not so little

I recently found a lot of old, half filled in journals of mine. I’ve decided that since I rarely find the inspiration to write new things in this wordhole I call a site, I’ll post all my old writings from these journals. I have just posted to the section Little Brown Journal, I have posted the first post in the journal. I will work through all three journals, the single notebook, and the two binders (with pictures!) and give them each their own section on the site. New writings will develop here on the main page, but I don’t see many of those happening.

I’m hoping that the experience of continually adding up all my writings, drawings, doodles, and insane ramblings onto this site, that I will feel a sense of completion and accomplishment. It would be grand if the writing of my experience in life so far inspire to write something worthy, and of some length. Don’t we all want to be published?

So, enjoy Little Brown Journal, as I add to the site from the physical journal. Psychedelic Journal is sitting just under Little Brown Journal, I’m scared to open it up again.

wants you to know that I used to rave. I am not talking like these asshole ravers today with 40,000+ people. I used to have to work to find the party. Weeks in advance knowing the name of the party (the people making it and going) was just the clue, then the number, then the map point, then the place, then making it to the second day (the day without cops). I swear, raving got too retarded to be casual, thus there are massives with corporate sponsors and such which have made the scene something completely terrible, yet completely profitable. Now, as always, I am a white male seeking monetary satisfaction, so this does not completely negate my interest, but anyway I just gotta say, why does the white government gotta hate my dancing? Stupid honkeys. If, in any part you call my bullshit, you are correct, because I am full of shit, and thank you for seeing it, adios!~

Is this back and forth phone tagging, letter waiting, receptionist message leaving game a typical situation in the job hunting world, or is this just how business is done? I don’t assume that latter, then again I musn’t assume at all when dealing with large bodies of people who’ve much more on their mind, namely representing their corporation or office of government. I leave messages, am told to wait for letters, letters that leave me stressing over night unable to gather sleep until the wee hours (even past my own wee hours) and I am just stressed to the max. I desire so much drink, SO MUCH DRINK, but I must wait until this is all settled, until things have calmed down, the tide has quelled.

Patience is a virtue I strive for though it is something I feel is always tested. I was not always patient and willing, accepting. I can thank my only sponsor in AA that taught me this key element in keeping sober, at least for a day, the key element of acceptance. I have to accept that I am going to have to push through the next week because I know that my mind will be floating with all sorts of excuses to relieve the stress.

I am hopeful the release will come soon though, I am hopeful that all things will quickly come to a resolution and I will be peaceful and happy and content, because I have not been content in so long. No work, no classes, no friends near by, and nobody to love. I blame all these lacking on a lacking of money and an unwillingness to be willing to be willing.

This has been another STREAM OF FUCKING CONSCIOUSNESS. Sorry about that.

stupid ass wordpress. so im getting calls from callers saying things like ‘oh we need to get fingerprint clearance’ well thats just, .. fantastic, great, go ahead and hurry the fuck up with it and give me this fucking job i had to spend 30$ to get. stupid stupid stupid machine./*sigh* *shakes head* now there is this window of opportunity that is coming from Borders that will likely close just in time to screw me over with SCOE so that I will not have a fucking job! a fucking three month hunt climaxes and then drops me off the cliff like..like the wind-up bird chronicles, i mean really, murakami what is your fucking problem, i real d600 pages of your semi-meta and what do i get, BOLOGNA! i mean really man, even after dark was a better read, why is everyone so hooked up on windup bird chronicles? is it becous eits 600 pagesa and assholes think they are special if they can read that much? because i hear lots of rookies retards saying things like “well, make sure you’re up for a challenge *HYUK HYUK* its SIX HUNDRED BY GOLLY PAGES!*HYUK* *HYUK*. Get a clue, bitches.

Well, im not sure if i should say ‘thanks, but i have to get on with myself and seek the money over this lovely opportunity you’re offering me’ or if i have to wait it out, its honestly the waiting that kills me in this. i am just uncertain as to what my next stepshould be, perhaps i need to wait  until… tomorrow? sleep on it? makes a pros and cons list and decide which is most important to me. oh GOD ive never been in the right mood to appreciate the music of Nile, until now. I’m stuck, stuck stuck stuck. in my head. what to do. me thinks that some quality reading will solve my brain troubles….where is that william blake.. lord byron i mean. yea, death seems the appropriate image. fuck you, im not being dramatic because i bring up the theme of death, asshol.e

Uncertain to which four people (I’m assuming you aren’t Inuyasha demons) read this bullshit, I’ll post an anti-depressant to Show you why I’m so miserable and in the process showing myself how miserable I think I am, just to realize after writing that I am not as bad off as I wish to be. I am not dying or in a cancerous state, and I know how fortunate I am each day, but it never sinks in until something happens. This anti-depressant, let’s call it Lillox, it will make me feel better for the hours to come and deal with the day – I’m already feeling better.

The days are filled with a dark gray curtain to blot out the forthcoming light of the afternoon, usually starting around 1pm and moving slowly into 4pm until the ability to give blank stare into a small rectangular glimmer of entertainment I choose to spend the majority of my ‘life’ on returns. Two speakers, slim, tall and modern looking that cost me more money than I had at the time of purchase stare at me, mocking me with their black shine and bright metal siding to play them louder, past 20%. They are sleek, and more a reflection of the time and place I lived when I purchased them and only played them for a day. These speakers better represent what they replaced and what that symbolized, big black speakers I used to play at full volume and the man they represent, the man who is always going to be there in my heart and represents everything I wanted to be then, and in some ways now. There is an opening in the window of this room, an arch that shines through a bright blue sky that is never covered in slate.

I haven’t showered yet and I hardly see the purpose beyond knowing I will feel better for one hour. I haven’t gone swimming in days because I truly do not like swimming, it seems an activity without purpose for it helps nobody other than oneself. Though a pool may provide the cleansing and purification I need, the chlorine bath that will tranquilize external noise and allow focus to the bright day that I could be having; the people I could awkwardly be meeting while I crave cigarettes and beer to calm me down and help me carry a conversation, all fools gold.

Working out has helped, but it doesn’t last for much longer than a shower and I find difficulty in continuing with it other than to maintain a certain overweight body image that I’ve grown comfortable with over the years. I’m supposed to be doing pushups, working off this terrible chest I have. I was once told by another man in the most sincere and naked manner that I have “a lot of potential.” I’ve heard this for years, never about my physical matter but of my mind, and I finally started to believe it, I even know it, which is why I force myself to exercise the part of my brain that allows me to place words together in a sentence I am never proud of yet told I should be, mostly by those who aren’t dead British authors or English professors so I cannot take them seriously or grant them much merit for their opinion. I am also aware of my physical potential, but find myself hard-pressed to do anything about it.

The Lillox hasn’t kicked in yet, I want my drugs.

Production is the only thing that ever makes me smile that is not an intoxicant or a joke. I must be doing something of value and tactile to feel any sense of relief and self-purpose. Reading a book is grand, but when I have nobody to discuss it with, no deadline to have a review for, no audience seeking my work, how can I find pleasure in this? I’ve never been able to please myself with myself, I am always reliant on others for pleasure. To create my own content and have it be the most satisfying for myself or many others would leave me feeling exuberant and full of only the happiest of thoughts, though I can never impress myself with myself and am forced to look outward for contentment.

Lillox be damned! I’m fucking worthy of praise, I’m kind of cool and I used to be really cool, so why can’t I tap back into that feeling naturally? Is there something I missed on my past experience that I really should have picked up on? I’ve finally gone through the idiotic stage (hopefully that was all of it) of my life and am really wanting to get myself turned in the next direction. It must be in a confident and well to-do fashion, though I sense this will again make me somewhat vain and retard my desire to be as altruistic as possible. Though, even in the vainest of days when I knew I was better than every other fucking hipster in the set for obvious reasons that could not be denied, I would give some money for food to the woman on the corner with a cardboard sign in the rain, begging for change. I still had a bit of me beneath the hair and jeans, under my alcohol filled breath, I was reminded of my actual nature to help someone other than myself. Now my actual nature is being realized, but this path is the most difficult and hardest to please, it also has the most hope and the most support and guidance from my family that is endlessly loving and I forever will be indebted to. I have to build upon the switchbacks or the flood will surely come down and drown the trailblazer.

I’m not slumming anymore, and this is just another pitiful rant. Please, disregard.

Feeling well and arch is quite wonderful, but how so when all is bleak and all one wants is the grace of Elysian fields, oh, West Wind carry away this taunting series of emotion like a lark carries spirits across a dusky sky. Grant the indomitable lift that will prevent drag and promote propulsion, let all be supple and ripe. Little social tittles must not argue their way amongst this destined occasion, this ordained practice.

To what is read and spoken here, fear and desperation, loss while among pursuit of Mighty things. What more can be asked than to accept the outlier, coming to maleable terms with burbling brooks, burping brain bashing thoughts to an otherwise sought normalcy.

How can I take myself seriously when this is my serious face?

I can’t help myself, I have a problem that can’t be solved by any conventional means. I spend nearly  every day doing this for at least an hour, sometimes three in a row. If I could only control myself and stop watching Wife Swap my days would be much clearer and brighter. May I indulge for a minute though?

This is the God Warrior, she was on Wife Swap. She went to a home that was not Christian, and followed astrology. She did not enjoy their company, as this clip will show you.

Wife Swap is possibly the greatest show on television, just behind Star Trek. The basic premise of Wife Swap is that two families with entirely different views on life, religion, gender roles and other lifestyle choices swap wives for two weeks and experience each others lives. This gives way to much argument and eventually perspective and learning, which is the heart-tugging part of the show that really gets me. There are so many differences between people who I simply could never think of. Such as a husband that makes his wife do housework in high-heel knee-length black leather boots (which look fantastic on her), when she isn’t entering her 1-year-old child in beauty pageants.

Why am I compelled to watch this show? Because these are some of the strangest people I’ve ever seen, and I find comfort in knowing that I am less strange. Though should I become a stranger person? If I were stranger, or open with my oddness to the world, I think I would find myself on television if I tried. Television shows are always filled with the shortest straws of the pull, but they are so courageous and energetic that I am envious.

Is the solution I seek to join the televised brave and dumb, become them since I cannot beat them? I think so, but which show should I apply myself towards? I don’t have enough illegitimate children (currently zero) to get on Jerry Springer, nor am I cheating on my man with a woman that is his sister who is really a transsexual. I could get on Maury for a paternity test if I screwed half the town, but I might end up with a child in the end, and that’s not worth the glory of television. Anyone have any ideas of which reality show/game show/talk show I should push myself onto? I cannot apply for Wife Swap, but I’ll keep watching it.

I’m living in a strange new place, almost a different planet. So close but so far from the bay area that I grew up in. Life here is generally slower, unless you are a tweaker, which seems to be a problem out here. People are friendlier, calmer, just going about their day. There are lots of flies too. Though I admit I miss the pace and anxiety that the bay area offers, I am learning to enjoy the pace out here. Maybe I’m just seeing everything wrong because classes haven’t started yet, and I haven’t found work yet.

I’m job hunting, searching the internet and applying for all sorts of retail and food service jobs I may or may not be qualified to handle. This is all an online process that benefits me because I do not have much funding for gas money at the moment. The way it works with all the companies I have applied for is that they use another company to administer what is called as ‘Assessment Test’, basically a test of my personality and what I would do in certain customer related situations, or if an employee is doing something unethical or against corporate policy. Most of these question are repetitive and brain-draining, but every once in one hundred I find one that makes me snicker.

These are mostly rated on a scale of Strongly Disagree to Strongly Agree, so when I see ‘You have no problem telling someone off’, I laugh, because who is really going to put Strongly Agree? Another asked me ‘Which percentage of politicians I thought are corrupt, as if I have any real clue. I assumed the question was alluding to the question ‘Which percentage of management do you think is corrupt?’, my reply 0%-5%. In my experience management is not corrupt, they just cannot comprehend the situations of the little guy they oversee. Management is generally ignorant, but that’s alright, as long as they’re still trying.

Figuring out these questions and what their true concern is takes a bit of time, but I’m figuring the correct answers. In a way they really confirm who you are as a person, to make a stand on your beliefs with questions that are never asked otherwise. One of these places needs to call me back, especially Starbucks, I’ve been making their drinks long enough to be able to perform the job with ease. I suppose its just a waiting game, time to chill, relax, take all of this change in and adjust to the new lifestyle because it’s going to last a while.

Inspiration has been lost, there is certainly a way to find It. If there was no way to find It, again, then what is the point of achieving the daily goals that lead to the monthly and lifetime goals set forth? Would the point merely be existence? 42? I can track Inspiration down, Inspiration that has long been with me – Companion. Companion need not be true or loved or enjoyed, though that does assist well – Companion merely must exist. 42. Perhaps Inspiration is not lost, only morphing to an unfamiliar and not responding to my calls outside, “Inspiraaatiooonnn…..here here, time to eat. Treat? Inspiraaatiooonnn…” Do you understand what I’m saying to you?

I look through the changing colors of clouds, black and wet and white and dry, to see clearly, see Sky who does not exist in the most common of realities. Seeing Sky is the start of something so beautiful, Sky’s simplicity. The clouds embrace my being and become me, which is why seeing through them to an effervescent lie disguised as Truth is so simple. Though if I know the attractive lie is masking Truth, covered in lie’s sparkle, does that mean I know Truth and am all understanding? Is this why Companion has gone? Truth is possibly Lie and lie is Truth. Companion, this is why I seek you, you’re return, you’re form of understanding need be in this Eye so that a minimal understanding can be had, so I can follow the West Wind.

I sit back and let my natural mind analyze the real world, only to discover that Reality does not exist. I’m starting to believe that the world I don’t see truly is cotton candy, and I love cotton candy, though it’s completely unhealthy.

Heavy recollections of recent events fill the airy void that is our often sunshine filled day, dense with heated significance and hues of probability. Gaia flows for her faithful and allows another existance of this realm to be worshipped while her flowers give faith to the creatures that require them and disregard other thought, disregard thought entirely. Thoughts reside within us, humanity, and this drains us as bees do pollen in the beautful field, a lifetime of repetition to complete for every sun. The endless cycle has no finishline with bright yellow ribbon and cheers for the victor, the victor will not be recognized for the victor is non-existant.

My recent reaches four years, through a desire to discover and the discovered reaching a daily reality, this must be how the wind occurs in its relieving or destructive bursts. More years gather momentum down the jaggedly sloped path, enlarging as it picks up pieces of broken glass that past events have shattered for bare feet to stain with thoughtful red. Over time the path gathers more blood from steps taken deeper into the minds reserve, cutting a unique trail that will sink and grow into rust colored fields. The feet marking this red Earth will season, more adept by walking over the sharp but never forgotten. Feet will crack, fracture, but somehow will not break or become useless as obstacles approach the path, the scent becomes a stench that holds posession of a protective aura. This path becomes a certain road, firm and able to be ridden by others yet cannot reach an end because the end reroutes, detours and remodels itself as an awful sound approaches. The end retreats in fear, camoflauging itself. The final step in the road is maleable to all circumstances and will not allow a single bloody footstep, it must be clean for the victor.