THE DATING GAME
"all my lies are always wishes" -jeff tweedy
i've always wondered if i'd ever get to a point in my life when i'd actually be 'dating'. but i guess i have...and it's horrible. since all i've ever been REALLY good at doing, is judging other people...i naturally hate being judged myself. so as you can imagine the whole process makes me sick to my stomach. i wish i could just have a badge or card that confirms i've passed the cool test before. "yeah, i'm in the union. the union of cool bitch." because i can't stand trying to prove it over and over again every single weekend. and i feel as though i shouldn't really have to. they should just know...but they don't and i think that that's what saddens me the most. it shatters my fragile little mind that every single girl across this great land hasn't gotten the memo that states "matt marro is cool as shit." maybe i just hoped that it was general knowledge...like something your mom tells you when you're growing up. "make sure to comb your hair, don't talk to strangers, be home by dinner, don't forget to brush your teeth, and oh yeah, matt marro is cool as shit." but honestly though, i have to admit...i really can't imagine what it must be like for the girl. having to deal with me...christ, i can't even deal with me most of the time. i'm either loud and obnoxious or quiet and reserved...i talk bullshit like i have a bachelors in it (i do actually), i'm old fashioned and inconsiderate all at the same time. what a fucking joy it must be trying to get to know me. i'm sure it's an amazing process for them sitting across from me at a table...trying to figure out when i'm being serious or not. for example, a couple of weeks ago i was on a date and i made a comment that "women shouldn't have the right to choose," and that i was "thinking about moving to north dakota." needless to say...it didn't go over too well. i spent a half hour trying to explain how that could possibly be anyone's sense of humor. good times.
another thing that fucking sucks, is having to tell your life story again and again. besides the fact that my life hasn't been all that interesting...it makes it worse having to repeat it. from the woman's perspective it comes across like the best thing to ever happen to me is when i go home and have my father cook for me. (secretly...that is my favorite thing in life...and the most exciting...but i don't want a girl i just met to think that). it's just so fucking obnoxious. sometimes i get so sick of talking about myself that i just make shit up. "what do i do? motor cross mostly...yeah, i race the 587's. what's that you say? oh sure it's dangerous...but that's what i love about it. there’s something really spiritual about almost dying every single night...i love the rush...plus the chicks i get...fuck like prostitutes. are you going to eat that?" dating is such a ridiculous and embarrassing process that more often then not i can't even muster the strength to call someone back. i used to be scared about it...you know, in a nervous way...but now it's just a matter of pride. i can't expose myself to that kind of thing anymore...it ends up being more depressing then staying in and hoping someone amazing will call. it's sad really...i mean it's not like you can just see someone riding around in their car and yell "i like your hair," meet them weeks later, and fall in love instantly. that kind of shit doesn't exist...
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
THE CONVERSATION THAT I HAD WITH A YOUNGER VERSION OF MYSELF
"in a field, i am the absence of field. this is always the case. wherever i am, i am what is missing." -mark strand
it was somewhere between may and june because i remember either the mayflies being late or the june bugs being early. but the whole place buzzed with life. it was the time of year when the dusk had just relearned to argue against the coming of the night. you could tell because the dead oak tree at the far end of the field silhouetted against the sky like heaven's windshield had been shattered. and i remember the wheat rolling with the wind. how i loved to watch it roll. it complemented my mood. swaying like a metronome to an ancient rhythm long since forgotten. a whispered cadence that only nature knew. grasshoppers jumped in step as if mortar rounds were soaring to unknown foxholes. a quiet war for a beautiful day. and let's not be mistaken...it was that kind of day. perfect and serene, somewhere out the pages of robert frost. it was the vermont i had grown up in. the vermont where i'd spend my life.
underneath that giant oak sat myself, seven years old and unassuming. what else to do but make introductions? i walked slowly taking in what i could, breathing the air, and feeling the stalks flirt against my thighs. i remember whipping my palm across both lashes of my eyes; clearing out the pollen, brushing daydreams from my mind. as i rounded the tree and came up next to myself i remember how unassuming i looked, how innocent, like i hadn't a care in the world. my whole life was ahead of me and i just sat there with a blade of wheat in my hand swiping it across my knee like it was my job. as if the whole world would end if i took a breath and stopped to look around.
"hi." i said with a surprising weakness to my voice, "mind if i sit down?"
he didn't look up but stopped playing with the wheat, then paused for what seemed like an eternity. "sure." he said, "i've been waiting for you." He spoke slowly and deliberate, strange for a boy of his age.
i brushed off my jeans and leaned quietly into the tree sitting down beside him. "how did you know i was coming?"
"because there was something you wanted to say." he never looked up. just out and into the distance, eyes fixated on the horizon as if waiting for something that was bound to come shortly. and he never stuttered or hesitated. his voice rang out; young but clear, awkward but full of confidence. and suddenly i wondered what i possibly could have to say.
"i guess i just wanted to tell you what it's going to be like when you grow up."
"oh?" he said with a strange candor to his tone. I remembered how he grimaced, looking down with his eyebrows raised, chuckling to a joke that he’d never share and one that I wouldn’t understand if he did.
"it's not like it is for you now...it's" i hesitated, wondering how to explain to a little boy the complications that life had in store.
"how is it?" he snapped back…butting in the way I still do to this day.
"it's different.” I finally blurted out, “hard i guess. things get really complicated."
"complicated how?" this wasn't going how i planned.
"there are a lot more problems...serious problems that might be hard to figure out."
"but there's never such thing as a problem without a gift wrapped inside." he said as if he'd been rehearsing it for years.
"what do you i mean?" i asked, surprised at what my younger self had to offer.
"we create our problems because we need their gifts. we need to learn from how we fail." i knew he was right but couldn't be sure how to respond. "why did you come here?" he added slowly but brimming with force and self-assurance.
"um...to talk to you about getting older."
"do you like yourself matt?" he asked.
"what do mean?"
"do you like who you are...it's a simple question." his words where so clear but there was still that childhood lisp that took away from there meaning. I swallowed back a laugh while digesting his phrase. The words rung clear but they took longer than usual to sink in.
"of course i do." i said finally, as sure of myself as ever.
he looked at me and smiled. his young eyes fixating upon mine with the familiarity of a mirror but with the strength of an untouched knowledge. "then this conversation is over,” he said, “I’ll see you when I get there.
"in a field, i am the absence of field. this is always the case. wherever i am, i am what is missing." -mark strand
it was somewhere between may and june because i remember either the mayflies being late or the june bugs being early. but the whole place buzzed with life. it was the time of year when the dusk had just relearned to argue against the coming of the night. you could tell because the dead oak tree at the far end of the field silhouetted against the sky like heaven's windshield had been shattered. and i remember the wheat rolling with the wind. how i loved to watch it roll. it complemented my mood. swaying like a metronome to an ancient rhythm long since forgotten. a whispered cadence that only nature knew. grasshoppers jumped in step as if mortar rounds were soaring to unknown foxholes. a quiet war for a beautiful day. and let's not be mistaken...it was that kind of day. perfect and serene, somewhere out the pages of robert frost. it was the vermont i had grown up in. the vermont where i'd spend my life.
underneath that giant oak sat myself, seven years old and unassuming. what else to do but make introductions? i walked slowly taking in what i could, breathing the air, and feeling the stalks flirt against my thighs. i remember whipping my palm across both lashes of my eyes; clearing out the pollen, brushing daydreams from my mind. as i rounded the tree and came up next to myself i remember how unassuming i looked, how innocent, like i hadn't a care in the world. my whole life was ahead of me and i just sat there with a blade of wheat in my hand swiping it across my knee like it was my job. as if the whole world would end if i took a breath and stopped to look around.
"hi." i said with a surprising weakness to my voice, "mind if i sit down?"
he didn't look up but stopped playing with the wheat, then paused for what seemed like an eternity. "sure." he said, "i've been waiting for you." He spoke slowly and deliberate, strange for a boy of his age.
i brushed off my jeans and leaned quietly into the tree sitting down beside him. "how did you know i was coming?"
"because there was something you wanted to say." he never looked up. just out and into the distance, eyes fixated on the horizon as if waiting for something that was bound to come shortly. and he never stuttered or hesitated. his voice rang out; young but clear, awkward but full of confidence. and suddenly i wondered what i possibly could have to say.
"i guess i just wanted to tell you what it's going to be like when you grow up."
"oh?" he said with a strange candor to his tone. I remembered how he grimaced, looking down with his eyebrows raised, chuckling to a joke that he’d never share and one that I wouldn’t understand if he did.
"it's not like it is for you now...it's" i hesitated, wondering how to explain to a little boy the complications that life had in store.
"how is it?" he snapped back…butting in the way I still do to this day.
"it's different.” I finally blurted out, “hard i guess. things get really complicated."
"complicated how?" this wasn't going how i planned.
"there are a lot more problems...serious problems that might be hard to figure out."
"but there's never such thing as a problem without a gift wrapped inside." he said as if he'd been rehearsing it for years.
"what do you i mean?" i asked, surprised at what my younger self had to offer.
"we create our problems because we need their gifts. we need to learn from how we fail." i knew he was right but couldn't be sure how to respond. "why did you come here?" he added slowly but brimming with force and self-assurance.
"um...to talk to you about getting older."
"do you like yourself matt?" he asked.
"what do mean?"
"do you like who you are...it's a simple question." his words where so clear but there was still that childhood lisp that took away from there meaning. I swallowed back a laugh while digesting his phrase. The words rung clear but they took longer than usual to sink in.
"of course i do." i said finally, as sure of myself as ever.
he looked at me and smiled. his young eyes fixating upon mine with the familiarity of a mirror but with the strength of an untouched knowledge. "then this conversation is over,” he said, “I’ll see you when I get there.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
IN PREPERATION FOR THE SPRING SOLSTICE
...i've started a five day fast that's going to bring me right up until the spring solstice. i've felt so disconnected as of late. not only from people ('cause that's always the case) but from the old guy in the sky with the big white beard. we used to stay up late and talk all the time. sometimes he'd call me at home and we'd have one of those conversations that feels as though the conversation is having you. i'd curl my index finger around the telephone wire, lay down on my stomach, and lock my ankles in the air. "hey god!...what'ch you knowin'?" i'd say with an earnest boy-like charm. this winter has been far too lazy and gluttonous for me to deal with. i've fallin' out of love with the world and the resulting bitterness has left my relationships with the one's i love suffering. i want to emanate pure kindness and joy from every alaivable orpheus of my being. i want to touch someone with a hand so full of love that they can hear what i'm thinking. easier said than done of course...a problem only intesified by my general dickheadedness. but it's something i need to do. so...as such, this begins the process of cleansing. an urban vision quest if you will. no cigarettes, no booze, no caffine, no food, no vitamins, no moives, no sex (or masturbation i should say), no talking, no phone, no love. to plug myself back into the universe...i first have to suffer. that will be the cost of my reintegration with spiritualization...a price i'm willing to pay. if i continue blogging in my weakened state than i'm sure my sense of selflessness will increase while my articulation rapidly wains. for that...i'm sorry...sort of. wish me luck, send good juju (as michele would say)...and fill your hearts with love and happiness.
(yes...i've always been a giant hippie) -m-a-t-t- (the really hungry kid)
...i've started a five day fast that's going to bring me right up until the spring solstice. i've felt so disconnected as of late. not only from people ('cause that's always the case) but from the old guy in the sky with the big white beard. we used to stay up late and talk all the time. sometimes he'd call me at home and we'd have one of those conversations that feels as though the conversation is having you. i'd curl my index finger around the telephone wire, lay down on my stomach, and lock my ankles in the air. "hey god!...what'ch you knowin'?" i'd say with an earnest boy-like charm. this winter has been far too lazy and gluttonous for me to deal with. i've fallin' out of love with the world and the resulting bitterness has left my relationships with the one's i love suffering. i want to emanate pure kindness and joy from every alaivable orpheus of my being. i want to touch someone with a hand so full of love that they can hear what i'm thinking. easier said than done of course...a problem only intesified by my general dickheadedness. but it's something i need to do. so...as such, this begins the process of cleansing. an urban vision quest if you will. no cigarettes, no booze, no caffine, no food, no vitamins, no moives, no sex (or masturbation i should say), no talking, no phone, no love. to plug myself back into the universe...i first have to suffer. that will be the cost of my reintegration with spiritualization...a price i'm willing to pay. if i continue blogging in my weakened state than i'm sure my sense of selflessness will increase while my articulation rapidly wains. for that...i'm sorry...sort of. wish me luck, send good juju (as michele would say)...and fill your hearts with love and happiness.
(yes...i've always been a giant hippie) -m-a-t-t- (the really hungry kid)
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
FULL MOON
what most people don't know about the moon could fill up a small planet...or even a moon. the moon was actually invented in 1898 by a french physicist named Randolf Anderfrench. and like all great inventions the whole thing happened completly by mistake. he was searching for a way to cure arachnophobia one day in his science lab, mixed some chemicals wrong, spilled a beaker or two, and poof...the rest is astrological history.
what most people don't know about the moon could fill up a small planet...or even a moon. the moon was actually invented in 1898 by a french physicist named Randolf Anderfrench. and like all great inventions the whole thing happened completly by mistake. he was searching for a way to cure arachnophobia one day in his science lab, mixed some chemicals wrong, spilled a beaker or two, and poof...the rest is astrological history.
A WALK IN MY MIND
sometimes i go for walks when i'm feeling sad or lonely...but when i don't feel like leaving i go for walks in my mind. that way, if i don't like a particular block i can just jump it, flying over the houses and trees, and land on a more scenic path. sometimes i'll sit on old man patterson's porch and smoke a pipe with him and talk about the old days when we were young and times were different. "back then," he'd say "you could buy a hooker for the same price as a candy bar." "i like candy" i'd tell him. "how 'bout hookers?" he'd say. i'd laugh but wouldn't answer...we'd just rock in our rocking chairs. sometimes his wife would bring us lemonade...but not as much since she died. once in a while i'll go hang out on a cloud and take a nap and wrap myself in blue. clouds really are as comfy as they look. soft and white. and warm too. no matter what tempurature it is outside, clouds always stay a perfect 73.2 degrees. most people don't know that. everytime i'm up there though i can't help but look down at the tops of trees. they always look so funny that way. and you can see millions of shapes and pictures in them. "that one looks like a bunny rabbit! that one is a dragon! oh yeah, and over there...there's goya's 'saturn devouring a son'!" what a good time i have. i need to comb my hair.
sometimes i go for walks when i'm feeling sad or lonely...but when i don't feel like leaving i go for walks in my mind. that way, if i don't like a particular block i can just jump it, flying over the houses and trees, and land on a more scenic path. sometimes i'll sit on old man patterson's porch and smoke a pipe with him and talk about the old days when we were young and times were different. "back then," he'd say "you could buy a hooker for the same price as a candy bar." "i like candy" i'd tell him. "how 'bout hookers?" he'd say. i'd laugh but wouldn't answer...we'd just rock in our rocking chairs. sometimes his wife would bring us lemonade...but not as much since she died. once in a while i'll go hang out on a cloud and take a nap and wrap myself in blue. clouds really are as comfy as they look. soft and white. and warm too. no matter what tempurature it is outside, clouds always stay a perfect 73.2 degrees. most people don't know that. everytime i'm up there though i can't help but look down at the tops of trees. they always look so funny that way. and you can see millions of shapes and pictures in them. "that one looks like a bunny rabbit! that one is a dragon! oh yeah, and over there...there's goya's 'saturn devouring a son'!" what a good time i have. i need to comb my hair.
LOVE IS
Webster defines love as the following: “an intense feeling of deep affection. A deep romantic or sexual attraction to someone. A person or thing that loves.” Great! Now I get it. What if it’s the universe sending you the same lame postcard in the mail every single fucking day. What if it’s an emotional stocker of the subconscious mind? My love is not unlike the story of “the cat came back”. Kick it out, lock the doors; brick up the entrance…the cat came back. Drive it off in the middle of nowhere, blind fold it, tie it up, throw it into the depths of a bottomless pit…the cat came back. I’ve tried and tried and tried to get rid of it…but it won’t go anywhere. I’ve even tried NOT getting rid of it (as in the rule of polarities exemplified in the tao de ching)…still here. so maybe i should be defining love. i have to know better than webster right? here it goes: Love is the booger you just can’t flick. a cruel joke with an amazing punch line. a toy troll with a real dimond in it's navel. it's collecting those little peuter knights and wizards but not putting them on display. it's falling asleep to another chapter of "a clockwork orange" every night. it's wearing pajamas to work. A horrific accident on the highway that you drive by and resist the urge to look at. A beautiful day with the curtains pulled tight. Your favorite movie in a foreign language with chinese subtitles. The cutest baby you’ve ever seen getting eaten by a fluffy white rabbit. blasting alanis morrisette's "ironic" out the window of your car, singing every word and loving it. wearing adult dipers before needing them. love is making that chalkboard sound with your teeth instead of your fingernails. it's playing the piano with your ass. it's not telling anyone that "mac and me" is one of your all time favorite movies. it's taking someone elses medication and thinking "that probably wasn't a good idea". love is eating the black jelly beans at the home of a black person because you don't want to offened them...even though you really can't stand the taste. it's wearing new born puppies as shoes and going for a jog. A giant boat of sushi that gets dropped on the floor right before being served. love is having a funnybone that never feels weird after getting hit. it's having the same seamonkeys for 50 years...who actually wear crowns and live in those little castles. love is the family car getting sold for scrap. a poloriod stained yellow with age. A pet kawalla bear developing leprosy. smoking through the hole in your neck. riding a bike without tires. love is huffing gasoline not for the high, but because you genuinly like the smell of gasoline. love is spending a lifetime looking for the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow and actually finding it, only to realize that no one excepts "that kind of gold" as currancy anymore. love is throwing a hotdog down a hallway and finally getting the joke. love is why your knee flies up when the doctor hits it there. love is beautiful and i miss it when it's gone.
Webster defines love as the following: “an intense feeling of deep affection. A deep romantic or sexual attraction to someone. A person or thing that loves.” Great! Now I get it. What if it’s the universe sending you the same lame postcard in the mail every single fucking day. What if it’s an emotional stocker of the subconscious mind? My love is not unlike the story of “the cat came back”. Kick it out, lock the doors; brick up the entrance…the cat came back. Drive it off in the middle of nowhere, blind fold it, tie it up, throw it into the depths of a bottomless pit…the cat came back. I’ve tried and tried and tried to get rid of it…but it won’t go anywhere. I’ve even tried NOT getting rid of it (as in the rule of polarities exemplified in the tao de ching)…still here. so maybe i should be defining love. i have to know better than webster right? here it goes: Love is the booger you just can’t flick. a cruel joke with an amazing punch line. a toy troll with a real dimond in it's navel. it's collecting those little peuter knights and wizards but not putting them on display. it's falling asleep to another chapter of "a clockwork orange" every night. it's wearing pajamas to work. A horrific accident on the highway that you drive by and resist the urge to look at. A beautiful day with the curtains pulled tight. Your favorite movie in a foreign language with chinese subtitles. The cutest baby you’ve ever seen getting eaten by a fluffy white rabbit. blasting alanis morrisette's "ironic" out the window of your car, singing every word and loving it. wearing adult dipers before needing them. love is making that chalkboard sound with your teeth instead of your fingernails. it's playing the piano with your ass. it's not telling anyone that "mac and me" is one of your all time favorite movies. it's taking someone elses medication and thinking "that probably wasn't a good idea". love is eating the black jelly beans at the home of a black person because you don't want to offened them...even though you really can't stand the taste. it's wearing new born puppies as shoes and going for a jog. A giant boat of sushi that gets dropped on the floor right before being served. love is having a funnybone that never feels weird after getting hit. it's having the same seamonkeys for 50 years...who actually wear crowns and live in those little castles. love is the family car getting sold for scrap. a poloriod stained yellow with age. A pet kawalla bear developing leprosy. smoking through the hole in your neck. riding a bike without tires. love is huffing gasoline not for the high, but because you genuinly like the smell of gasoline. love is spending a lifetime looking for the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow and actually finding it, only to realize that no one excepts "that kind of gold" as currancy anymore. love is throwing a hotdog down a hallway and finally getting the joke. love is why your knee flies up when the doctor hits it there. love is beautiful and i miss it when it's gone.
Monday, March 13, 2006
I LIKE TO WATCH
another monday...it's raining...pretty hard too. and i kind of like it. i'm gearing up to go to work. to serve the masses that social lubricant we call alcohol. i'm not really sure if i love my job or hate it with all my heart. maybe neither...maybe bolth (i spell both with an "L" for those of you who don't know). i love watching i guess. seeing how they act around each other...wishing i was good at doing the same. it makes it easier though, being behind that bar. i kind of equate it to photographers who are usually very shy, reclusive people. the bar acts in the same way as that lens does...kind of a barrier that removes you from the reality of being in a situation. i sit behind that bar and talk and joke like i'm one of the gang. but i find the most fun...is just serving people and listening. hear guys try pick-up girls, see the girls look right through it. it's a game we all play but strange few of us grow gracful in. once in a while you'll see true interest in another person. and it's quite charming actually. to see the attraction in the air, smell the farmones, hear the sincerity in someones voice when the ask "so, what are you into?" it always makes smile...and then like clockwork end up longing for it myself. i can bullshit with the best of them...but when it comes to actually talking i always end up mumbling or coming across as a idiot. which i guess i am in the long run. maybe i'm just waiting for the day that someone finds that charming. anyone out there like idiotic, mumbling, jerk-heads? let me know...i'm the best you'll ever find.
another monday...it's raining...pretty hard too. and i kind of like it. i'm gearing up to go to work. to serve the masses that social lubricant we call alcohol. i'm not really sure if i love my job or hate it with all my heart. maybe neither...maybe bolth (i spell both with an "L" for those of you who don't know). i love watching i guess. seeing how they act around each other...wishing i was good at doing the same. it makes it easier though, being behind that bar. i kind of equate it to photographers who are usually very shy, reclusive people. the bar acts in the same way as that lens does...kind of a barrier that removes you from the reality of being in a situation. i sit behind that bar and talk and joke like i'm one of the gang. but i find the most fun...is just serving people and listening. hear guys try pick-up girls, see the girls look right through it. it's a game we all play but strange few of us grow gracful in. once in a while you'll see true interest in another person. and it's quite charming actually. to see the attraction in the air, smell the farmones, hear the sincerity in someones voice when the ask "so, what are you into?" it always makes smile...and then like clockwork end up longing for it myself. i can bullshit with the best of them...but when it comes to actually talking i always end up mumbling or coming across as a idiot. which i guess i am in the long run. maybe i'm just waiting for the day that someone finds that charming. anyone out there like idiotic, mumbling, jerk-heads? let me know...i'm the best you'll ever find.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
EAR HEROIN
...so either there's some kind of "ear heroin" in q-tips or i have some kind of O.C.D. because i can't help myself each and everytime i go to the fucking bathroom. wheather i sit or stand, brush my teeth, or take a shower...it always ends with the cleaning of my ears. it kind of scares me actually. because i've tried to stop...and it's not a "hygenic thing" (i also have a "quotation problem" as well apparently) and i'm not a clean freak. i don't see germs everywhere or wash my hands with a strange look of zeal in my eyes. and i could care less if my ears are actually clean. they just call to me from the cuboard. (quick recap: i don't see germs everywhere...but yes, q-tips sometimes talk to me.) they yell (in a tiny, yet charming kind of voice...more like a baby midget and less like a fairy or elf)"matt...hey maaaaatttt?...we're here for you. use us baby...use us good. we're your little bitches...you can use us and then just through us away. the perfect relationship...common'....you know you want to...just pick us up, insert, and twist...you know how good it feels matt. you know how much you like it."
...so either there's some kind of "ear heroin" in q-tips or i have some kind of O.C.D. because i can't help myself each and everytime i go to the fucking bathroom. wheather i sit or stand, brush my teeth, or take a shower...it always ends with the cleaning of my ears. it kind of scares me actually. because i've tried to stop...and it's not a "hygenic thing" (i also have a "quotation problem" as well apparently) and i'm not a clean freak. i don't see germs everywhere or wash my hands with a strange look of zeal in my eyes. and i could care less if my ears are actually clean. they just call to me from the cuboard. (quick recap: i don't see germs everywhere...but yes, q-tips sometimes talk to me.) they yell (in a tiny, yet charming kind of voice...more like a baby midget and less like a fairy or elf)"matt...hey maaaaatttt?...we're here for you. use us baby...use us good. we're your little bitches...you can use us and then just through us away. the perfect relationship...common'....you know you want to...just pick us up, insert, and twist...you know how good it feels matt. you know how much you like it."
THE TAO JONES
...i wish there was a spiritual stock market...not an exchange or anything but at least that electronic board with numbers and initials constantly flying right to left. it would be a great way to keep track of how you, your friends, and loved ones are doing with the universe. "oh, look at sarah" you could say, "after that near-death experience, she's up almost 2 points finally settling at 3 1/4." or "man! mjm's dropping fast after that girl lost interest in him" we could even call it the "tao jones" (clever huh?...just proof that i've actually thought about it). how amazing would that be? it would save on conversation too. when somebody asks me how i'm doing i'd much rather say "down 3/8th's", then saying, "ehh...alright i guess." because "why? what's wrong?" is such a human reaction that more often then not we just lie and say, "fine...i'm doing fine." 'cause who wants to go into it? feeling sad is so fucking normal that we should only comment on people when they feel "happy, or up." i love going into stories about the great days i've had in my life time, but hate explaining why i always feel like shit. let's change the "what's wrong?" to "wow! you look happy." it might just save the world...and the "tao jones" could be the very first step.
...i wish there was a spiritual stock market...not an exchange or anything but at least that electronic board with numbers and initials constantly flying right to left. it would be a great way to keep track of how you, your friends, and loved ones are doing with the universe. "oh, look at sarah" you could say, "after that near-death experience, she's up almost 2 points finally settling at 3 1/4." or "man! mjm's dropping fast after that girl lost interest in him" we could even call it the "tao jones" (clever huh?...just proof that i've actually thought about it). how amazing would that be? it would save on conversation too. when somebody asks me how i'm doing i'd much rather say "down 3/8th's", then saying, "ehh...alright i guess." because "why? what's wrong?" is such a human reaction that more often then not we just lie and say, "fine...i'm doing fine." 'cause who wants to go into it? feeling sad is so fucking normal that we should only comment on people when they feel "happy, or up." i love going into stories about the great days i've had in my life time, but hate explaining why i always feel like shit. let's change the "what's wrong?" to "wow! you look happy." it might just save the world...and the "tao jones" could be the very first step.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
CHIN UP, HEAD DOWN, HEART OPEN
...i wake up every day and ask myself a question. something hard, illusive, something only the universe would know the answer to. then i listen really hard. and the answer always comes...certainly in strange ways at times...but it comes none the less. people who say "life sucks" tend to really piss me off. that's like saying "i don't like tom watts." it's just such a badge of uncooledness. you could say "i suck at life" as a great friend of mine always states. but never "life sucks"...'cause you'll never get answers that way. sometimes i miss the world...or the one we should be living in anyway...i miss the teachers who i still haven't met...the friends i'll never know...and the loves that pass me by. chin-up, head down, heart open...these are the things that will get me through.
...i wake up every day and ask myself a question. something hard, illusive, something only the universe would know the answer to. then i listen really hard. and the answer always comes...certainly in strange ways at times...but it comes none the less. people who say "life sucks" tend to really piss me off. that's like saying "i don't like tom watts." it's just such a badge of uncooledness. you could say "i suck at life" as a great friend of mine always states. but never "life sucks"...'cause you'll never get answers that way. sometimes i miss the world...or the one we should be living in anyway...i miss the teachers who i still haven't met...the friends i'll never know...and the loves that pass me by. chin-up, head down, heart open...these are the things that will get me through.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
THE EMOTIONAL BROWNIE
...remember the beauty of catching fireflies as a child?...putting them in masson jars, poking holes in the top, and running around in the dew filled nights with a make-shift lantern? some of us still do those things i think, collect different beauty. have you ever known someone who fills those jars with groups of friends or certain emotional states instead of fireflies? because it strangly translates as an almost half ass attempt to live many different lives at once. set up like a social t.v. dinner with each seperate item carfully divided so that the salsbury steak never drips into the sweet yellow corn. but i often wonder how much comfort there truly is in seeing that cubic chocolate square waiting for you untouched...as if everything can fall apart in your life completely...but at least the brownie is still left? it's a back up plan for existance, a security blanket for the broken hearted, a fucking trust fall you make with one eye peeking below the blindfold. i kind of look at this as complete emotional laziness. i mean sure it might be easier to have a lollypop that rotates on a colorful electric spindle...but how fucking hard is it to simply stick out your tongue? the lessons learned pale in comparisson to the lessons lost. and i wonder if these are the people who end up mumbling frantically to themselves on the street. "where's my brownie?...gotta' have the cordon blue before the mashed potatos...before the mashed potato's."
...remember the beauty of catching fireflies as a child?...putting them in masson jars, poking holes in the top, and running around in the dew filled nights with a make-shift lantern? some of us still do those things i think, collect different beauty. have you ever known someone who fills those jars with groups of friends or certain emotional states instead of fireflies? because it strangly translates as an almost half ass attempt to live many different lives at once. set up like a social t.v. dinner with each seperate item carfully divided so that the salsbury steak never drips into the sweet yellow corn. but i often wonder how much comfort there truly is in seeing that cubic chocolate square waiting for you untouched...as if everything can fall apart in your life completely...but at least the brownie is still left? it's a back up plan for existance, a security blanket for the broken hearted, a fucking trust fall you make with one eye peeking below the blindfold. i kind of look at this as complete emotional laziness. i mean sure it might be easier to have a lollypop that rotates on a colorful electric spindle...but how fucking hard is it to simply stick out your tongue? the lessons learned pale in comparisson to the lessons lost. and i wonder if these are the people who end up mumbling frantically to themselves on the street. "where's my brownie?...gotta' have the cordon blue before the mashed potatos...before the mashed potato's."
Sunday, March 05, 2006
HOW TO EARN LOVE
...a girl once told me that cat's are superior to dogs because you have to "earn their love". i've always kind of thought that was fucking stupid. first of all, you don't "earn" a cat's love. there's only one way to get something to love you...and that's to fuck with it's head. just like with women. if you see a cat that's really cute and you want to pet it...then just ignore the shit out of it. the cat will think, "what the fuck is up with this guy?...i'm cute as all hell, spent hours licking myself, got my hair just right, ate some nip to get rid of that cat food smell, and this guy thinks he can just ignore me?...well i'll show him a thing or two." then before you know it, the kitten is purring incessantly, all rubbin' on ya and shit, staring up with those "puppy-cat eyes". is that earning love? hell no! that's just being smart in the way's of love. there's a distinct difference. but what happens when you just go and try to pick it up and cuddle it? that bitch will frost up faster than a piss stained alleyway in the midst of an alaskan winter. trust me...i know...i've cat sat before, and it's fucking easy. another way to get a cold kitty's love is simply just to starve it for a few days. let it know whose boss. but have fun with the process. when the cat isn't looking, switch the inside plastic bag of cat food with something nice like cheerios. pour the cereal into the cat's bowl (let the cat see you do this) and when it comes running for it's food for the first time in days...pick the bowl up promptly...sit down on the couch, turn on the tube and enjoy a nice snack of dry cheerios. the cat's obviously so stupid that it'll think that you're eating it's food. see if it doesn't love you then...you'll be the talk of "kitty-town", the center of all it's attention, you'll be the fucking cat's pajamas.
(note: starving cat's for too long can result in sickness and in some cases, even death...but they will love you...they will really, really love you.)
...a girl once told me that cat's are superior to dogs because you have to "earn their love". i've always kind of thought that was fucking stupid. first of all, you don't "earn" a cat's love. there's only one way to get something to love you...and that's to fuck with it's head. just like with women. if you see a cat that's really cute and you want to pet it...then just ignore the shit out of it. the cat will think, "what the fuck is up with this guy?...i'm cute as all hell, spent hours licking myself, got my hair just right, ate some nip to get rid of that cat food smell, and this guy thinks he can just ignore me?...well i'll show him a thing or two." then before you know it, the kitten is purring incessantly, all rubbin' on ya and shit, staring up with those "puppy-cat eyes". is that earning love? hell no! that's just being smart in the way's of love. there's a distinct difference. but what happens when you just go and try to pick it up and cuddle it? that bitch will frost up faster than a piss stained alleyway in the midst of an alaskan winter. trust me...i know...i've cat sat before, and it's fucking easy. another way to get a cold kitty's love is simply just to starve it for a few days. let it know whose boss. but have fun with the process. when the cat isn't looking, switch the inside plastic bag of cat food with something nice like cheerios. pour the cereal into the cat's bowl (let the cat see you do this) and when it comes running for it's food for the first time in days...pick the bowl up promptly...sit down on the couch, turn on the tube and enjoy a nice snack of dry cheerios. the cat's obviously so stupid that it'll think that you're eating it's food. see if it doesn't love you then...you'll be the talk of "kitty-town", the center of all it's attention, you'll be the fucking cat's pajamas.
(note: starving cat's for too long can result in sickness and in some cases, even death...but they will love you...they will really, really love you.)
CYBER FEAR
...i have this new cyber fear creeping slowly into my mind. no, not cyber aids (seriously though who knows where this keyboard has been?...thank god for latex gloves and compressed air). but the fear of going on a date with someone after several flirt-sastional emails have been sent. call me crazy...but i think the most awful thing in the world would be to hear, "you're much cooler in text."...seriously though, think about it. i try to imagine how it would ring in my ears. you know, like in movies where the phrase slows down and repeats slowly in an eerie rthymic echo. "you're much cooler in text...cooler in text...cooler in text...in text...much cooler in text." ugggg...shutter to think. it'd be more surreal then getting mugged by a gang of live-action carebears..."funshine? tenderheart? goodluck?,...what are you guys doing here?...what the?...no...please god no. champ-bear!...put down the bat slugger...put down the..ahhhhh."
...i have this new cyber fear creeping slowly into my mind. no, not cyber aids (seriously though who knows where this keyboard has been?...thank god for latex gloves and compressed air). but the fear of going on a date with someone after several flirt-sastional emails have been sent. call me crazy...but i think the most awful thing in the world would be to hear, "you're much cooler in text."...seriously though, think about it. i try to imagine how it would ring in my ears. you know, like in movies where the phrase slows down and repeats slowly in an eerie rthymic echo. "you're much cooler in text...cooler in text...cooler in text...in text...much cooler in text." ugggg...shutter to think. it'd be more surreal then getting mugged by a gang of live-action carebears..."funshine? tenderheart? goodluck?,...what are you guys doing here?...what the?...no...please god no. champ-bear!...put down the bat slugger...put down the..ahhhhh."
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