so i let the dogs in, turned off the dss that keeps cutting in and out, and popped in a tape of the sopranos from the second season.

its the one where christafah has that strange sausage dream.

it might even be the first season cuz tony’s mom is still on there and the kids look pretty young.

people laugh at me for having crap in my wood pile, but who’s laughing now? i have two old chairs crackling in the fire right now, a new string of christmas lights over the hearth, and a toasty little den where im writing you as the dogs growl at shadows unaccustomed to being in the house at this hour. and all i can think of is you.

things have changed a lot since i first met you. the saddest being that instead of chasing my rum shots with coke, i now see diet pepsi bottles around instead of that familiar red logo. ive sold out in ways id never imagined.

this very nice lady was asking me the other day about taking acid and why she’s never done it and one of the reasons was because she was afraid of flashbacks.

sometimes i get flashbacks about you.

they dont tell you when youre little that true love will haunt you and follow you around years after its gone. not just trippy little trails of a magical time, but full on bursts of feelings that release the endorphins and trigger the synapses and spin the wheels of madame lady luck that line up jackpot, jackpot, jackpot.

jackpot.

but i havent even been in love for so long.

jackpot.

but im just walking through the woods with the neighbor lady doing nothing but moshing around in the mud with our boots on squishing in the puddles.

jackpot.

who goes there? noone. no really, who the fuck goes there? no one. seriously come out come out.

listen to those waves. watch those shadows. crank up the beasties as we do donuts in the mud slicked zuma parkinglot laughing and nearly rolling her land rover with leather appointments and a moonroof that lets in just enough light thru the raindropped glass to give the interior the appearance of a discoball from a junior high sadie hawkins dance.

jackpot.

just like with acid, weed will bring on the probability of a flashback of the heart. and just like with acid, im so alone without you.

she calls me before i go to sleep and it’s nice to talk to someone on a night like this with a voice like hers with stories like yours and legs like in seventh grade when i first appreciated my first sports illustrated bikini issue i just stared at those pictures and then at sears catalogues and jcpenny’s and high school sitting on the bench of the basketball team watching the cheerleaders trying to figure out the mystery, all that porn, all those girlfriends, all the college girls, trade show girls, dot com girls, post dot com girls, and now blogger babes. youd think after 109 years i wouldnt be as fascinated any more but in some ways its worse.

they sit on their pulpit and preach against booze and gambling and things that will alter your mind and theres nothing worse than a pretty girl to make you question your beliefs. nothing like a hottie to make you flinch. nothing like sisters to turn you into some other asshole hundreds of times worse than you.

nothing like brains to make you dumb.

dawn olsen + chuck olsen + kate sullivan

on the blog panel discussion last night about self-censorship. theres a few things that i don’t type on this blog because im pretty sure that nothing good will come of it. and that’s politics and the Bible.

i also don’t write about my workplace, my employer, my coworkers, the real job that i do, my neighbors, my family, the private lives of my excellent friends, things im planning to do in the near future, art, writing, my real fears, how my bowels move, my mp3 collection, the other girls who i date, many of the other blogs that i read, all the tv that i watch, how i hate my phone that does nothing but ring, my secret life, or my ever-growing baseball card collection.

so even though there was debate about how good of a question it was, it was actually pretty decent.

one reason i don’t write about those things is because its important for my friends to trust me. it’s also important for me to continue to find themes and details that are so general that they could apply in any situation.

its hard to explain, but instead of talking about a certain point in the Bible and concluding that Christianity is the way to go, i find it much less annoying just to stick with what i found interesting in the story, relate it to something contemporary and leave my fucking judgements to myself where they belong.

people write about dylans so-called Christian albums like they know something but they don’t. they don’t if theyre calling three or four of his records Christian.

some of his best songs are the full-on gospel tunes like “shot of love” and “saved” but tunes like “jokerman” actually have just as much biblical references, and yet Infidels is rarely pigeon-holed as one of his Christian albums. but who cares. i don’t.

and i don’t write about work cuz that’s just stupid. and any guy who writes about the girls he dates is not only asking for trouble, but he’s just not being cool. we still live in a world where getting naked and being loving freaks people out, so chill, shakespeare.

im just as shocked as the next guy each time a new girl pulls up her skirt, but the daily blog isnt really the right place to document those things. is it?

no.

the blog is about love.

most people read these things during work hours. and during the daily grind, it’s my belief that sweet things are better to discuss than spicy ones.

but i don’t really believe that either.

the truth is, i censor myself because i worry about the people who pay me now and the people who will pay me later.

even though it says nothing in here is true, what if someone wanted to hire me and either didn’t read that or didn’t get it and thought i was this type of person or that type of person.

im all types of people.

just like everyone is.

at the party last night i talked to one friend who got back from the willie nelson concert and two friends who got back from the holst opera.

anyhow, i censor myself, and i probably should censor myself more often, but at some point who really gives a fuck, some flukey crazy shit happens on the web sending a virus through the wrong combo of servers and this happy little accident gets deleted justlikethat, so we should all just live for the day and say what we wanna say. right?

hot chick, maybe twenty, called me this afternoon and asked if i wanted to meet her at her place and i said no i said i wanted to watch the grammys so she invited herself over and i said hi and she said you look taller on the web and i said hi and she said i like your hairdo and she came in and the place was still dirty from last night and she said i like your place and i said thanks, i had downloaded led zeppelin three all on one mpthree and she said nice bathroom and i said thanks and she pushed me up against he door and kissed me hard putting a hand on my head and the other hand on my chest and stuck her hips right up against mine.

the phone rang and i ignored it. she didn’t let go of me as we spilled into the hallway and down on the hard wood robert plant was talking about no quarter and the curtains blew in the santa anas perfect day for bananna fish she had the best perfume on one day i should learn whats what i thought and she just wanted to make out it felt like because she didn’t really grope the way young girls normally do and she was having fun just getting in the right positions for things to be rubbing the right way against stuff and her clothes were all on and im old that’s the truth because when i was sixteen there would have been no way for me to stand straight up after rolling around like that with a girl who was wearing what this girl was wearing which wasnt much people.

the battle of evermore was next and she grabbed my hand and guided it and i wonder about kids in highschools these days i mean are cheerleaders trimming their she bit my tongue and i was back thinking of her, college girl, grad school i think she told me, which is funny because i grammar so badly that i cant believe that she goes to a private school and can still appreciate whatever the hell it is that im doing and whatever i was doing was the right thing because she didn’t want me to move and there was a time when i woulda moved anyway but i grew up and she got in her little rhythm and breathed right in my ear and kept her eyes closed and licked her lips quickly and breathed through her mouth glossy from success and announced to my fucking block that she was coming and then followed up on her prediction.

wrapped in a down comforter now focused on the rain song i didn’t say anything to her as she caught her breath and the television flickered in the next room.

and she took my hand and kissed it and put it near her breast and i could feel her heart racing and then she pushed it lower

past her pierced belly ring

past her stubbly shaved

and she asked me for no other reason than to just break the silence

do you like bush

and i said i think hes a fucking joke.

and she put back on her dress, hopped into her convertible, and drove back to wherever those girls all live.

buffoonery + marc brown + lago