Tag Archives: random

Journal – Brain overdose

 

An average day PMSing:

I have doubted my bread consumption, worried about getting bunion surgery, worried about my vaccines, doubted the entire medical field, worried about calories, tried to figure what the hell it is about butyrate, worried about Huntington’s, worried about my sister quitting sugar, grown frustrated at the lack of substance to online research, researched online how people research online, hated on the fallibility of the media, hated on food trends, hated on trend haters, considered joining a gym, considered buying a weight set, considered cycling to work and abandoned the concept for the millionth time, bashed myself for abandoning the concept of cycling to work, worried about the poorly maintained areas in my house, worried about the quality of my writing, worried about whether I’ll finish my comic… of course this is the hyper-condensed version, and all within the space of a few hours.

Do you see why I love meditation? I can’t believe lots of normal people go through life thinking like this every day. I can see it in their eyes. They’re always on high alert, waiting for reality to pounce.

I’d like to trade in my higher brain for nothing. Just leave it hollow. We only need a primitive brainstem to function anyway. Lizard smiles from me to you!

 

smile

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

A Quick Breakfast

 

I was really tired when I wrote these!

 


 

I want an egg sandwich.
These things make themselves
If you’ve lost enough sleep
You can watch them
Make themselves
Life is easier when your breakfast is sentient
And ambulatory
As long as its attitude toward being eaten
Is positive.
A positive attitude
Can really make or break
A good breakfast.
Don’t break my breakfast
By giving it existential dread
Don’t let it start enjoying the real world
Or fearing death
Because soon
I must eat it
And I hate having to catch my own breakfast.
Swifter than a deer
So does the yolk in my egg sandwich run.

 

 


A second attempt:


 

Every morning
I must catch my own breakfast
The eggs are runny
The bacon is cooking fast
And these quickbreads won’t get away from me anytime soon.
But they’re going to have to get up earlier than that in the morning!

 

img_20190108_084730267

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The Broken Purse

 

Some kind of a weird noir parody. Best read with a sleazy saxophone solo playing in the background, because that’s how it got written.

 


 

I can feel this seedy bar etching itself into the backs of my eyelids. Once you’ve been in a bar like this, you can never really leave. Smoke from the lungs of a hundred scumbags saturates your soul, and then it seeps out of your pores for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter how clean you get or how freshly pressed your suit; good honest folks can still smell it, and wrinkle their noses when you walk by.

She knew I was looking her way. Animals like her have a sixth sense for these things.

Well, I tried not to think about it. But then she sidles on over to me and starts purring like a kitten.

“Buy me a drink,” she says.

“Baby,” I says, “I’ll buy a dame like you a whole bottle.”

So we get to talking. Turns out she’s from Maine. Land of the lobsters, I say. She says nobody talks like that and I don’t know jack shit about Maine.

As we talk I get to studying her face. You can read some faces just like a book. Where they’ve been, what they’ve seen. Behind those velvet eyes lay a Pandora’s box of trouble. She’d seen more than most, lost more. She had a low speaking voice, the kind you had to really listen to hear. And a slow motion walk, like she carried in her hips the watery swells of the great lakes. Maine. Nobody ever leaves Maine. It’s too good there.

She tells me she’s been shopping, that she bought a new purse. That the strap broke today. She looks at me with those deep black eyes and my heart split into twenty pieces of silver.

“I’ll fix your purse, sweetheart,” I says to her. And I stretch out my hand.

She hands me the purse. Charming the way she tied it together. A perfect square knot, not a loose strap of leather anywhere. An organized woman.

Yeah, I offered to fix her purse. But I wasn’t playing straight with her. I didn’t know the first thing about sewing. But I knew something about knots. I knew about tight places. Ah, she had a dress on so tight, it could strangle a python.

I sneak myself a peek into her purse and I see a shiny wallet, a set of keys, lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara, and $300 in cold hard cash.

Yeah, I’m a lousy guy, and I love a beautiful woman with sad eyes, but I ain’t a sucker. I tell you she had a contact list in her phone that was a mile long, all of them Johns.

“Sweetheart,” I says. “It’s been a pleasure. I’ll fix this for you in a jiffy, just gotta run to the car.”

She looked kinda troubled when I said that. “Wait,” she says.

I get up and I move fast. She’s got too much of the Great Lakes in her, those rolly hips balanced on high heels couldn’t get any speed. She says something at my back, I think it was, “he’s got my purse! You son of a bitch!”

A couple of heroes try to stop me but I hit em right where their weight settled and knock em down.

Yeah. I am a son of a bitch. I’m a fast son of a bitch. And no one will ever catch up to me.

 

I made a choice that night. Sometimes, when I’m in bed, my thoughts come sneaking in through the crack of light under the door. I close my eyes and I see the bar again, and I see the girl from Maine with the velvet eyes. And when I look at the tattoo those three hundred dollars got me, I wonder if it was all worth it. A Woody Woodpecker caricature lasts a long time in ink. But a kiss from a woman like that, maybe that’s what forever tastes like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

Q & A Tag: Come Chat With Me

I have been tagged for a Q & A by Cosmic Observation;  I haven’t done anything like this in a while, so why the fresh hell not? This one is nice and open ended and doesn’t have any sneaky ulterior motives, as so many chain posts do.

 

The Rules

♦ Answer the questions you receive (straight, funny, absurd…up to you)
♦ Create three questions of your own (for those you tag)
♦ Tag three people

 

The Questions

 

[1] If you were a Marvel Superhero, what would be your super-power?

It has to be Marvel? Gosh, for someone who claims to love comics, I really don’t know my superheroes very well… so I’ll make one up.

I would have the powers of David Bowie: to do weird, embarrassing shit and somehow be cool anyway, thus confusing my enemies. Maybe I already have this power… well, as long as I think I have this power, I’ll be alright.

In that case, I want the power of invisibility. I would use this power for eavesdropping, avoiding panhandlers, and sneaking bites of peoples’ lunch. My poofy mane of shocking red hair hinders me from developing this ability in real life.

 
[2] If you could go back to high school, what is one thing you would change?

High school was fun! Well, what little experience I had of it was fun. I left early to attend community college.

I’m not big on regrets. Without the mistakes I made then I wouldn’t have the values I have today. That being said, if I could somehow infuse my younger self with my current values, I’d tell her to not be so big on regrets. I’d also tell her to keep up on her drawing instead of ABANDONING IT FOR TEN YEARS and forcing me to start from 8th grade level skills. That would probably just make her feel guilty, though… haha

 
[3] If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

I don’t really want to move. Everyone I know and love is here.

But I would like to spend six months in Japan to learn the language and eat ramen and make some Japanese friends, and maybe a year in the south of France, just for eating. I won’t learn their language though, I’ll just scream English stubbornly at them, because they enjoy that in France.

Pretty much anywhere, if you said, wanna live here for six months to eat their food and learn their language? I’d say Yes, regardless of where it is. If you say, wanna live here forever? Hell no. I need my tribe.

 

My Three Questions

 

1.  What was your worst public experience? Alternatively, what is your worst imaginable public experience?

2. If you were made the dictator of your country, what would you try to change first, and how?

3. What kind of monster is hiding under your bed?

 

My Tags

 

Wayward Sparkles

Jo Fox – Adventures in Art

Basic AF 

Bits and Pieces 2

 

Below the blathering is another collection of little poems which didn’t make the cut as standalones, but which I liked too much to delete entirely.

I haven’t been the most reliable at posting this week! Without work as an anchor, my whole routine is thrown. I’m probably going to be sporadic for the rest of the month until all my vacation time is spent. I am doing my best to learn how to be reliable even when not working. So far this week I’m doing better than I did over my last vacation, when I just gave up on posting entirely. I consider this week’s three posts to be progress!

 


 

I wish

I wish

I wish I knew

What it is the good girls do.

 

 


 

I may not be much
But whatever I have
I have a lot of.

 

 


 

To find happiness

To find creativity

To fulfill my purpose

To work towards a goal

To improve

To relax

To be still

To accept

To deny

To take

To give

To have time for everyone

To use time efficiently

To be human

Push and pull

To be two

 

 


 

Hellscape

I’m just not feeling very dark today.

I hear a cricket

I see the pond at night

I feel the cool autumn air

I can breathe.

 

 


 

I want a lit cigarette

To take a drag

In drag

To bat my long false eyelashes

At some poor stud

And confuse the hell out of him

Until he doesn’t know

Which way his dick should be pointing.

 

 


 

I like the look of death

I want to lick death’s cheek.

But I’d miss

Because he has no cheeks.

 

 


 

Marble veined skin

Veins of marble

Skin of veins

Don’t kiss me

You

Are

Disgusting.

 

 

 


 

I am a planet

I drift

I follow the pull of gravity

I watch the worlds dance

I watch myself dance with them

Somehow we always miss each other

We never collide

Neither do we touch

 

 


 

My nose is clogged, my tonsils swole, and then

You tell me I should get back up again

I want to rest, my bed is safe and warm

But no one has the patience for my smarm

Get back to work, get up, get out, go on!

I hear you and I wish you weren’t born.

 

 


 

My only regret is,

If I take care of my health,

I may never have a prosthetic

With which to scare small children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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