JOURNAL: 022106 HERE'S A MOP. ENJOY THE VIRGINS.
The smoke clears and we find our hero nestled comfortably in front of a computer screen. There is a vulnerability that comes with this process that sticks to me like fly paper. Speaking is scribbling words on an Ethchasketch (c). You can always rely on the clumsiness of others when it comes to documenting your words. It is easy to talk you way out of a corner you talked your way into. It is harder to get out of the same corner if you used paint. The prose of a post is modern ink and it does not need a printing press to spread to distant villages. Words on a screen are a papertrail.
I'm not sure what I am going to put in this blog, but that fact taints my ability to be honest. I am considering writing a Boswellian memoir (he was some freaky guy who worshipped some fat drunk writer, I think his name was Samuel Johnson. This guy kept a diary of every nasty thing he ever did . Don't expect that here. This will be compromise of drives. I don't expect there to be much consistency from journal to journal, but I am hoping to find a pattern.
What do I have to report for today? To be honest, we just voted and we have decided that something happened today but it is too early to splat the gadfly on my first post.
7-10am work
10-11:30 home & nap
12 - I saw a Dr. who knows a lot about assholes
slept 2 hours
I felt my body was as tight as a pretzel and lifted weights. The relief was like a heavy sedative. I always feel that way after a yoga/lift. But something inside me always wants me to skip it. I feel totally lethargic without it, but it takes a tremendous effort of will to do it. I find that strange since every time I have found a pill or liquid that causes such an abrupt change in my mindset that I take it until it hurts. Yet the most genuine high I fight like a kid eating spinach.
Work: 7-10pm. Home. Finally got acoustic going through my Marshall with my Digitech. Dreams of doing a live set. Gee, that 20 year old fantasy still keeps me on the strings. I also want to write my legal books, take a Korean language course and get into a gym with a stairmaster.
Going to bed now. I hate going to bed because that is generally when I feel the best. Dark, alone, silent and ...Embryonic. I crave the perfect combination of adulation and isolation. I can't decide whether I should teach or start a religion. I am too old for rockstar. Rockstars get all the cool adulation, isolation and self absorbed martyrdom.
Well, suicide bombers get most of that and a bunch of virgins. But, if there is a God, I hope he has a sense of irony. The only virgins the suicide bombers should get are the ravaged and slaughtered corpses of the virgins they kill. If there a difference between bombing a chemical weapons plant and a marriage at a Radison in Syria, I think God would get a kick out of that. "Here's your virgin Abdul Fukababy. Her pussy is splattered on the side of the DJ booth and her tits are those two piles in the corner that look like ground beef. If you doubt she was a virgin, her hymen is that thing that looks like a jelly fish dripping off of the chandelier.
Here is a mop. Enjoy your virgins.
On that happy note - Peace out. KDF
I'm not sure what I am going to put in this blog, but that fact taints my ability to be honest. I am considering writing a Boswellian memoir (he was some freaky guy who worshipped some fat drunk writer, I think his name was Samuel Johnson. This guy kept a diary of every nasty thing he ever did . Don't expect that here. This will be compromise of drives. I don't expect there to be much consistency from journal to journal, but I am hoping to find a pattern.
What do I have to report for today? To be honest, we just voted and we have decided that something happened today but it is too early to splat the gadfly on my first post.
7-10am work
10-11:30 home & nap
12 - I saw a Dr. who knows a lot about assholes
slept 2 hours
I felt my body was as tight as a pretzel and lifted weights. The relief was like a heavy sedative. I always feel that way after a yoga/lift. But something inside me always wants me to skip it. I feel totally lethargic without it, but it takes a tremendous effort of will to do it. I find that strange since every time I have found a pill or liquid that causes such an abrupt change in my mindset that I take it until it hurts. Yet the most genuine high I fight like a kid eating spinach.
Work: 7-10pm. Home. Finally got acoustic going through my Marshall with my Digitech. Dreams of doing a live set. Gee, that 20 year old fantasy still keeps me on the strings. I also want to write my legal books, take a Korean language course and get into a gym with a stairmaster.
Going to bed now. I hate going to bed because that is generally when I feel the best. Dark, alone, silent and ...Embryonic. I crave the perfect combination of adulation and isolation. I can't decide whether I should teach or start a religion. I am too old for rockstar. Rockstars get all the cool adulation, isolation and self absorbed martyrdom.
Well, suicide bombers get most of that and a bunch of virgins. But, if there is a God, I hope he has a sense of irony. The only virgins the suicide bombers should get are the ravaged and slaughtered corpses of the virgins they kill. If there a difference between bombing a chemical weapons plant and a marriage at a Radison in Syria, I think God would get a kick out of that. "Here's your virgin Abdul Fukababy. Her pussy is splattered on the side of the DJ booth and her tits are those two piles in the corner that look like ground beef. If you doubt she was a virgin, her hymen is that thing that looks like a jelly fish dripping off of the chandelier.
Here is a mop. Enjoy your virgins.
On that happy note - Peace out. KDF
posted by KELLY FRAZIER at 12:16 AM
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