do i ever complain in here

? no, not the typical fuck dubya is a fucking idiot but real bitching like ive dated this girl four times and why wont she let me put my hand down her pants. i dont complain about my real life, i dont whine, i dont cry, i dont bitch for several reasons including a weird one that i shouldnt even worry about. truth is i shouldnt worry about any of it. its a blog. its USENET.02 Beta. its a voice in the wilderness, its a baby step up from geocities, its a fad its a trend in the same way dave matthews and coldplay is a trend – you will find those people who will be like omg i LOVE dmb or omg coldplay are brilliant! and you wanna smack those people. my chair sucks. i hate this chair. over the years ive analyzed lots of different things as to what has caused me carpal tunnel, the deliberating and mocking illness on par with becoming an impotent porn star. at first i thought it migh be my home situation and i went through four or five different chairs, a pull out tray for the keyboard, i hired a geisha, i put a sunroof in my closet, i did everything i could. then i realized oh well it might have something to do with the fact that you type for eight hours a day up in chopper one like an idiot. but now i havent worked there for a few weeks and i can barely get on the computer without feeling pain. its not comfortable, its not a good thing, i dont want to be here. i wanna sit on the couch. i want to sleep. i want to stay up until 8am, fuck 3am. i want to sleep till noon. i want to sleep whenever i want. i want to sleep whereever i want. i want this girl to allow my carpal up her prada whats so hard about that?

my monitor has probably two days left in it. if not one. the skys falling america so if you dont hear from me in a few days consider it a summer vacation, which was the plan for this summer until i realized oh but what about the blawwwwg. its like a puppy. you see these young people who get puppies and youre like what the fuck is wrong with you, you realize you cant just go to mammoth for a weekend or vegas or mexico. yes puppies are cute but dude.

the plan this summer in order to turn a bad thing into a good thing was to take the summer off. the only thing i miss about childhood is summer vacations. even then i appreciated not having to do shit. ever. the kids would come to my house and pound on the door in order to round up kids to play baseball on the sod farm and i had the drapes closed i had a pillow over my head i had the cave action on full bore. i had a deadbolt on my door and when my mom had that removed i removed the outside door handle and carried it around in my pocket. so when the kids knocked on the door for a good five minutes straight cuz they knew i was home because my bike was outside, i didnt even bother to flip them off because the general aura of my room was saying fuckoff i’ll meet you at the farm when im good and ready its not like the game is going to be over any time soon fuckers last till its too dark to see.

that was the plan for this summer. not. do. shit.

somebody sent me a bong the other day. nobody believes that im straightedge and gives me this shit all the time because apparently thats what you do in certain circles, when i ran for editor in cheif of the daily nexus and i barely lost in a squeaker by one vote one of the cartoonists came up to me and said tony when i first came into the nexus i was greeted by two people one guy said what do you want the other person said hey the coke machines broke, press the second button for a free one. so heres two hits of the best liquid acid ive ever had the pleasure of knowing. and gave me a little baggie with two sugar cubes in it.

so now theres this bong looking at me and what the hell am i gonna do with that. smoke weed and watch tv all summer? is that what should go down? i dont think so. i dont even know if that could be possible. plus i know im gonna get drug tested at this one place. drink all summer? bleh. bukowski drank so that we wouldnt have to. im derivative enough. ive been drinking water right out of the gallon jug. the empties are laying on their sides like two liters of diet dr pepper used to lay. i went to the doctor the other day for my physical and it was such a ripoff physical, i didnt even take off my clothes. i could have eight dicks for all he knows. he got his assistant to take my blood but not even my piss. wtf. and then this morning i was going through my sneaky pics folder in my camera and i had nabbed a picture of part of my file at the doctors office and guess what letter was on the corner of my file? x

so why did he take my blood then, wasnt that in my xbi folder too? but then i figured maybe it was cuz i wasnt around for three weeks and i could have been up to no good but ive been with virgins, a vegan and a carnivore. we went to the pantry last night. on our way to the tsar show we started making out right in the car and we pulled over and lets just say that when we were done we realized that there was no way we were going to make it to downey in time for the show so since we were in the car anyway we decided to go to the pantry where she got eggs n potatoes and i got chicken fried steak mashed potatoes and corn. they give you a friggin loaf of sour dough bread which i doggie bagged and turned some of it into peanut butter n jelly sandwhiches at 3:30am disregarding the one thing the doctor told me after getting my blood tests back: diet. the assistant translated that into your cholestorol is fine but your tyglicorides(?) are a few points higher than they should be. and its true ive been eating like a pig. i feel like its something i can do with my hands. its something active since i have nothing active to do and i since i dont want to do anything and i dont want to sit anywhere other than a couch or a bed or a bleacher or a beachside.

but the trick of all of this is to try to get to a point where im telling you its impossible but its goal-worthy and thats to have no obligations.

its impossible because somewho who i like and admire a great deal is going to have a birthday party soon and so i have to go to that, and i want to go to that, but its still an obligation. the cubs are going to be in town this week. i have to go to there. obligation. is it possible to fall asleep with the idea that “i can truly sleep as long as i want. i can try to set a fucking sleep record if i wanted since i dont have to be awake at any time tomorrow.” and thus have a great nights sleep. and thus be free. and thus be finally, something. something better than this. which isnt free. which you are still the slave to something. slave to yes. yes i will do that.

the problem with obligation for some is instant regret and obstination. and the practice of making up words, which when that happens, perhaps drinking at noon isnt such a bad idea.

last night i went to bed early. four am. and i slept on the couch because i wanted to wake up at a reasonable hour because i wanted to enjoy some of this daylight because i wanted to feel like a kid on summer vacation in hollywood with a blank slate and the freedom to play shortstop all day. it was nice driving down wilshire with this cheerleader listening to the mix cd id just made. i was driving. the streets were empty. during the quiet part of one of the songs i had my hand on her thigh since thats where its supposed to be and we were at a red light which illuminated her miniskirts shimmer and i nudged her thigh toward me just a little bit, and she opened her legs just a tad and smiled, and you woulda pulled over too.

bungee + golden fiddle + raymi + jaime’s new book!

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