Saturday, December 8, 2012

Hey Losers

     Hey friends.  It's me again.  The crypt keeper.  I hope if you smoke, you're not coffin.  A-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee.  I've been watching a lot of Tales From The Crypt on demand.  I almost wrote Taylor Swift on demand.  I guess there's not much difference.  Blessed be the crypt keeper.  Do we still have to mourn him because he's dead, even though he acts like he's alive?  Also, do we have to mourn all dead characters in books or movies or T.V. shows?  I don't think we do.  They're not even real.  Anyway.  It's Saturday, and I just had a diet pepsi with two scotch's.  So I'm not quite drunk, but not quite sober.  It's an interesting in-between that no one wants to be in.  Either you wanna be drunk, or you wanna be sober.  None of this in-between shit.  But since I have a problem with throwing up a lot, I'm going to play it safe and not drink more.  Oh whatever, I'll probably have another drink before I finish this entry.  I'll keep you updated.  Remember The Update?  That sure was something.  It was a movie.  I'm sure it was more than something to those involved or to it's fans.  But to me, it's just something.  Everything is just something.  I had a dream last night that all the people I imagined cared about me turned out not to care about me at all.  Not everybody, but one or two specific people.  And I woke up like, "yeah, they probably don't care about me at all!" and America was saved.  My parents are getting me a new acoustic guitar for my birthday.  Only I'm not getting it until January, to save money.  Oh well.  I'll always have my crappy ass electric guitar.  It's not that bad, but it's Gibson, and my old electric guitar, made by Fender, just suited me so much better.  In fact, the acoustic guitar they're getting me is made my Fender.  This was entertaining to no one, except for me. I was not even entertained by it, to tell the truth.  To Tell The Truth is a good autobiography title for someone.  Maybe a poker player.  I don't know.
    So the medicine I'm on makes me wake up every night in a cold sweat.  And I mean real sweat.  Like, the sides of my faces are covered in cold sweat.  My beard, I mean.  It's unnerving.  I've been growing a beard.  It's half normal, half crazy person, and half Hasidic Jew.  But I'm too lazy to shave, so whatever.  I'm going to go on record saying I don't like Justin Bieber.  I've really gotten into pop music, and it's not just that I don't like his songs, but he shouldn't have that much money and that much adulation at such a young age.  He doesn't deserve it.  Where was my adulation and money when I was 18 and writing songs called "Throwaway," "I Don't Care," and "Thanks For Nothing?"  Nowhere, that's where.  And it still is.  Everytime I post new songs up on bandcamp and onto facebook maybe one out of my 140 friends listens to one song.  If even.  Way to support your friend, assholes.  Now I'm never going to like all you witty comments and bastard photographs.  I'm not in them, so why should I care?  Keep it to yourself!  Clogging up my timeline with your shit.  Also, I'm just about done with facebook.  Really, I'm right on the edge of saying "Fuck it, I'm not going to waste my time, I don't want this shit in my life anymore," but the problem is I don't have a lot to do, so I have to stick with it and read your stupid comments and pictures. 
    Anyway.  It's a new paragraph.  Out with the old, in with the new.  That could be the title of a book written by gays who have children.  How the fuck am I going to write this paragraph.  I've been listening to a lot of Weezer lately.  I think they're my new favorite band, overtaking Elliott Smith.  But it's close.  I probably still listen to Elliott Smith more than anyone else, but that's just because he's awesome.  Plus, when I was learning guitar, it was mostly bastardized versions of his songs that I practiced, until it became part of my lexicon.  But now my acoustic guitar is broken and crap, and awaiting my new one in four to five weeks.  I have a lot of favorite bands.  Ben Folds is up there.  The Alkaline Trio.  Blink 182.  Look, we can go on for hours about bands I like.  But I'll nip it in the bud.  I like a lot of bands equally as much, I'm just too generous a host not to bore you with them.  I want to start a band.  I think it would be cool.  But most musicians I know are already in bands, or have no interest in being in a band.  I improvise like an album a day.  I just hit record, let whatever I need to say and do out, and then upload it onto my computer, about 10-15 times a day.  It's almost always all crap, but it's good practice.  Then, when I get done, I get bored.  Hence this writing of this entry.  Don't think I don't love writing too, because I do, but it just doesn't give me the same rush.  Not anymore, at least.
    This is the fourth paragraph.  For anyone keeping count.  And lets face it, everyone is keeping count.  Actually, I'm going to have a total of four drinks.  Just because my lack of funny depressed me so much.  It's all your fault, by understanding my lack of funny on a metaphysical level, then transferring it into your brain, then thinking, "this wasn't that funny," then killing yourself.  So in a way, I'm drinking to your inevitable death.  I guess we should drink to dead people then.  But you don't live in a sitcom, though.  Unless my life is just like "The Truman Show," which it might be.  I want my accolades and paychecks, then, though.  Oh yeah, it is just a normal life.  Damnit.  My birthday is almost here.  This is probably my birthday entry.  I was born on the twelfth.  So on 12/12/12, I turn 24, which is 12 times 2.  Pretty neat stuff.  So I saw Flight yesterday.  Even though it was about a man coming to terms with his drug addiction, and overcoming it, all it did was make me want to try cocaine again.  My cocaine joke is that, "I did cocaine the same night I lost my virginity, so it's good, I only remember the bad parts."  But I was still high when I wrote that joke, because it doesn't make sense.  I only remember the super good parts.  Vaguely. I don't have a great memory.  I think the joke implied being on cocaine makes it hard for you to remember things, but that sort of applies to all drugs, so I don't know.  But I'm still scared of cocaine.  Marijuana would be enough for me, probably. 
    Fifth paragraph!  It's about time.  That should be what Einstein titled his theorem, "E=MC²"  He came up with that, right?  Probably.  I think I'm addicted to T.V.  My schedule basically just revolves around doctors appointments and what T.V. shows I watch.  It's not interesting, but it's true.  Saturday Night Live at 11:30.  Next show on my schedule.  In between, I basically just smoke cigarettes and listen to music.  And do music.  I can't wait for that new guitar to come.  Because I'm getting tired of electric stuff.  But I still have to do that for four to five more weeks, because my current acoustic is broken.  I have the feeling I explained this stuff before.  Yeah.  Oh, I did a an open mic since last time I wrote.  I was having fun during it, and tolerating all the acts that were better than me, but then as soon as I got on stage, I got all nervous, mostly from the lights that shined so bright, and I just hustled through two songs.  The audience was generous with their applause, but I know I did a half-assed job.  Which is not good for someone who wants to start a band.  Although it is good practice.  Now I know the lights that shine on the stage are very bright.  At least in some places.    For the record, I preformed "Throwaway, and "Thanks For Nothing."  Nothing but the best for my open mic friends.  I talked to someone who looked about my age, and then it turned out he was 43, and said he had a thing for Indian girls, and he had a flier he was handing out to everyone about a show he was playing, and before he handed it to an Indian girl, he said "This Could Make Or Break My Night!" and she kindly took it from him, so I guess it broke his night.  He was okay, though.  Anyway.  Goodnight and good luck.

5:57 P.M.             

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Thank Me Later

     Or you can thank me now.  Telepathically.  I don't know how else you'd be able to do it.  Ok, I am receiving, "Thank you, dip shit."  Good enough.  Let's continue.  It just was Christmas.  It was okay.  Hung out with my small extended family.  I hate how everyone's married.  How am I supposed to ever find a mate.  Unless if I'm playing chess.  And then the mate would probably be against me, because I'm not good at chess.  But at least I'm doing something.  Man, this is harder than it looks.  It looks like white type against a black background.  But it's harder than that.  That's why I said it's harder than it looks.  It's not so complicated.  My uncle got me a pocket knife for Christmas, in addition to some other stuff.  Not the best gift to give to a mentally shaky person.  I'm not suicidal, but one day I might be.  Gotta prepare for the future.  The future is so cumbersome, though.  Who'd really want to prepare for that looming disaster?  Let's live in the moment, man.  Here's an idea I had.  It's called "Friend Death Watch."  You can join a pool with your friends, and bet on who's going to die first, and in what order, and it's basically just gambling on that.  I'd probably be near the top of the list.  I am very sickly, in addition to my mental issues.  Plus I smoke cigarettes.  That's gotta count for something.  I really want to read a book or something, but just looking at a book intimidates me.  I don't know why.  Maybe some traumatic experience in my past regarding books. 
    It's a new paragraph now.  No need to worry about the old one.  It's doing just fine, entertaining those that visited this page 60 seconds before you.  Anyway.  Time to step it up.  Straight up, into the atmosphere.  Atmosphere is when you’re where Mos Def is really scared of.  I recorded some songs today.   They were pretty stupid.  I record songs every day.  They’re all pretty stupid.  I should start a band.  One that’s really stupid.  I think every entry I need to talk about starting a band and drinking at least once.  Also, I’ve drank since the last entry.  Not so much.  I’ve started to slow down, which is good.  I remember I once watched the movie Up while drinking an entire bottle of something.  I’ve had a weird life.  In my poetry class I went to twice, I had to write a poem.  To kill space, here it is:

See?

Are you stupid or something?
What’s wrong with you?
Have I overdone
How much I Will
Deflect attention
From me to you?
I have nothing to say.
No claims to make.
There is chaos in my way.
I tried to nickel & dime a
Chicken, and then I fell into
Quicksand, and then I felt like
I was falling, and then I woke
Up on Manhattan island, to the
Friendliest of faces, but these
Comedians, they don’t leave traces,
Then you’ll get a sunburn, with your
Pain left unearned, I considered your
Questions, and I decided on answers,
But instead of writing them, I found
Out I have cancer, which was a terrible
Twist of events, but fate dictates that I
Share it with you, even if it isn’t quite
True, I had to say it to take up space,
Surely you can relate to me in this way.

The simple fact is that you might be stupid
And there’s something wrong with you.
Not me.  There’s nothing wrong with me.

Okay…

    Now you know why I didn’t go back after that.  Also, social anxiety.  I’m not comfortable around a lot of people lately.  Over the past few months.  I don’t know why.  This entry sucks.  My life sucks.  I'm going to screw drive myself to death.  With my pocket knife.  I wish I were God.  Then I could do anything.  But if people have the power to be God, I wouldn't want anyone else to be.  That would suck.  If I were God, I'd mostly just use my power to get girls.  Because that's what a teenager in a romantic comedy would do.  And I am a teenager in a romantic comedy.  I'm looking forward to New Years.  2013 should be good.  Why not.  My ash tray is overflowing with cigarettes.  Really, it's bad.  But at least I'm starting to have the inkling of cancer.  I have a note on my desk from 2008 from where I worked.  That's where I got the "Friend Death Watch" thing.  I don't know why I have it on my desk.  I don't know why I have anything on my desk.  Oh yeah, desks hold things.  Important things.  I gotta finish that paragraph up so I can get to the last one. Then I will have achieved total and full enlightenment and peace.  Or I will smoke more cigarettes.  These are the possible outcomes of life.
    Well, we made it this far.  I remember in middle school, I wanted to be a rapper, and wrote a few songs.  Unluckily, I lost them all.  But I do remember one in which every line rhymed with "Mexico."  Every line.  I don't think I had a full grasp on how songs work.  I still don't.  But if I did, I'd keep it to myself.  Just like only I could be god, only I can know how songs work.  Don't want that information to fall into the wrong hands.  I've been thinking about learning how to drive, but I don't really have  the discipline for it.  Plus, I'm kind of scared to drive.  One wrong move, and suddenly I'm dead.  I don't know how people do it.  Mostly because I haven't had the discipline to study it yet.  I guess it can't be that hard.  I have nowhere to go, anyway.  I guess I could drive myself to doctors appointments, and to the movies.  But that alone doesn't warrant the initiative it would take to study to get my learners permit and then actually learn on the streets.  Well, I think that about covers everything.  You don't have to thank me, it wasn't that good.  I wasn't thinking ahead.  Anyway.

3:32 P.M.