worried.

I love working at a gas station. I hate working at a gas station. I really hope I get accepted into an MFA program next year.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

I Refuse

I am writing this entry so it will feel like I've done something today.

I am listening to The Fall on headphones. The prince of candy put the mp3s of like ten albums on a CD for me. That was nice of him. I like The Fall. He is driving me to the train station next week so I don't have to deal with taking a bus to Boston. This is also nice of him. I'm spending the night at my brother's apartment, then flying out to Salt Lake City the next morning to go to the World Horror Convention. I do not write horror.

Today, I finished a book about King Arthur. I read it because my novella is now going to be a new version of the King Arthur myth. I liked the book a lot. The knights of the round table were totally insane. They loved to decapitate their enemies. I had a book on King Arthur when I was young. I really liked it. It was the censored version, I guess. There was no mention of Christ drinking and bleeding into a cup and the knights decapitating everybody that they met. It was nice to revisit the stories that I liked in my youth, but with added decapitations. The author of the King Arthur book also wrote a Robin Hood book. I want to read it.

I also read a bunch of Ann Beattie's Chilly Scenes of Winter. I liked it a lot when I first started it. I still like it, but now I'm a little tired of it. Reading it is starting to feel like a chore.

I hate my nights off. I like having them, because if I didn't, I would go insane. But they are awful in comparison to my days off when I had a normal job. I sort of prefer my work nights to my nights off. Besides the occasional interruptions from customers, I pretty much do the same exact thing. I like my work nights because this gives me an excuse for doing these things. I'm actually lazier during my days off. I am less productive in my writing. I need to start outlining my novella. I will do that tomorrow, probably. I am too lazy now. I took a nap and am groggy.

There is nowhere to go on my nights off. I just want to get out of the house. I live in a town which is supposed to be "the place to be" in my area, but there are no 24 hour dinners nearby. If I want to go to a dinner, I need to drive there and use up a little bit of very expensive gasoline. I don't have the money to do this all the time. There's that one dinner in Hadley, but that insane guy who makes me uncomfortable probably hangs out there and it costs like $10 for a burger. I can also drive to the Whately, but that is much further than the Hadley Dinner. Whenever I go to this places, I plan to stick around for a while to read and write, but I always change my mind after I finish my food. I try to read, but am distracted by moronic conversation. I feel uncomfortable about being out in public. I decide to go home. I think I might swear off leaving my tiny room, unless it's to meet a friend, go to work, or buy essentials. I'm supposed to meet Seth Schultz for breakfast this morning. I can't wait until the weather gets nicer and I can go to the park and read in the morning.

There are a lot of places to go right now, but it is just like any other work night. If I had worked last night, my shift would have ended around now. I wish I could do something to distinguish my nights off from work nights.

I am going to start Faulkner's Light in August soon. I read it a long time ago. I liked it. I tried reading it more recently. I had no patience for it. I couldn't get past the first few pages. I am going to give it more of a chance to help develop my voice for a story that I'm going to start working on soon. It's for an anthology of stories inspired by Nick Cave songs. I like Nick Cave's songs a lot, but I did not like Nick Cave's novel. He tried to write like Faulkner. This is not what I didn't like about it. I didn't like it because it wasn't very good.

Monday, March 17, 2008

An Interview with Jesse

Jesse is still doing overnights with me. I do not know why.

What is your favorite sugary cereal commercial character?

The chubby Apple Jack guy and the tall cinnamon stick guy. Because they are really silly looking.

Why are things that are silly looking appealing to you?

Because I am silly looking.

What are the perks of being silly looking?

In your own way, you are extremely photogenic.

You told me that you were going to New York City yesterday to act in a movie. You told me that you were not playing a zombie. Did you get eaten by a zombie?

I think it's funny that you assume that it's a zombie movie.

So you did get eaten by a zombie, right?


Did getting eaten by a zombie hurt a little?

It always does.

If a zombie teen came into the store and asked for a pack of Newport Lights, would you card him?

No, I would shoot him in the head with a shotgun.

A zombie teen has just entered into the store. You should shoo

Friday, March 14, 2008

i am destroying this title

For the last two nights, another guy has been working with me on the overnight shifts. I am training him, I guess. I am training him to enjoy movies on my laptop. There is not much work for one person, let alone two. Tonight might be my last night with him. I hope so. He is an alright guy, but I miss being alone. I like being alone. The other guy being there would probably make my mother very happy. It will make her feel safer. She will think that if the store gets robbed, I can use him to stop the bullet.

The other guy's name is Jesse. He has the same name as a friend of mine in Salt Lake City. This friend is letting me sleep on his couch for a week so I can go to the World Horror Convention and meet Carlton Mellick and others. I am now working with Carlton Mellick on my novella. He is my mentor, I guess. There is a very good chance that we will use a different plot and the two chapters that I have written will have to be deleted. I am ok with this. I suck at plotting. It is my weakness. This is why Carlton Mellick is my mentor. Carlton Mellick is awesome at plotting. He helped me with the last novella that I wrote, which appears in the Bizarro Starter Kit (Blue). I really liked how it came out. Carlton Mellick is awesome. It is weird to have a mentor. I do not know how I feel about it.

My friend Jesse in Salt Lake once tried to set my favorite chair on fire by dousing it in beer and lighting a match. Frustrated by his inability to set the thing on fire, he destroyed it by smashing it on the ground. Now I am getting my revenge by forcing him to put up with me for a week. I am laughing maniacally.

I have been renting movies from a movie rental vending machine that they have at the supermarket. I have been bringing in movies that could be described as being "very guy." The first night I brought in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. That movie was awesome! I was surprised how awesome it was. I had heard that it was slow. I had heard that some people thought it was boring. It was neither of these things. It was awesome! It is also very long, so the other guy didn't get to see all of it. I watched the last hour at home.

I did not understand why Casey Affleck received a Best Supporting Actor nomination rather than a Best Lead Performance nomination (or whatever it's called). He played the lead. Brad Pitt was the supporting actor. But I guess since he is Brad Pitt and Jesse James, he got first billed. I don't think he was nominated for best actor though, probably because he didn't play the lead and the Academy Award people didn't want to admit this fact to the public.

The second movie that I rented was 3:10 to Yuma. It was another western. It was also a mistake on my part. I might have liked it if I hadn't seen Jesse James the night before. But I did, so 3:10 seemed like garbage. It seemed pretty mediocre, but when viewed as a whole rather than focusing on all the little details that the movie consists of, it was a pretty good movie. It was a pretty good movie because it was sentimental, but in a very unconventional way. Sentimentality usually makes a movie suck, but unconventional sentimentality is good. It is difficult to come up with a plot with sentimentality that unconventional rather than cheesy fuck crap.

The movie made me a little sleepy. Wes (of Wes' mom fame) called on my cell phone. I did not bother to press pause. I did not care. I talked to Wes for like thirty minutes. Then I went back to the movie. I did not really know what was going on. I lost interest. The movie ended. I asked the guy what the ending was all about. He explained it to me and said that the movie got really good at the end. It made the movie sound really good. I watched the last hour when I got home. It was pretty ok.

There were no more westerns left in the movie rental vending machine. I do not think I'm a big western guy, but I love the movies that Clint Eastwood did with Sergio Leone. I do not like that they are disorienting though. They are disorienting because the American actors (Eastwood and Lee Van Cleef) speak in English, while the Spanish actors speak in dubbed in English. It took my a while to figure out that the movies were dubbed. A Spanish actor would speak and I would think, "Hey, this is dubbed! Too bad. And then Eastwood would speak and I would think, "This is not dubbed. I was wrong." Eventually I would figure it out. I did not like it that way. I think I would have preferred everybody speaking in Spanish originally and being dubbed into English over halfway. I hate dubbing. I like subtitles. Of course, I am not crazy about subtitles either, but what are you going to do to watch a decent movie that isn't made in the U.S.?

The worst dubbing atrocity was this Dario Argento movie that I tried to watch. I think it was Deep Red. Sometimes it had subtitles and sometimes it had English dubbing. The same character would speak in both English and Italian. It often switched mid-scene. Sometimes even mid-sentence. It was very surreal. It was very bad. There was no rhyme or reason to it. The actors are not actually speaking in Italian at one point and English at another. Originally, it was all Italian. I could not finish the movie. I heard that the print's sound got all fucked up, so they had to mix dubbing with subtitles.

Argento wrote Once Upon a Time in Mexico with Sergio Leone. Once Upon a Time in Mexico doesn't have Eastwood, but it has the Death Wish guy. I was a little bored by it. It was very long. The settings were very beautiful though. I think they shot it in the desert in Utah rather than in Mexico. I miss the mountains of Utah. I could see them from anywhere in the city. I would go into my backyard after I woke up and look at them. Massachusetts has mountains, but they are wimpy, covered in foliage, and I cannot see them from my window. I think that foliage on a mountain makes them look less majestic.

I do think Leone's Once Upon a Time in America may be the greatest movie ever. It is a four hour long Jewish gangster movie. It stars Robert De Niro and James Woods. James Woods gets eaten by a garbage truck.

For tonight, I rented Blood Diamond. Leonardo Dicaprio can sometimes be a really good actor. I guess he got a bad rap by being a teen-ish sensation and completely sucking in a few movies. Tonight, I will revel in the manliness of Blood Diamond.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

boring boring boring

The dictionary has just told me that "everytime" is not a real word. I never knew this. I am surprised. I always thought it was a mistake whenever I read the words "every time" in a book. I am really disappointed. I am sad. I am on the verge of tears. I really like the word, everytime.

I have a friend who works for Merriam-Webster. Of course, I haven't spoken to him in like two years. Maybe I should speak to him. Maybe I should threaten him. Maybe I should hire a private detective to dig up some material that I could use for blackmail. Maybe I should use this as an excuse to open the private detective agency that I wanted to open when I was eight years old.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

An Incident

I just came back from eating breakfast with Seth Schultz at a diner called Jake's. I have been going to a lot of diners lately. I think it is because I used to sleep through the government's mandated "We are now serving breakfast" time and am now making up for lost breakfasts. I went to this other place in Hadley last week. I liked the atmosphere. I forgot the name of the place, but it had a sign with the subtitle, "The Home of Polish Music."

Jake's has better food than The Home of Polish Music, but it is not The Home of Polish Music. Therefore, I will return to The Home of Polish Music someday. It is closer to my work and has its own parking lot.

Seth ordered a meal that concerned his belief that bacon is a vegetable. He gave his order to an excessively cute red-headed waitress. After leaving, I asked Seth if he had any tips on making excessively cute red-headed waitresses comfortable enough to agree to go on a date with me. He said that I would need an encyclopedic knowledge of what was on television last night, who won last night's game, and the state of our political climate.

I do not think I am knowledgeable about these things enough to make the excessively cute red-headed waitress agree to go on a date with me. The three people who read this blog should offer their suggestions. I like excessively cute red-heads a lot. The last virgin that broke up with me was an excessively cute red-head, although not a waitress.

After Jake's, Seth and I walked to Paradise Copies and Deals and Steals (which was closed). I told him about an incident at work. I told me that he enjoyed hearing about the incident at work and that I should write a story about it. I told him that I thought the incident at work was a little boring and I didn't want to write a story about it, but I would write a blog instead. And I would dedicate the blog entry to him. This blog entry is dedicated to Seth Schultz. I am writing it now because I am a little tired and I don't really have anything to do until I go to sleep in a couple of hours.

An Incident


Last month, I was working an overnight shift. I was looking in the freezer for frozen food to eat. I noticed that the freezer was misty. I saw an open flame at the top of a fluorescent light in the freezer. I smelled smoke. I realized the mist was smoke. I looked at the flame again. It reminded me of a flame on a candle. I tried to blow it out. It would not blow out. It reminded me of the trick candles that some cruel parents would decorate their children's' birthday cakes with. I thought, I feel reassured that nothing else besides the top of the fluorescent light is on fire. I thought maybe it would go out by itself. I walked to the other side of the store. I walked back to the freezer. The top of the fluorescent light still had a flame. I considered putting it out with a fire extinguisher. I walked to the telephone. I woke up my manager. I told her about the flame at the top of the fluorescent light in the freezer. I told her that I would have put it out with a fire extinguisher, but the flame was weird because it was like a candle flame and I was feeling very confused. I also told her that I would have called the fire department instead of calling her, but I was feeling very confused. She told me to call the police department and ask them if the candle-ish flame was serious enough to call the fire department. I called the police department. The told me they were sending someone over to check it out.

The two police officers showed up. They looked at the flame. They seemed uncomfortable with the idea of going inside the freezer. One of them asked for a fire extinguisher. I gave him a fire extinguisher. He tried to extinguish the flame with the fire extinguisher. He opened the freezer door and sprayed foam all over the place. It did not work. The flame would not go out. I felt reassured that I did not try to put the flame out with the fire extinguisher because I would have really freaked out when it did not work.

The police officer with the fire extinguisher said he was going to break the fluorescent light. He put down the fire extinguisher. He removed his nightstick. He opened the freezer door. He brutalized the fluorescent light with his nightstick. The flame went out. The freezer filled up with smoke. The store filled up with smoke.

One of the police officer's called the fire department. I wedged the front door open to release the smoke. The two police officers went outside. I went outside to get away from the smoke. The police officers and I waited for the fire department. One of the police officers said, They will be here soon. We did not say anything else to each other.

The fire engine showed up. A few firefighters exited the fire engine. The police officers said friendly things to the firefighters. They firefighters went inside the store. The police officers followed them. I went inside. I showed the fire fighters the secret passageway that transforms the freezer into a walk-in freezer. The walked into the walk-in freezer. They walked around the walk-in freezer. I walked back to the cashier's desk. I stayed there for a few minutes. I walked back to the freezer. The firefighters were talking to the police officers. I felt a little left out. I felt a little uncomfortable. One of the firefighters asked me if I knew how to turn off the electricity in the freezer. I said that I did not know how to turn off the electricity in the freezer. I woke up my manager to ask her how to turn off the electricity in the freezer. Before I was able to ask, one of the firefighters told me that they had found out how to turn off the electricity in the freezer. I asked my manager if she wanted to talk to the firefighter. She said yes. I gave the firefighter the phone. He told her the board of health would need to take a look at the freezer before we were able to sell frozen food again. He gave me back the phone. I hung it up.

The police officers and firefighters left. It was cold because the door was open. I swept up the dried powered foam that was on the floor next to the freezer. I closed the door. I was no longer cold. I finished my shift.

The next day, my manager suggested I call the fire department if I ever saw a flame again in the workplace since I sell gasoline, am flammable, and may explode.

Now it's a month later and we still aren't selling frozen food. I do not know why. I may have overheard that the Board of Health hasn't showed up yet.


Monday, March 10, 2008

March 10, 2008

Dear Prince of Candy,

I just saw your friend at the all-night diner in Hadley. You know, the schizophrenic who was talking to himself at Bart's Ice Cream and made you think he was threatening to kill a nice black lady, so you said, "Don't threaten anyone at Bart's" in a really angry voice and then he told you how he used to work in internal affairs and could smash your skull in and you said, "Get out of my face," and he eventually did and he went over to the ice cream handlers and asked them to call the police because he said you were threatening him with physical violence and they never bothered and we left after I finished my ice cream and hung out in your car for an hour because there was nowhere else to go.

I went into the diner and the asian host-guy started to lead me to my table and your friend was sitting in a table nearby talking to himself so I changed my mind and decided to eat at the counter to avoid feeling uncomfortable. So I was eating at the booth and feeling comfortable with a copy of Cormac McCarthy's The Road on the counter beside me when your friend approached me and began a conversation about Cormac McCarthy and books and I didn't think he was actually your friend because we were having a conversation about Cormac McCarthy and books instead of crazy shit, so I thought he might have been your friend's twin or something and I told him that I had read a little of Blood Meridian a few years ago and he told me that one of his favorite books was Alice Walker's Meridian and he went away after a few minutes and I finished my food and your friend was outside smoking and he asked me what my shoe size was and I told him, "Nine or ten," and he said, "I was just admiring your feet," and then I knew he was your friend and I wondered if he was being less crazy because he had remembered to take his medication and I left in my car.



Sunday, March 9, 2008

Fan Letter

I once wrote a fan letter to Robert Anton Wilson. He never wrote back. He died. Maybe he died so he wouldn't have to write me back. I think some of the things that I said were very wrong. I finally realized this today after stumbling across the unaired 1994 pilot for the television show, 24. I found it here: 24, 1994

This is the letter:

Hey Bob,

I’ve been a fan of your work since high school and I’m currently an assistant editor at Weird Tales.

I recently reread your Prometheus Rising and the section on Alvin Toffler’s The Third Wave ignited some thought within me. I have some questions and comments concerning it.

You make the prediction (or perhaps you are quoting Toffler) that “the average man or woman of 1983 will be as obsolete in 2003 as the medieval serf is now [1983].” Now, as we’re quickly approaching 2003, this really doesn’t seem accurate (of course, I could be entirely wrong because I was around five years old in 1983 and I can barely remember it). Why do you think this prediction didn’t occur?

Obviously there is a noticeable difference between the present and 1983, but I see no way how the medieval serf comparison can be feasible. Sure, our lives are now more dependent on computers, but have they actually brought such a drastic change to our lives? The only radical change that I can think of is that it has severely increased our level of communication and made the world seem that much smaller.

I was thinking that maybe big business has impeded our progress - perhaps our society would be more technologically advanced if they stopped buying up and locking away patents for items (because if these items were actually manufactured, they would lose out on profits) that would improve our way of life, or at least make easier. It makes me think of the possibility of big business being more harmful to the development of our society than ever was the Inquisition.

I’ve heard members of the science fiction community proclaiming the death of futuristic science fiction. Perhaps the writers of such forms of fiction have become dissatisfied with their predictions of the future not coming true? Maybe they should of added many hundreds of years to the settings of their stories - I wonder if even then, the predictions would be more accurate.

You yourself have predicted that life extension would become available by 1995. I wonder if the reason that this has not yet occurred is because of big business impeding study in this field. Perhaps because death is more profitable than life?

I would really appreciate if you would comment on these issues.


Bradley Sands

Saturday, March 8, 2008

I Like This

Someone found my lit journal through googling "loss of tone in anus and tail in maine coons."

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Writing is Annoying

I will write a short story or novel. I will not do anything with it for months or years. Maybe I will submit it somewhere or to multiple somewheres and it will be rejected. Months or years will pass and my writing will get better. I will think about trying to get the piece of writing published or using it as a writing sample for grad school. I will read it. I will not like it as much as I did around the time I finished it. I will feel that it needs another edit. I am lazy. I do not like to edit something beyond the first time that I edited it over and over again and eventually declared it finished. So I will do my present day edit and will be annoyed because it feels like work, more so than the past edit because that one just needed to get done. Often, the edit will cause the piece of writing to lose its soul. It is stupid to refer to it as "losing its soul," but I cannot think of how else to describe it. The piece of writing might be improved technically, but it loses a piece of itself that made it great in the first place. Maybe I just thought of how else to describe it. I don't know. Maybe it's just as bad. Editing novellas or novels a second time are much, much worse than editing stories. It feels like even more work. It is even more work. It is exhausting.

Nothing is ever complete, I guess. I think the main reason why I sometimes seek to get my work published is that it makes it feel like its complete. I want to get published so that one person, an authority type, can declare, "This story or novelette or novella or novel is finished!" Then I feel like I don't have to work on it anymore. This is why self-publishing doesn't appeal to me very much.

I wish I were the closet-man

This is my favorite Russell Edson poem:

The Reason Why the Closet-Man Is Never Sad

This is the house of the closet-man. There are no rooms, just hallways and closets.

Things happen in rooms. He does not like things to happen.

. . . Closets, you take things out of closets, you put things into closets, and nothing happens . . .

Why do you have such a strange house?

I am the closet-man, I am either going or coming, and I am never sad.

But why do you have such a strange house?

I am never sad . . .

Interview With Tony

Tony edits a print zine called Chiaroscuro. Tony has no genitalia. Tony is a homemade doll. Tony is a fake Cabbage Patch Kid. Tony is a really good excuse for the existence of typos. Tony has a website for his zine here:

Thanks for agreeing to this interview, Tony. Why are you such a jerk?

I appreciate any attention I can get for CHIAROSCURO, so thank you. Why am I such a jerk? Well, Bradley, if anybody would understand this I'm sure it's you: creating a publishing empire can be quite stressful business. Sometimes I come off as a jerk because of all the stress I'm under. CHIAROSCURO hasn't been as profitable as your fine literary journal, "Bust Down the Door and Eat all the Chickens." The S.P.R.3 refuses to tour. Brad, don't ever try to manage a band. Musicians are almost as unreliable as writers. I keep telling Eric Blair to finish his novel, but he keeps telling me to fuck off. I'm grooming Hacim to be my replacement, because I honestly don't know how much longer I can put up with this shit. Someday, Brad, when you've been in this business as long as I have somebody will ask you why you are such a jerk.

Eric Blair? Hacim? SPR3? Name dropping works a lot better when people actually know who and what you're talking about. Who are these people, places, and things? Tell me or I will destroy you.

Bradley Sands? Who the fuck is that? Why did I agree to this again? Oh, right I'm not sentient. If I recall correctly Eric Blair is an old English writer who died in 1950. Hacim is a Turkish general who fell out of a tree one time. Wait a minute, he didn't fall - HE WAS PUSHED! The S.P.R.3 is the greatest, only, band to come to earth from Moonsylvania. They've got a myspace just like every other fucking band! Go ahead and destroy me, I enjoy being overly dramatic.

How are you talking to me if you're not sentient? More importantly, how do you edit a zine? You're a fake cabbage patch kid. You're disabled from the toes up. What is your secret? Other inanimate objects want to know.

There is a lot about being an inanimate object that you wouldn't understand. Zines edit themselves, the typos are on purpose! I'm not a fake cabbage patch kid. I'm much more real than any cabbage patch kid has every been. I'm disabled, am I? If I told you my secret it wouldn't be a secret anymore would it?

What are your favorite cliches besides "If I told you my secret it wouldn't be a secret anymore would it?"

I am my favorite cliche. What could be more fucking cliche than being interviewed in order to promote something? Just saying that I am my favorite cliche makes me more of a cliche, right? Do you have a favorite cliche? Oh, wait don't answer that. I wouldn't want this interview to get confusing. You are the one asking the questions, right?

Are you just pretending to be Tony? Have you put him in a coma with your lusty bedroom thighs? Tony is supposed to be funny. You are not funny. You are boring. I am bored. Give the computer back to Tony.

Tony here. I think someone hacked my email account with a fishing scam. I got pretty drunk off all the Michelob they had on the boat and someone must have asked me for my password, but I don't really remember. I changed it to secret so it shouldn't happen again.

Prove that you're Tony by making me laugh, sending me a sexy photo, and your social security number.

I can't make you laugh, you have to laugh voluntarily. Haven't you seen me naked? I have no security when I'm being social.

I am not laughing. You are not Tony. You are an imposter. I am now hungry. It is your fault, imposter. "Imposter" always makes me think of "pasta." Pasta is very delicious, except for when it is not.

I will destroy you, imposter.

I am destroying you.

You have been destroyed.

I am going to make myself some pasta.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

chaos is tasty AND USEFUL TOO

My alarm clock woke me up today at 4 pm. I set it for 5 pm and went back to sleep. My alarm clock woke me up at 5 pm. I set it for 6 pm and went back to sleep. My alarm clock woke me up at 6 pm. I went to the bathroom and urinated. I went back to my room. I set my alarm clock for 7 pm and went back to sleep. My alarm clock woke me up at 7 pm. I went back to my room and checked my email. I turned on my light box. I was bathed with artificial sunlight. I continued reading a story in Zoetrope about a vampire in a lemon grove that I had started the night before. An half an hour passed since I turned on my light box. It turned itself off. I was disappointed by the story's ending. I swore off reading Zoetrope forever. I turned on my cell phone and listened to a message. I thought about walking to town. I thought about being cold and lazy. I got dressed. I put some papers and library books in a bag. I walked out of my room. I put on my sneakers and coat. I walked downstairs and out the door. I drove to town. I parked in a parking spot. I walked across the street. I saw someone walking his dog who may have been an MFA student who I had hung out with once. I considered finding out if he was. I considered asking him if he was done with his copy of Donald Barthelme's Sixty Stories. I went to the copy shop. I made three copies. I went to a used bookstore. I saw a Library of America Edition of a trilogy of Faulkner novels that I had never heard of. I looked for Sixty Stories. They only had a book by one of Barthelme's brothers. I considered buying the Faulkner book. I decided to go to another bookstore and look for the Barthelme book. I went to the bookstore. It was closed. I went back to the used bookstore to buy the Faulkner book. It was closed. I went to a Mexican restaurant. I ordered two soft tacos with sour cream, tortilla chips, and a cup of Sprite. I tasted the Sprite. It tasted like seltzer water. I asked for my money back. The cashier gave me my money back. I got some water. I sat down. I ate tortilla chips. Someone called my number. I stood up and got my food. I ate one taco and a fourth of the other taco. I asked for a takeout container. I put the three-fourths of the other taco into the container. I left. I thought about walking to the library. I thought about how lazy I was. I walked to my car. I got in and drove to the library. The library was closed. I thought about driving to the supermarket. I drove a little. I remembered that I had library books to return. I made a u-turn. I drove back to the library. I returned the books. I drove to the supermarket. I got a cart. I wheeled the cart around the store. I put a box of generic-brand rice crispies, 3 yogurts, milk, cream cheese, frozen Pad Thai with Tofu, cream cheese, frozen organic macaroni and cheese, three frozen vegetable pizzas, and a bag of bagels into my cart. I wheeled my cart past the book aisle. I thought about looking for Barthelme's Sixty Stories. I wheeled my cart to the checkout line. I payed the cashier with my debit card. The bagger bagged my food. I wheeled my bags of food back to one of the aisles. I put two jugs of Poland Spring water into my cart. I wheeled my cart to the automatic checkout line. I paid for the water with my debit card. I wheeled the cart to the movie rental vending machine. I looked for a movie. I could not make up my mind. A woman walked up and started to wait for me to make up my mind. I left the store. I drove home. I removed my bags of food from my car. I accidentally left the bag of bagels in my car. I intentionally left the jugs of water in my car. I put my food away. I walked upstairs. I went to the bathroom and urinated. I went to my room. I checked my email. I went on I looked up Sixty Stories. I read the story, "Margins." I googled "barthelme" and "margins." I went to a website that was listed among the search results. I read an article about Barthelme. I went back to I looked up Forty Stories. I read the story, "Chablis." I looked up Faulkner's Snopes: The Hamlet, The Town, The Mansion. I read the reviews. I changed my mind about buying the book. I considered buying Sixty Stories from Amazon. I considered other books to buy so I could reach $25 and take advantage of the free shipping. I considered a big book of X-Men comic reprints and an anthology of stories that were inspired by the band, The Fall. I wrote a check for rent. I accidentally wrote the dollar in the amount in the TO: section. I tore up the check. Someone called my cell phone. I tried to answer. My phone turned itself off. I turned it back on. I checked the messages. I called my friend back. We made plans to see Be Kind Rewind tomorrow before work and possibly go to a bar Friday night. I wrote another check. I accidentally wrote the dollar in the amount in the TO: section. I tore up the check. I wrote another check. I walked downstairs and attached the check to the refrigerator to the refrigerator. I put my laptop in my laptop bag. I picked up a CD booklet. I carried my laptop bag and CD booklet downstairs. I opened the freezer door and removed my frozen Pad Thai. I carried my CD booklet, laptop bag, and frozen Pad Thai outside and got into my car. I drove to work. I carried my CD booklet, laptop bag, and frozen Pad Thai, and CD player into the store. I put my CD booklet, laptop bag, and CD player down behind the counter. I put my frozen Pad Thai in the freezer. I completed tasks inside. My new co-worker waited for her ride. I went outside and completed tasks. I went back inside. I discovered that my co-worker had accidentally put $655 of imaginary money on a pump. I tried to fix it. The cash register locked up and no buttons worked. We lost customers. I closed the store so I could fix the cash register. I fixed the cash register. I used the refund button in an effort to make it look I hadn't stolen $655. I printed out a receipt for the transaction. I studied it. I was perplexed. I left it on the lottery machine for the manager. I worried a little that it would look like I had stolen $655. I took my laptop out of its bag and plugged it in. I plugged in my CD player. I listed to Jesus and Mary Chain's Psycho Candy. I got a little hungry. I remembered that I had three-fourths of a soft taco in my car. I went outside and got the taco from my car. I went back inside and started to eat the taco. My co-worker's ride showed up. She left. I finished my taco. I changed it the CD to Meat Beat Manifesto's Actual Sound Sounds and Voices. I started to count the cigarettes. I got bored. I tried to read John Cheever's "The Swimmer" online. I really liked the line, "He had an inexplicable contempt for men who did not hurl themselves into pools." I got bored. I remembered that I didn't like reading stories online. I worried that the rest of the story would not be as good as "He had an inexplicable contempt for men who did not hurl themselves into pools." I stopped reading John Cheever's "The Swimmer." I opened up my blog. I started typing. I made this all up.

Monday, March 3, 2008


Dreams make me shit like Exlax. Or maybe it's time, but I like the idea of it being dreams because I can't stand dreams. I wish to live a dream-free existence. I'll run a drill through the section of my head that impregnates my days with them and it will be very nice. I will not wake up flailing my arms at some unknown opponent. If I ever sleep with someone again, maybe I won't punch her in the face while I'm snoring, if I snore. I do not sleepwalk. I sleep punch. I sleep kick. I commit acts of domestic violence in my sleep. Domestic violence against my walls. Domestic violence against my pillows. Domestic violence against my two hundred dollar mattress. That one time I woke up my girlfriend with my fist. Alarm clocks are cacaphonic and undesirable. You would think a fist would be in higher demand. Market research has told me that it is not true. I am shocked. I am so shocked that I need to feel a physical representation for my incredulity. So I lick a battery.