i to i: Where it*s always Ladies Night!

God bless those Gideon's…
Blessings escape my lips as I tear a dog-eared page off the nightstand bible.

I hear people fucking in the next room as I watch the moving wallpaper of a TV bolted to a dresser. Switching channels, I find a Wheel of Fortune rerun.
The wheel spins as walls echo the slap of balls on ass.
A Midwest wife buys a vowel.
The couple screams in approval.
Harder and harder, cervix-bruising thrusts push the bedframe against my wall.
Molly from Des Moines solves the puzzle.
As Vanna spins the letters both women orgasm, the synergy is almost poetic.

I bite, ignoring the screams till my teeth meet. Like a dog drying itself, he shakes from side to side coating the room in blood. I spit what's left of him out; closing my eyes and repeating: this is not real.

I use what's left of the lamp and jam the wires into what used to be him. He twitches for the longest five minutes of my life.

It's Christmas Eve and I don't have the holiday spirit. Seeking a liquid cure to the blogger blues, I yearn for a time when the words will once again flow like the liquor in my veins. Easier said than done when I searching for a minute of the day to be in the company of only my thoughts.

Family time while needed, has depleted my energy, patience, money and time. Not to mention preventing quality time with the girlfriend. On our one and only date night this week, we spent an hour at the airport picking up my sister. Saturday's Psyclon-9/S* marked the end of this year's scene events, a scene I've been fading from this year.

They say God gives to the giver and takes from the taker, but lately it seems I just give and life just takes.

The sibs are coming to town, which means Airport/Taxi duty. My brother's flight was delayed an hour and didn't land until midnight. Of course, I'm the idiot who has to pick him up and drop him off as well, my sister lands on my regularly scheduled date night. Then I can look forward to weekend-before-Christmas trips to the mall.

There once was a time when my morning consisted of reading 5-10 blogs with my corn flakes. Every day I got to experience some internet-celeb's thoughts on life.

As such, I could spout my thoughts onto the blank canvas of anonymity provided by the world wide web. However, there's little anonymity when friends, coworkers and my significant other read what I write. Creating a pressure to perform with less to say that will be "new".

Tonight as any other night I pray for creativity to show itself for no one's pleasure but my own. I search for an end to my fiction as I contemplate how long I've disregarded this tool of connectivity for 'real' life.

        Wasted on clockwatching at the office
        Swallowed like Dirty Girlscouts at the club
        Drowned in a bathtub whilst being ridden like a ten-cent pony with a pocketful of dimes.
        Lost in the desert of her stare.

At times I feel like a stranger a stranger to this cyber 'me'.
A stranger to these words, which I once commanded, or did they command me?
As I prepare to say goodbye to 2006, I realize I'm too busy experiencing existence to remember my fiction.

The brisk air, the early dusk, the lingering waft of burning lumber: winter arrives.
As this year spirals towards its demise we wonder where the time went.
Slaloming through the circumstances of life; we ponder where this year
is going and where it has taken us.

The hourglass of our lives has a year less of sand.
What have we traded for it?
Lost resolutions and Forgotten promises?
Missed opportunities and regret?

Just enough time to forget about work and get used to
sleeping in before the new week starts. Monday after break has
to be the longest and worst day possible.

In instances and flashbacks, another long weekend dissolves before
my eyes like ruffies in a Cosmo at Homme. Where the music flows through
my body with Rob's excellent selection of EBM. Thanksgiving arrives at
3am with the
company of FFXII. An already boring day worsen by 'The Fountain';
a movie that felt like two cups of Nyquil.

The night brings The Girl and bliss begins, recalling all the
reasons to be thankful this year:

Behind those clouds, I'm almost home
Alone and ever so slightly over the state line of Inebriation.
With doubts as big as oceans, the daffodil lament of drugs
and alcohol calm my mind and still...

Leaves fall like saffron confetti, marking the end of another year
Twinkling in dying sunlight like the ghosts of spring.
And what have I heard about the best-laid plans?

What happened to New Year resolutions made under the spell of a
chameleon-haired girl?

Bleeding distress under duress, peripatetic thoughts drift through my
head like reckless sighs.
Blurring past and gliding faster in a haze of unaccounted days.
When blushing ambition swayed the Cradle weeping the one.

Under the red suburban sky they drive, driving into forever if the only had the time.

They head towards the downtown lights wild and free, belonging only to road and each other.
His eyes on the road, her hands on the wheel.

Beneath the hem of her mini-skirt, he touches the alabaster skin of her velvet legs.
She melts at the touch as fingers twist like leaves in Autumn.
Nubile flesh under his command as she gasps a whisper of sighs
The warmth of her silken secret guides spider fingers towards her inner-thigh.

Till only a shred of satin separates him from the secrets of his lover's lover's alibi.

She arches her back and snakes her hand towards the bulge in his pants.
Squeezing and rubbing over the zipper like a magic lamp.
Her hand unbuttons and unzips before sliding inside.
Cold as November she strokes to the beat of the music.
The gravity of evil melodies and industrial beats pounding like the devil's toothache.

Fantasies inundate his head as she dives towards him mouth first.
His foot revs the engine to her rhythm as road reflectors pass like stars at warp speed.
Fast and faster, with his length between her lips; she churns his lap like an Amish girl making butter.

Trying to concentrate while she works her magic his hand is now knuckle deep in her hairless folds.
Fast and slow the gyrations of mouth, tongue, hands and fingers sway to the pleasures.
Ever closer a trainwreck explosion; juices are swallowed whole and licked clean.

Bathed in a kaleidoscope of light L oversees her crowd through the haze of smoke: Fratboys on the left, businessmen on the right, lonely alcoholics? Dead center: my section.

The spotlight shines on the brass pole, gleaming like a beacon for crimson eyes. I take a sip as the show starts. Pink as cotton candy, fog fills the room. The music starts and the audience cheers, she lives for this. L takes the stage as stiletto heels click and clack to the beat of the music and the whistles from the audience. Arms, akimbo with confidence, rest on hips swaying toned legs that stretch like Manhattan high-rises. This is her world and I am but a worshipper.

The men move their chairs closer: it's her they've come to see. Eyeballs follow her runway strut as neon lights frame L's cheekbones like an Arizona sunset. The men salivate as dirty thoughts undress her before she starts to dance. In vivid color and smell, the fantasy comes to life as their members engorge with blood.

Imagining in lurid detail those wistful seconds that occupy every man's mind any time an attractive female walks by. The way they see themselves penetrating her every orifice: raw and bare and so hard it makes her wince.

Each moment another sweaty jigsaw visage burned into the halos of their imagination. Every red-lit second a new position, every thrust -an orgasm. Their mercurial visions with every nuance of porno-taught maneuvers and double-jointed fantasies.

L relishes the visceral approval of her fan-boys and their sweaty dollar bills. Her cobalt blue eyes stare into their hungry eyes; the game hasn't started yet she's already won. L's hips begin their earthquake shakes, twisting like a screwdriver, an ass that could bounce a quarter. Her pale skin glistens with glitter as she dips and rises, blowing kisses at drunks emptying their wallets.

Unhooking her bra, beads of sweat and glitter slide down L's roller coaster curves. Stuffing greenbacks into her stockings the girl with the amber-waves of hair winks as she picks up the bills. Five dollars for two seconds of eye contact.

Needing to break my twenty, I order another drink. I remind the waitress to put some love in it, since it's the only way to taste alcohol after a sixth drink. I spark a clove and taste the sweet exotic kiss lingering on my lips as its fiberglass eats my blackened lungs. I throw my change on stage as L rolls her panties off, revealing a shaved mound of pink perfection. Cheers metamorph into the guttural primal-screams of the male animal.

Stiff as a Monday morning and twice as ugly, I drown the sorrows that taint my tomorrows with the chaos of the streets. The fantasies engulf my mind and I sink in my desire. Swimming in the ether of alcohol and lust.

The time drifts faster as the days get shorter. Too short a time one might say for these idle hands to do the devil's work. Still I try but much like any good time, my vacation has flown by and flown away. Amid concerts and good company, the time-machine of my happiness is approaching the horrors of Monday faster than I care to think about. Only memories keep me company like Tuesday night's concert-series finale Ladytron show.

A long line waited outside The Clubhouse, a venue with a cooler name than its actual strip-mall surroundings. The girl and I figured (expected, hoped) the pomp and circumstance of an Electroclash show would bring out the glam in people. Unfortunately we were drowning in a denim-blue sea of jeans and ugly indie-ness.

Ladytron's set began at 10:30 after the awful, yet masterfully named: Cansei de Ser Sexie. Showing a certain degree of aloofness, the singers began the show almost robotically with High Rise. Lucky for us, the band warmed up as the set wore on. Standing in front of the Babylon synth we noticed the faint traces of a smile on Mira Aroyo's face. As further human-proof, she of the rockstar 'tude even sang a song in Bulgarian.

The band performed an entertaining mix of new and classic 'singles' that got the crowd involved. Ending the show with Destroy Everything You Touch the band pulled out all it's stops as people sang along and jumped on stage as they blended that song with Haddaway's What is love. We left after midnight with sore legs but happy that we got more than what we expected.

The days have drifted and blended into those silky moments that seem to last forever, if only in our dreams. Until they fade into memory, last week passing through and passing by the aural bliss of five concerts in seven days.

Internal machinations struck a Brit Pop chord to Placebo on Tuesday, who were starting their Meds tour of North America at the Marquee Theater. Venturing through a crowd three times the size of 2003's show and high on Kind; my companion and I notice a large portion of goth-scensters at the show, funny how the same always end up at the same places. Placebo takes the stage as I cringe at poor, shaved-headed and unsexy Brian (1998 and I miss you baby!)

Those Euro pretty boys put on a great if somewhat 'impersonal' show (Steve didn't dance to 'Taste in Men'). As expected, heavy on Meds material and less on classic Placebo (almost unfathomable they omitted Pure Morning).

The Setlist 10/17/06: Infra Red, Meds, Because I want You, Drag, Sleeping With Ghosts, I know, Song to Say Goodbye, Every you Every me, Special Needs, One of a Kind, Without You I'm Nothing, Bionic, Special K, The Bitter End *encore*: Running Up that Hill, Taste in Men, 20 Years.

Wednesday, I awoke too "ill" to work, deciding to make most of my day hitting the mall and scoring some red eye-shadow at Hot Topic for the night's EBM mastery of Covenant. The girl and I arrive to a sea of black at The Sets. Pointing out jeans and the ugly people we wait for Imperative Reaction's set; this is the fourth time they've opened up for a band I wanted to see. At 10:30 Covenant takes the stage, starting with the infectious '20Hz'. The black-suited/white-tie'd Eskil sings with a hand in the air like a preacher testifying. The adoring crowd of disciples sings along to We stand Alone:

The band peppered their set with new and old songs, elating the crowd with classics. They ended their set with 'Dead Stars', making the show well worth the sleep-deprivation.

10/22/06 Sunday arrived faster than expected. Chad and Renzy came over around 2:30, with Kind for the trip. We chilled till a quarter to 4 and then I drove Chad's car to Tucson. The hour and a half Sunday drive flew like the second-hand smoke arriving at dusk to the Old Pueblo. Things got more complicated downtown as the streets are all one way, which made The Rialto impossible to find. Lost, starving and with water-ballon bladders about to explode, we stopped at some ghetto-ass mall, that made 'Christown' look like Fashion Square. Everything in the whole place had gone out of business but three stores. We made a pit stop at the JC Penny before driving further into the suburbs and stopping at the TGIF's for dinner. A customer gave us directions back downtown where we found a long tight-pant'd line of indie-kids waiting outside the theater.

We found a parking spot and smoked a couple of bowls of Kind then made our way inside. The bad hair and the oddball t-shirts were in abundance, surprisingly some were attendees were older than 60: all here for the Decemberists.

The opener, Lavender Diamonds, took the stage, doing more talking than music playing the quirky singer appeared higher than we were. She charmed the crowd and sang her hopeful tunes with musical-theater emotion.
When their set was over, the crowd starting getting anxious for The Decemberists, who finally took the stage at 9:30. Much like the album this tour was supporting the set began with Crane Wife 3. Colin and the band were in this for the longhaul as they began the 13 minute epic "The island..." Cheers and applause from the faithful only grew louder with "We Both Go Down Together" and "Engine Driver" from Picaresque. My fave performance was Legionnaire's Lament:

The Set List 10/22/06: The Crane Wife 3, `The Island/Come and See/The Landlord's Daughter/You'll Not Feel the Drowning, We Both Go Down Together, Engine Driver, The Perfect Crime #2, Legionnaire's Lament, O Valencia, Shankhill Butchers, Song for Myla Goldberg, Los Angeles I'm Yours, Odalisque, Crane Wife 1 & 2, Sons and Daughters *encore *: Culling of the Fold, 16 Military Wives.

Monday 10/23/06: Grateful that Fall break fell into my concert schedule, I slept in a feeble attempt to enjoy my vacation by burying my head in the sand to the outside world. The world however, came knocking on my door with a few chores before the night's Combichrist/KMFDM show. Arriving fashionably late, I make it in 15 minutes before Combichrist. The hour-long set of glorious industrial beats made this the funnest of the shows I've been to. I only stuck around for three songs of the KMFDM set before heading to the patio and conversing with Miss St.James and her friends.

As my house of cards is destroyed by a micromanager of baa-ing sheep; reality strikes: cold and hard, like a pimpslap on a Christmas morning. So it goes, day after day for the opportunity to have an opportunity.

While bystanders yell "Jump", I evoke the mantra of battered wives and would be suicides:

My tits hurt and I need a cigarette, I stumble over lubed sextoys and grab my vomit-stained robe: periwinkle terrycloth like the natural color of my current rabbit-pink eyes. Reaching for my sunglasses, I walk out the patio doors, shining like the gold-plated Buddha on the mantle.

I inhale deeply and exhale slowly, trying to remember today's appointments. Placing wrinkle face after wrinkle face of those I will spend too much time with and too little sympathy upon.

While my Vietnamese girlfriend showers, I Irish up my coffee; not remembering if I fell asleep or passed out, woke up or came to. Over breakfast, she and I discuss the VA gossip: who is getting divorced and who is sleeping with whom (if they only knew our secret).

In broken-English she tells me shes warming up the car. I empty a bottle of water and fill it up with Stoli, hoping that will get me through the day before I resort to giftshop Listerine.

Feeling the weight of stares, we enter the packed lobby as converse-wearing teenagers in footless tights people-watch. As we walk towards the auditorium, a drunken skank yells in my date's direction: "Look at that hot bitch!"
We find our seats waiting for Saosin to take the stage, one song into their set and we walk out. Deciding it was better to wait in the huge merch line moving an inch a minute than watch them. 40minutes later, we walk away with a poster and a baby-tee but not before an old nava-joe comments on the Girl's hair.

In the auditorium, a banner reading AFI hangs above the all white stage. The lights dim and a fog of smoke begins the show. The crowd cheers as the band takes the stage with Prelude 12/21, dressed like Droogs from A Clockwork Orange.
Displaying more anger than a sXe veggan should, Davey jumps in between monitors and drum platform; while the crowd dances to its misery. The bassist and guitarist can do little but twirl in rehearsed moves. Davey admits it's been years overdue since the band played in phx. At one point Davey walks on the pit as he sings; engaging in the kind of histrionics that make a lead singer the center of attention. As fans sing their sorrow, the band tears a blistering set of post-punk songs through an hour-long set. Denied an encore, we make our way home and continue the kindness party.

Wednesday:
Awoken and gravely ill with Girl-itis, I excuse myself from work and spend another day of they dying summer with her. Wondering where the time has gone is a constant fascination of ours as are the MarioKart striptease wagers and He-Man haired mandolin playing, madrigal-worthy comebacks.

Thursday:
At the office awaits twenty boxes each weighing 28lbs that must be sifted and separated into packages. Three hours of back-breaking labor better suited for a minimum-wage monkey than myself. Renzy stopped by later with Cabal with some goodies till the threat of rain made her call her BF to the rescue.

Friday:
The secretary inservice I was "volunteered" for made for a rare 5:30 Friday morning. A boring event though I did walk out winning one of the table centerpieces in a raffle. I felt like a promqueen picking up my fake-flowery vase. After work I picked up some lettuce from a coworker and headed home to start my night. The Girl and I headed to Applebee's for dinner as we were leaving the truck in front of us turned it's lights on but did not move.
Figuring we would be leaving and he could just stroll through our spot instead of backing out. I wasn't about to have that: this was a face off. We remained in my car for at least five minutes. Both cars running, I even put the sunshade so we could make out while the old man waited. Victory was ours though short-lived since a car pulled up in its place before I could drive through. We made it back to my house before the storm hit though 15minutes before midnight we rushed to the Blockbuster to rent Matrix Reloaded and falling asleep before the end.

♫ of the day: Sebastien Schuller "Tears Coming Home"

08.06.06 Asylum Obsessions

        Wails and moans awaken me, bellowing in pain from locked rooms like a fog of delirium. I open my eyes to the milky fluorescence peering through the barred windows. As the moonlight zebra-stripes my wall, I hear footsteps in the distance.
        Tick-tocking like a metronome to this symphony of hopelessness.

        Like waiting eyes, two red lights mark the Exit down the long corridor past two locked doors: three hundred ten steps and two guards away from my cell. Beckoning me under its spell, the guilt of sanity drives the lunacy as I count the tally bars in a place where time stands still.

        The sweet asylum of your voice entices me within the padded walls of memory. Recalling the night you took my lips and I took your breath, You gave your heart and I gave you death.

        Vivesecting your torso elbow-deep till my arm could fit in your warm crevasse. Reaching into your still-beating heart and picking it like an apple. From within your Tree of Knowledge, Adam devours Eve

        As I consume the obsession growing like your newborn.

♫ of the day: Susanna and the Magical Orchestra
"Love Will Tear Us Apart"

08.02.06 Retirement Home Robin Hood

        Doors open and lights come on, its closing time and last call was three drinks ago. I take another bump, unable to remember the last time I showered or ate or slept. My heart rate spikes as thoughts warp speed through my mind and my nose begins to bleed. A trail of ruby drops fall like breadcrumbs as I make my way into the night.

        The club may be closing but my night has just begun, I drive towards a retirement community: it's reckoning time at the old folks home. I elbow the window as glass burst into shards, falling like crystal shrapnel on the floor; this is what leather jackets were made for.

        The room inside is sterile and cold: surrounded by vanilla colored walls, death and mildew hang like vultures from the ceiling. Mop-bleached figure-8's adorn the banana-yellow linoleum reeking of bleach and vomit.

        While the aged gamble on sleep they may never wake from, I pillage the nurses station like a pharmaceutical Robin Hood: stealing from the rich and selling to the poor. I pocket the painkillers and a gold mine of mood-alterers: Vicodin, Percocet, Prozac, BuSpar, Klonopin, Xanax and Xoloft.

        In an instant, my eyes are blinded by a flashlight; fluorescent beams shine and an alarm rings, piercing the silent sky as I run. The rush consumes my body; muscles become fire and blood turns to gasoline.

        Under the winter moonlight, adrenaline and sweat cool my brow as my mind races for a place to hide. I hear sirens ringing behind me as ill-gotten party-favors tingle in my pocket like loose change.

        My heavy boots pound pavement like acid horseshit as I look for a place to hide. Like ricocheting bullets, eyes dart at the nooks and crannies ahead of me. I slip on dirt alley gravel as my leg sliding under me like Bambi on a frozen lake.

        The smell of earth in my nose, the taste of fear in my mouth. Fast as hummingbirds, images rush through my head. Only when I am close to death do I really feel alive.

♫ of the day: Combichrist "Get Your Body Beat"

07.30.06 "Like a New Emotion"

Like medallions of great times, bruises and sores line my body, a survivor to the weekend. As the Sunday dusk disappears into night, memories are the only thing that keeps me going to face the hell of the workweek. Those Percocet-frosted recollections of vodka-tinged lips and lemonade, smoke filled lungs and gravid clouds moaning in ecstasy.

The unexpected serendipity of Tuesday's visit was as welcomed as the monsoon rain on a summer night. Pounding onto the ceiling as I pounded into her, the pitter-patter of raindrops drip like her juices.

The humpday hump before work propelled the end of the week, as did the visit to Resurrection. While I'm sure I'll return, I can only hope the gay to goth ratio is less skewed.

Thursday's HOA gripe-a-thon ate up an hour of my next-to-last threeday weekend, with the Girl was spending the night, I needed as much time as possible considering we were watching (and NOT fornicating to) The Wall concert dvd. We awoke to adventures in North Scottsdale on friday, grabbing lunch at Flo's then browsing the Great Indoors and the Norstrom's Rack before stopping by Fashion Square. Walking the MILF infested swanky stores, we loiter at Hot Topic like good scenster's and call it a day.
Night arrives as fast as the wink in a young girl's eye, leading the hungry to Chilli's and watching Charlize Theron as Aeon Flux.

The Westside connection arrived on Saturday, fueling the night with enough recreational chemicals, sugars and Mario Kart to satisfy my weekend quota.

♫ of the day: Eurythmics "Here Comes the Rain Again"

07.27.06 Glory Hole-in-the-Wall

What to do when the best Industrial club in town goes out?
Search for a replacement.

Heading past the Lenny's AND the Jenny's, we venture out of the freeway of midlife crisis and into the gay district. Homme is hosting Resurrection: a free-cover goth night with 2-4-1 drinks.

We pull into the parking lot where we spot a hardcore Rivethead getting out of a not-so-hardcore minivan. I try to hold my laughter as we walk inside the small lounge; therein I get 'the stare' from some of the gay non-goth clientele. My eye shadow must be activating the fag-magnet. I avoid eye contact and make my way towards the bar.

Candle-lit and air-conditioned, we find a table where our fabulous waiter calls us "sweeties" and takes our order for a couple of Dirty Girl Scouts. I make sure to only get one drink lest I have to use a bathroom with Swiss-cheese stalls.

On the dance floor a giant projection of Tom Cruise tells Jamie Fox to drive him around LA for the night. The music is reminiscent of the old days at The Jar, a sprinkling of industrial accompanied mostly by dark electro, light EMB and darkwave.

When midnight arrives and we dont see any more familiar scenester's, we take off for greener pastures still searching for that next A51.

♫ of the day: Pzychobitch "Pussygang"

07.24.06 Wilted

            Scorching like the apathy of the summer sun, hatred and frustration consume my thoughts.
    Burning away the simple desires that make life worth living.
    Torn asunder and against the ropes, only desperation keeps hope alive.
    Mercurial as my graces yet unchanging, fortune forsakes me.
    Eclipsing the light at the end of the tunnel and replacing it for another oncoming train.
            Only the haven of the ephemeral weekend soothes my thoughts.
    Yearning for the glassy-eyed Platinum rapture of instant peace of mind.
    That sweet and feral hunger she takes me to.
    Where the world ceases and she begins.

♫ of the day: Asobe Seksu "Thursday"

07.20.06 Succor

    Hope,
    Such a martyr word.
    Engorged with promise, filled with lies, seething in desperation.

Why me?
Why you?
Why anyone?

    As Ire flows through my veins, wrath consumes my thoughts;
    I find myself reaching the nadir of perdition.
    Inundated with tears of rage by whatever karmic-hot-potato game life wants to play with me.
    Bereft of justice; my milk of human kindness turns to yogurt.
    Lingering in anger and sadness: the overwhelming taste of defeat.
    Shattered like the window of my car, broken dreams turn to crystal shrapnel.
    That shine like diamonds on the downward spiral befalling this exhausted soul.

♫ of the day: El Perro Del Mar "Party"

07.17.06 Sanctified

Working in conditions fit only for 8yr old asians, the first day without AC at the office was hell. My only respite was the promise of a good night at the start of my weekend. A haircut, a bank trip and two tires later, I found myself enduring one of the hottest days of the year. At dusk the Girl arrived bringing the promise of good times.

However, all wasn't fun and games, my car was broken into and my stereo was stolen. This just after paying the $1,300 ransom Camelback VW demanded to get it back.

    A butterfly collection of acquaintances
                                                   on a wall of html.

    Where pictures and comments are displayed
                                                                 like high school trophies behind glass.

    To stare and contemplate as real,
                                                yet untouchable proof of self worth.

It seems unfair, how often you plead and how rarely he listens.
Where are your champagne wishes? Where are your caviar dreams?

        I used to dream in black and white, but now I only dream in red.
On my bed, visions of rose pedals falling in slow motion like crimson confetti.
        I focus on the delicious sin of skin, of sweat, of her in the alluring pantomime of sleep.
Deep as the weight of my stare, it keeps me wondering if I'm alive and dreaming or dead and remembering.
        The night dismembers into day, breaking like scarlet shards of kaleidoscope glass.
As shadows and lights become one. As clothes and sheets come undone.
        Red as the blood coursing through my veins in memories of bliss.
A sanguine kiss from ether lips the color of a royal flush.
        Bleeding like a rosebush of desiccated flowers hanging in a teen girl's room.

♫ of the day: Sigur Ros "Gong"

04.16.06 Evaporation of Easter

When my siblings and I were younger, Easter meant baskets filled with peeps marshmallows, chocolate bunnies and plastic eggs floating on cellophane grass. My mom would buy my sister a pastel dress with bonnet, take pictures for our grandparents and cook a ham like 50's housewife. We would go on egg-hunts finding most of the dozen pastel-colored eggs my mom had hidden and leaving the un-found ones to be located by our noses when they rotted a month later.
Eventually we grew, and not only was the egg hunt cancelled but Easter as a whole fell into desuetude. Last year my ex's mom gave me a chocolate bunny before my own mother did. I feel gipped, she hasnt made dinner for 4 years and counting. Are three people not enough for a 'family dinner'?

♫ of the day: She Wants Revenge "Spend The Night"

04.13.06 "Sky rockets in flight..."

Lemmings rush to work in cars flying down the freeway as fast as women at a shoe sale. I'm riding shotgun in Christina's car to another State dept meeting. As always we're running late and she's trying to speed up time by cutting into lanes and yielding to no one. These ever-so-boring reunions have only one upside: sleeping in, which after a busy Tuesday night, was needed.
I sit in a crowded room as the cacophony of voices representing every Arizona district argue over tests and costs. I roll my eyes and look at the clock, leaving my fantasies of escape as hollow as the chocolate bunnies of Easter. My daydreams shift to the sleeping girl on my bed swirling in a jetsam of thoughts and afternoon delights.

♫ of the day: Covenant "20 Hz"

04.10.06 Weekend Medication

        A weekend blurred in salty skin, bohemian art and missed quinceañeras amidst a foggy haze of bliss making time disappear. Before I know it, Im waking up bruised and sore and yearning for more. As the mounting wall of responsibility blocks the light at the end of the tunnel, I plug the leaks Dutch boy style till I run out of fingers and pray the dike doesnt collapse. In the rhetoric of the misbegotten, there is only so much we can juggle.
        Another dawn, another dusk and with that we are another day closer to our last. We trampoline on the trapdoor of paradise, heading into the unknown with the fervor of our remaining sanity towards that which we were told we should be: Productive cogs of the all mighty machination called America.
         A desire propelling our rusty wheels to the office every morning, where we trade bits of our soul for dollars on the hour. All while self-medicating in search of a remedy to gets us through the night.

♫ of the day: The Perishers "Sway"

04.07.06 Bore & Porn

        After an eyelined night of stomping and watching my friend out-skank a fat bellydancer for a ride to Sadisco from the 'new guy' in town, I awoke to an alarm clock with a surly disposition. The only thing on my agenda today was a State Dept meeting.
        Honestly, it was more boring than church. I dont think I have ever been so bored in my life, like a dose of Nyquil without the fun side effects.
It felt like sitting in really boring High School class when all I could do to save my sanity is pass notes back and forth to the kid next to me. Which I did to Christina about how just how pointless this meeting was and how the hindu next to me smelled like chicken curry.
        She inquired if I had handcuffs (something I am often asked); I told her 'yes' but lied as to where I had put them. After all, everyone knows that stuff is kept in the nightstand drawer next to the condoms, lube and zippered leather masks.
        She asked if I knew of any porn stores since she had promised her boyfriend some handcuffs tonight in exchange for a mustache ride. Since I don't know downtown PHX, we asked Mickey from the ADE who pointed us to the Castle Boutique on Camelback.
        When the clock hit noon we grabbed our stuff and headed out, driving past the construction on Central towards the porn store sitting atop That 70's Shop, a headshop with less than savory customers. We pulled up as an old man headed out to his car with a blue cellophane bag hiding whatever indulgence would keep him company tonight.
        We found what we were looking for: an overpriced set of black handcuffs, browsing pass the Anal Intruder, a four inch vibrating butt-plug with a cock-harness and Good Head brand oral jellies for that fresh from the pornstore taste. After paying in cash, she dropped me off at home and swore me to secrecy. The things I know about that girl have forever tainted my innocence, not that there was much left to begin with. A good start to the weekend though.

♫ of the day: Painbastard "Todesengel"

04.04.06 No Respect

Warning: This is a RANT! Chock full of more piss and vinegar than your incontinent grandma's salad dressing.
    So this is what Rodney was talking about.
    Ever feel like defenestrating everything in sight in hopes the barrage of objects injure the very old and young alike? The kind of homicidal ire that fuels road-rage in LA freeways? If not, consider yourself lucky.
    In the torrential rain of piss that is my luck, issues abound which are getting me close to that point. My fortune feels like it just got done shooting a German Scheisse flick.
Evidence one: Taxes
    It was hard enough to send $181 last week, now it's time to pay $400 to the feds; apparently for not stealing enough of MY money in the first place. Even though I get paid this week, that check is spent and then some on bills.
Evidence two: AC
    My AC isnt working (well if you can call "central air" AC) isn't working. The heat was shut off last week and since then I've been waiting for the cold air. All I got was three days of outside air, and now I dont even have that; no air, tepid or otherwise, comes out of the vents. I called the HOA management company, and the lethargic assholes only informed me that they had to let the pipes cool down for three days before the cold air could blow through. Fair enough, today is the third day, where the hell is my air? This isn't funny dude, for god's sake its Arizona, its 90 and I live upstairs! To make matters worse, the AC at work has been out since the weekend, it's hotter than a MILF with a teenage daughter. So basically, I'm working at a sweatshop and coming home to one.
Evidence three: My computer
    The internet connection has never worked properly. If it's not active it gets disconnected, when it's active it gets disconnected. The whole reason I got high speed was to avoid disconnected service and I'm having more problems now than I ever did with turtle-slow dial-up, which was free. I dont know if it's the computer or the modem or the network or something in between. I usually have to keep restarting this thing if I want to be/stay online. It's more annoying than that old neighbor who walks around in wifebeaters and cut-off sweatpants.
    Let the hurling begin.

♫ of the day: Erasure "A Little Respect"

04.03.06 Imperfection

        I'm a perfectionist at heart and mind if not in life, so the varying degrees of imperfection that pepper my life like sprinkles of failure, irk me.
Irk me like an old woman watching Wheel of Fortune without butterscotch candy.
        These glass-half-empty instances of character building as my father would say, have been conspiring against me from day one. From defective chickens at 5yrs old to a high-speed internet connection that constantly disconnects.
        The propensity of these minor imperfections throughout my past serves as a reminder that my life will always be a day late and a buck short. Copasetic, but forever out of the elusive grasp of perfection.

♫ of the day: Fiona Apple "Across the Universe"

04.01.06 Wright Here, Right Now

When was the last time you opened the mailbox to find correspondence? You know, actual written communication written from one person to another. The internet took all of that away; yes email is fast, cheap and convenient but now the only mail I get are from creditors or mortgage-offers and credit card offers of wanna-be creditors.
I miss the written word (yes, I recognize the irony of communicating this thought through a keyboard).

♫ of the day: Sia "Broken Biscuit"

03.27.06 By the hour

        5:30 this morning hurt more than a football to the crotch; a rude awakening to the static of the radio. In the blinks of bloodshot eyes, weekends melt into workdays and I wonder where my vacation went.
My usual Friday night fun spoiled by code-red, a scarlet visitor that had not intruded in two months. It was time to pay the piper and that red bastard brought the collection plate. Even though Vicodin-laced drunken fun doesn't fully compare to the customary bliss, a good time was had.
        Saturday night was spent at the Bash on Ash for Club Corrosion, unfortunately adjacent to a fratboy infested bar&grill (and nothing says college kid on daddy's credit-card like a bar & grill, well besides a pooka-shell necklace). Jeremy spun a decent set, unfortunately he didn't do much flyering since only about half of A51 showed up.
        So it ends, with the first Monday back from break sitting in a dull grey office; and a Friday that seems a lifetime away.

♫ of the day: Ewan Pearson "Sci.fi.Hi.Fi. (Vol. 1 Mix)"

03.24.06 My Therapist says...

I've been conversing with two therapist friends of mine over email recently, both single women in their 30's. For some inevitable reason the subject of the conversation always turns to either money or marriage. It's like you hit 30, you realize life is over and there's a big clock above your head. It begins ticking and tocking, the older you get the faster it goes. Telling us to marry and procreate, have 2.3 children and a house in the suburbs.
I don't need the burden of old age after me, I'm still trying to figure out where the last 10years went. Didn't I graduate like last week?

♫ of the day: Destroid "Judgment Throne"

03.23.06 At Rest At Last

        I'm finally on spring break, eating leftover Panda Express from Tuesday night over the kitchen sink, in true bachelor style. I don't kick it with chop stix, so I fork the lumps of orange flavored chicken into my mouth. Wondering if the orange flavored pigeon used for this was properly cleaned. It's just a little green, it's still good, it's still good...
        I woke up with thoughts of last night at Le Cirque. My cultural day began with a trip to the Phx Art Museum with the taste of Snow. Later that night I followed a trail of crimson lights towards Westworld in North Scottsdale. One after another, cars pay the parking fee and head up a dirt hill. A night at the circus awaited; Le Cirque du Soleil's Corteo was in town and my mom bought tickets. Even with a 30% discount, she still paid over $100 for the tickets. The merchandise tent was full of outrageously priced merchandise: from $6 rubber keychains to a $400 plastic&felt mask that was probably made by an 8 year-old making a nickel an hour in a 3rd World sweatshop.
        The show itself was good, lots of French-Canadian gymnasts doing acrobatics. The second half was better than the first and I could've done without the comic routines. But what is a circus without beaten animals fornicating or flinging poo?
        Not a circus I want to return to, I'll say that much.

♫ of the day: Angels and Agony "Revelation"

03.22.06 Wistful Reprise

        There was a certain period of college when I spent days adrift, compulsively obsessing over a slant-eyed girl with a guitar. She of the words and the music, sugarcoated my university days with a kind of generalized, gossamer lovesickness often witnessed in chick-flicks and love songs.
        But like all fantasies, my wings of joy melted in sunlight of reality. Falling and finding myself drowning in tears and despair, I cursed the fates and cried myself to sleep for months. Eventually I picked myself up and moved on; asking what found me in that situation, destiny or luck. Swearing I wouldn't again fall prey to the same co-dependent sickness of the heart.
        Now, I catch myself in moments of bliss with another musical femme. Reliving the emotions once scattered to the winds of fortune. Running on impulse breathing the scent of air, when everything looks new again. When words and stories are exchanged for smiles and kisses. The kind of moments that I will remember on my deathbed; sprinkled with the same serendipity that once took me to heaven before sending me to hell.

♫ of the day: Amduscia "Beyond The Darkness"

03.19.06 Stormy Sunday

        With a deep breath I wake to the pour of rain, almost instantly thoughts of her arise as petals of water goose-step on my roof. It's the dawn of the day, and the end of weekend as memories flood my mind. Of a doorbell ring that sets my mind at ease like the whisper of angels.

        I feel the weight of the stare by dilated pupils hiding most of the blue from her storm-cloud eyes. With hungry glances, we breathe in and breathe out the sweet convalescence of our mind. In story-mode we exchange our by-proxy rollercoaster-rides and vicarious adventures lived through the collective skank-tales of our friends and confidants. Conversation flows like the Snapple between our tongues; as they say a secret is something you tell another person.

        Inevitably the festivities head upstairs where dark symphonies and aggressive beats fill the air as passion devours the fear of my VIP ticket to Abaddon in rubicund flashes of skin and sweat.

Song of the day: Combichrist "Sex, Drogen Und Industrial (Soman Remix)"

03.17.06 Piss,CornBeef&Vinegar

        Eating lucky charms and remembering billy corgan's birthday is as close as I get to celebrating St Patrick's day. Today, however, I found the fighting spirit of the irish at the "before-spring-break" closure of my morning meeting.
        We concluded with a 'Good of the Order' roundtable discussion; a chance for us to let the group know how are jobs are going. While the complains were many, airing grievances is like spring cleaning, something we should all do more often.
    To that I bring you my shitlist of the moment:

    3. Dr. Scholl's "gellin" commercials. You know the one where every idiot has to say something that phonetically ends in 'ellin'. It irks me like a fingernail to a blackboard. If anyone remembers blackboards.

    2. People who say they "heart" things instead of love them. My sister is a prime offender, she 'hearts' stake, and "hearts" sunny days. As if by saying heart you could orally describe the ♥ symbol. It sounds like something Rainbow Brite would say.

     1. The IRS and HR Block, those greedy, money-taking, cock-sucking, bean-couners deserve to be sent to a leper-colony and cattle-prodded till their assholes look as flaky as the rest of the villagers. If it wasn't for those sons-of-whores I wouldn't have to work during my spring break.

♫ of the day: Turin Brakes "Red Moon"

03.13.06 Snowflakes

        I stare at a monitor, starting back at me, as words try to purge themselves from the recesses of my mind onto digital paper. Thoughts of a blissful weekend spent strangely devoid of worry thanks to the weekend visitor.
        Flashes of memory run through my head as fast as this weekend's rain. In smiles and secrets, realty melts away like snowflakes on my tongue. An experience unto its own, as water globules pelt the rooftop, trickling water down walls like my sweat on her skin.
        Visions of bodies under the influence writhing with the rhythm of the rain, knowing the kind of bliss unbeknownst to most mortals: Heartbeats and breaths, the quiet whispers and little deaths.

♫ of the day: Moby "Lift Me Up (Superdiscount Mix)"

03.10.06 Livid

        My day really wasn't supposed to go like this. I had it planned, have a good time at Anderson's and take the day off from work to get some chores done. Mostly doing my taxes, last year I paid and after an adjustment at payroll, I was sure to get some money back this year.
        I walk into the H&R Block office that my mother had suggested. She gave me one of those recommendation coupons so I could get $20 off and she could get $10 back. The places I've gone to usually charge around $80 so I figured it would be about the same. They call 'Betty' to come and meet me. Waddling like a drunken rhino she comes to the front. I swear this woman's ass must've had it's own congressman. I'm surprised she didn't need two seats and a zip-code for that thing. Betty begins by imputing numbers, as her sausage like fingers click away, she wheezes and frowns at the numbers coming up. Apparently my employer put 3 dependants on my W2's.
SHIT.
         I knew this was bad, she starts asking questions and trying to reduce the penalty, which at the moment totaled $400 for the Feds. She reviews it and sees another possible deduction that lowers it to $120. Then she asks another accountant. This monkey-faced whore frowns more and says the deductions are too low so thanks to that piece of shit I have to pay $400 to the feds and $120 to the state.

Adding insult to injury, the $145 they charged me for tax preparation.

ONEHUNDREDFORTYFIVEFUCKING DOLLARS!

I'm livid. I need to kill something.

♫ of the day: Absurd Minds "Damn the Lie (Club Mix)"

03.08.06 The Crooked Mile

        Like God's eye, the sun winks in the horizon illuminating the 20/20 hindsight of regret waving in the rearview mirror. Both a narcissist and a pessimist, the the scion of penitence drives down the road of life as fast as the motor hums. Singing songs of goodnight and goodbye, he blurs by one-name diners and herds of sheep grazing at the grass of mediocrity.

        With apothegms haunting of sorrow, delusions of candor disappear like dreams in the morning after. An army of words on the warpath attack from his conscience as he arrives at a fork in the road.   The choice is his: the winding road of fantasy or the long and steady road to reality.

        A choice that was made before he even arrived at the shallows of his fear. While fuel burns in an empty tank, he feeds his addiction and swallows it like his pride. It's a bitter taste lingering in his mouth like rust on a nail. Knowing perdition is the only path he knows; the one that brought him here in the first place.

Song of the day: Sia "Breathe Me"

03.05.06 Baby Sleep

        What a difference a weekend makes, stressed out last week, I welcomed Thursday night with joyous aplomb; knowing if anything can decompress me, it's a night of alcohol-fueled Industrial stomping. The Westside connection joined me for a night of debauchery at Anderson's. We talked (re: they ranted) about life, love and the problem with men. By the end of their diatribe, they had me hating my own kind. "Well, ain't karma a bitch?" I uttered, reminding them that was goes around will come around.
        A51 was unfortunately playing it 'old school' peppering the night with enough Sisters and Siouxsie to give me flashbacks of the Nile. April wasn't feeling well and the music wasn't doing it for Renzy and I. I waited while she gave digits away to Slick Rick to take off to my crib for Mario Kart.
        Before I knew it the alarm was ringing and it was time for work. I was late and had lunch plans at AZ88. Alyssa picked me up and we headed to the place were Scottsdale yuppies and Lady's Who Lunch congregate. Helping my Friday die a quick death, we discussed what all 30yr old's talk about: Society's internal and external pressures and expectations of the American dream, marriage and 2.5 kids. As well as the realization of our imminent mortality, which keeps us awake with the sense of urgency reminiscent of an ER room.
        First Friday welcomed my usual visitor and I with closed doors since we dinner at the Spaghetti Factory took longer than expected. Damn, twice in as many months. We headed back to my place and watched that 90's college classic 'Reality Bites'. I waxed poetic, watching the screen feeling my own reality biting me in the ass. Sigh, has it been that long since I was a youthful university student?
        Saturday found us waiting for an unheard of half hour for our food at PeiWei before heading to Tempe. We caught the last showing of Night Watch, a Russian flick with Manson video creepiness and Matrix-like effects.
        After that it was back to the house for the Vicodin and wine cocktail we had planned before the movie that was hampered by the delay at PeiWei. The warm fuzzy of vicodin bliss burned the rest of the night away.

♫ of the day: Numb "Shithammer"

03.01.06 Temporary Permanence

Poor is the man who's pleasures depend on the permission of another         Seconds devour seconds, moving in comatose pulse, regurgitating and recycling the drama of human existence. Moments lost in the midnight of experience as the twilight of innocence drinks indulgence from the cup of life. It's the impermanence of existence burning like incense, smoking our mortality away.
        By ashen crosses, some launder karma and empty closets of skeletons if only to make room for more. Another day and another choice: downfall or redemption, self-indulgence or self-denial.
         For 40 days some will abstain from the sins they indulge 325 days out of the year. To those seeking benediction through oaths of change, there is only one thing to say:

Desire is the fire in which we burn.

♫ of the day: New Order "Guilt Is A Useless Emotion (Mac Quayle Vocal Mix)"

02.28.06 Nowhere and Now

        Over the weekend my sister got engaged. Her boyfriend proposed over the paella of her pre-birthday dinner. My little sister is now ready to become a "Mrs." Granted it will be a while before they're actually married but just the idea of it makes my head spin. I remember when she was born, how did 22yrs fly by so fast?
        It's not a jealousy issue I'm happy for her, I just hope Anais doesn't end up divorced at 30 like all my other friends who married young.
        What I won't like, however, will be the undue pressure to follow in her footsteps that this will bring, since I'm already getting pressured to wed. Just yesterday at AZ88, Elsa told me I "needed" to be married. Who made my co-workers the marriage police?
        One thing is sure, the whirlwinds of change are whispering as epochs of my life end and emerge; combining past and future like a swirl-cone of frozen yogurt. I feel it happening as quickly as winter turns to spring and faster than I will remember when it ends.

♫ of the day: The Dandy Warhols "Heavenly"

02.23.06 Requiem for Reality

        With an itch you cannot scratch you drive blind and broken, each mile leading you further from your lies and broken promises. Promises you've broken a thousand times to your God, to your wife, to your children and to yourself.

        You crank up the classic rock station, banging your head while you devil-horn your fingers like you did in the 80's. Tapping your acid-washed jeans to the beat of the drum, trying anything to distract you from the tingle beneath your farm-tanned skin. The angry burrowing of your addiction demands undivided attention.

        As you chain smoke to keep your sanity, sweat beads down your neck like rain on a window. The worn engine throttles like a toothache in the car you stole from the mother of your children as the crepuscular sun burns your shadow on the cement median. In the rush hour crawl you drive to parts of town only the lost know how to find while the amber glow of dusk shines on the freeway like the yellow-brick road to regret.

        Your paycheck cashed at a F.O.B Korean-owned liquor store. Where someone who can't speak English carries a .357 on his right hip. He knows your kind and still thinks twice about the food of the children whose pictures peek on the plastic flaps of your cheap velcro wallet.
        Twice more than you.

        The Emerald City is a dirty motel where whores live and work, and beds have been fucked into submission the shape of old-school satellite dishes. Each guest has either a tourniquet or a pipe, like yours, in hand. No one asks questions and only thing that is emerald is the color of the pool water.   Still, you made sure to bring tinfoil for the windows.

        With a wad of cash in your front pocket, you light another Pall Mall and go see the Wizard who trades your paper for his rocks. Your courage, your heart and your brain in pop-rock form, inside a zip-lock bag that always looks smaller than the last time you bought one. But it's enough to get you through the night, enough to make the itch go away.

        You barricade the door and shut the blinds. With a flicker of a lighter the smoldering and smothering rapture soothes the marching ants of your dying will. You inhale the smoke, now medicating an Armageddon for your mind. Burning in the sweet acid decay, reality disappears. Another lost weekend spent with a do not disturb sign on the brass doorknob. No remorse in self-indulgence.

        You find heaven in the heart of hell as the taste of defeat lingers in your mouth like a rapist's kiss.

♫ of the day Placebo "In the Cold Light of the Morning"

02.22.06 Cake & Colonoscopy

        Although it is happening on her birthday, it's not just Elsa getting something, long and metal, shoved up the butt: Camelback VW called.
        It looks like the compressor is the problem, the woman estimated another $500 (and that's with the "deal" she promised). If I add the cost of this month's insurance ($113) plus the oil change ($23) plus the car payment ($320), I've paid over $1,200 on that piece of shit in February alone.
        Sigh, I need to kill something.

♫ of the day: She Wants Revenge "Tear you Apart"

02.20.06 Sandmonkey

"Karma is simply justice without the satisfaction"         The reality is that I don't know in who's cheerios I pissed in to make fate hate me so much. I had to wake up early on my day off to head to the car dealership so they can look at my car to see what's wrong. As if it wasn't bad enough that they charged me $355 and still didn't fix it, they kept it all day and told me it's probably the compressor. In other words more fucking money.
        Camelback VW is paying for my car rental and the woman promised to "cut me a deal" it doesn't ease the pain of my wallet's lubeless-and-dipped-in-sand ass-rape.
        Other than that I had a great day of debauchery and rest, which is the only way to spend a day off. Although I want to know when is it going to be my time of deliverance?
        When will the monkey apocalypse arise and turn this place into New Sodom?
        I can only wait.

♫ of the day: Underworld "Dark and Long"

02.17.06 Non-Desideratum

"I'm going to break you, I'm going to make you pay"

        After Vday Wednesday I noticed my AC wasn't cooling, the cold air barely blew. Shit, much like the vaguely uncomfortable feeling I get when my mom tries to use hip-hop slang, I knew this would be bad.
        Today I found out just how bad it would be.
        I woke up to the alarm after another Area 51 Thursday night because I had an appointment at Camelback VW. I hate going to the dealership but the woman I talked to on the phone told me it would only take a couple of hours to refill my car's AC unit. I decided to wait since there was internet available for me to work and it wouldn't be too long. After two hours, they told me what was wrong with it (including another $1,200 of "recommendations"), something that would take them yet another couple of hours.
        I was starving and fuming mad at spending time, money and patience as camelback VW raped me like a Chino gang-bang. I called Ngoc but she was playing social worker-monkey covering all the other social workers that are smart enough to dump their work on her. Still starving and not knowing many people in downtown phx, I called Alyssa, who was kind enough to pick me up and have lunch with me at Chili's.
        I got back to the dealership to pick up my car, already late for my 2 o'clock meeting. The damage: $355!
Sigh, what a way to start a three-day weekend.

♫ of the day: Cubenate "Oxyacetylene"

02.14.06 The Last Ride

        Arcadia doors pour sunlight, almost Biblically into the kitchen as I hang my keys on the rooster-shaped keyholder. My mom had bought it off an old woman on one of her yardsale adventures. She spent many an early Saturday morning hunting for "antiques." She prided in being a "treasure hunter" for finding diamonds-in-the-rough amongst a table full of shit and bargaining at anything over ten dollars. While she's off spending her sanity and life-savings on other people's crap, I place my bag on a counter that still smells like Mr. Clean.
        Sunshine glimmers on silverware and china from table to counter-top, as light bends on the relief-map folds of a crinkled plastic bag. Like a cellophane horn of plenty, the pumpkin-colored plastic spills its contents on the chessboard tiles. Two funnels the color of pin-pricks are trapped in suspended animation like bugs in pre-historic amber next to the duct-tape with the picture of a duck wearing a hat and handyman's belt. The objects are wedged next to a pistachio-green 10ft garden hose coiled like a cobra reflecting off the monochrome tiles.
        I grab a pairing knife, pulling it out of the knife-block as if it were Excalibur and begin cutting the wrapping off the duct tape. I line the silver tape around the end of the hose to the funnels: McGyver-ing a beer-bong-looking contraption. I make my way past the Hall of Fame of family pictures and sibling accomplishments in the den towards the garage. Stopping to count my brother's Blue Ribbons and sister's First Place's hiding my 'participation certificates' and those everbody-gets-a-trophy trophies.
        The dusky cave of my boxed up childhood lingers of dust and car oil as I pass my old bicycle and sit behind the steering wheel of my mother's Oldsmobile. I tape the funnel to the window of a car that still smells like my grandfather: the amalgam of black coffee and grandma's chrysanthemums. A smell that takes me back to those autumnal countryside drives being regaled by grandpa's tales of the old world.
        Sometimes he would let me drive, and I'd sit on his lap as I try to grab onto a steering wheel as big as I. Nothing but road in front of us as a ticket-tape parade of crimson and saffron leaves fell on our ragtop roof. It was a thing of beauty as we cruised the winding road in the ivory-colored poor-man's Cadillac that left a whirlwind of figure-8 foliage in its wake.
        I think of 20yr old memories as I sit in the plush velour of the driver's seat; feeling the burgundy upholstery brushing on my hand as if it were corduroy. I turn the key as the motor purrs, turning the chrome radio dial, the same color as the duct taped funnel now affixed to the tail pipe.

♫ of the day: Her Space Holiday "Japanese Gum"

02.12.06 Fountain of Old

In a stillness as fragile as baby steps, the room lingers with the smell of morning. The carbon-dioxide of sleep's recycled air mixed with last night's fog of marijuana The quiet daylight peeks from behind curtained windows as my bloodshot eyes open to the dawn. And on a Sunday, 9:30 is dawn.
I went out last night with Ngoc and Christina, I hadn't gone out with those chicks in years, not that I was looking forward to it much. Ngoc's weekends are free as of late since her Listerine-drinking "roommate" is visiting Tent City.
She's had a rough year so far: a car accident that took the shop 2 months to fix costing her over $1300, she finally got her car last week. On Friday, a dog inadvertently flew in front of her car: speed-bump style. Though she denies stuffing it in her trunk and eating it for dinner (as per Vietnamese custom), what is needless to say is that the front bumper doesn't look as well as it should. To add insult to injury a 61yr old responded to her personals ad.
Excuse or not, it was after 9 and I was bored, sitting at home waiting dog-killer to show up. She was visiting another friend of hers that enjoys 'eating at the Y' before coming over so we could hit Anderson's 5th Estate for Totally 80's night. Christina met us there, swayed by the music of our collective youth we were drawn past the doors into a sea of aging hipsters. We were now part of the 'young crowd' as we were surrounded by those in their fourth decade, including a couple of teachers Christina and I work with double-fisting beers and acting like the skankpusses they were during the Reagan years. Ngoc thought I had been joking when I told her it was an "older" crowd.
We made the best of the situation, drinking and dancing, as old dude's grinded up on the girls. I ventured to the elbo-room to enjoy the few goth/industrial tunes peppered throughout the dark 80's set. We left at a quarter to 1am realizing to feel young again you hang with those older than yourself. The fountain of youth is one 80's night away.

♫ of the day: Love & Rockets "So Alive"

02.09.06 Ivy

Above the jaded moon, cynic stars hang like a mobile in a bassinette. The clouds shimmer at the very sight of your vanilla skin and quiet storm eyes The embrace of your future self left me cold and more alone than the unyielding sky. Pigeon feather snow captures my imagination of broken dreams and shattered hearts. Vivisecting my mind for your amusement in that garden of sorrow you call tomorrow. Time masticates the grass of hope and faith, as hubris is buried in the dirt of grandeur. Apples, rotten with arrogance, birth from the crying tree of mercurial knowledge. Connected and joined in the sinew of serendipity at the crux of your sunset lips which grow like ivy around my heart.

♫ of the day: AFI "The Great Disappointment"

02.05.06 Bygones

Shades of grey and broken mirrors reflect all that's left behind.
Blinded by the seasons of a gold-plated past, lacking in reason like tin turning to rust.
Two different perspectives of the same reality, and the veneer of a drug induced fantasy.
Blame you and blame me and blame the circumstances that be.
An addiction replaced by another like a daisy-chain of decadence.
Only the next high matters and your questions are only answered with silence.

♫ of the day: Leona Naess "Ballerina"

02.04.06 Like it or Not

So let me get this straight, muslims don't want to be seen as terrorist. So how do they respond to a cartoon? With their usual terrorism tactics: burning churches, bombing embassies and killing the innocent. These shit-for-brains camel-humpers mock western students for their "fellow believer's" right to free speech. Because apparently the two are connected, they can make fun of the Christian God but no one can say anything about theirs. This type of religious zealotry makes the blind Christian Right look like a Roman orgy.
This "enlightened thinking" coming from a people who haven't changed how they live for thousands of years? Will destroying flags and government buildings that had NOTHING to do with the publishing of a cartoon fix whatever crawled up their ass and died a millennia ago? No, it won't, just further prove what the world already knows: these people are savages.

♫ of the day: Combichrist "Feed your Anger"

02.03.06 "Friday is the Fever"

The Westside girls came over to my place before going to Area 51 last night, in one of those "ever so rivet" moments, it took us five minutes for us to lace, zip up and/or buckle our boots. It was a good night if a bit slow. We awoke to a hazy Friday and Dunkin Donuts. I'm just glad to survive the week. Like a snail on Vicodin, this weekend took forever to arrive, probably because I spent the last five days getting over a cold and indentured servitude. Even taking a sickday for actual sickness didn't help end another week of doing someone else's job. Not to mention that I think I might've been photographed by one of those photoradar trucks on Tatum, just what I need! I'll cross my fingers and sacrifice the neighbor's cat as long as I don't have to spend a whole Saturday at some safety-driving course.
Have a serendipitous weekend.

♫ of the day: Ladytron "Weekend (Virgin Tears Depraved Weekend Mix)"

01.31.06 Dec 62nd, 2005

In sunrises and sunsets, life drifts like an afterthought, coming to attention only when a birthday passes or a month changes.
Amidst audits and appointments, in between good times and debauchery, the past month has flown, filled with more minutiae than old ladies at a Sunday matinee. I'm still writing '05 on my checks. Scary, really, it seems just like yesterday I was buying Kahlua, preparing for New Year's Eve.
Like experience's one-night-stand, the sands of time go by unnoticed till we realize how much sand has passed and how little sand we have left.

♫ of the day: Marcy Playground "Coming Up from Behind"

01.28.06 Postcard:1986

The sting of cold aluminum makes me wince as I sit on the bleachers freezing in another morning of PE Class: a subject second only to math, on my list of odium. I await my name to be called as team captains select their teams. As bleachers empty my name is remembered when no one is left to take.
Another morning ~~staring at clouds~~ playing defenseman while the rest of my teammates play soccer. In my ennui, I forget who is in my team and accidentally block my teammates goal, at least it's better than last week's square-dance.
Somehow I survive this before heading to my favourite subject: Art. I walk in and sit as my MILFy art teacher begins lecturing. The door swings open and it's Mrs. Kerrigan, my 5th grade teacher. She shuts the door behind her as her old-lady 'fro shakes as she informs us the Challenger has just exploded.
20yrs later and I can still remember the look on her face.

♫ of the day: Carina Round "Paris"

01.27.06 Forbidden Fruit

Fantasies meander like newsprint boats on curbside streams, as Consequence is lost in eloquence. Writhing in unholy lust with a mind that sets my soul afire, thoughts swim in ether, Quaffing the nectar of lips as they drowns in ecstasy and flesh. Indulged in sin, the tree of knowledge devours its forbidden fruit.

♫ of the day: Placebo "Because I Want You"

01.23.06 The "other" white meat

My Sadisco weekend was less than stellar. Even though I had a healthy buzz going into The Sets, the vibe just sobered me up. Sure there was a fight going on for Sadisco's Fight Club 2 but no one was dancing. If I wanted a drink I had to go to the 21+ room, even with a hot bartender, it was away from the music and the dancefloor. Smoking was yet in another room away from the music AND the drinks. Right before I was going to go check out the Noize, the horrible black-metal band "still life decay" went on. I didn't stick around too long after that. Sigh, just as I was getting into Sadisco, they move it from the anything-goes anti_space to this uber-regulated stripmall "club." That wasn't my only disappointment.
I woke up to a freezing 37 degrees and a pile of work at the office and an audit to do. Why couldn't this Monday be like last week's Best Monday Ever?
After I was done I went to Safeway, where apparently they are now selling rabbit/rodent meat.

What wine do you think goes best with bunny legs?

♫ of the day: Portishead "Wandering Star"

01.20.06 Palavers

I went to the sneak-preview of Underworld:Evolution last night. The line was huge and they were making people go back if they had camera phones, as if they were going to take some shitty phone pics and try to ebay them. Somehow they let me through with mine but I resisted the urge. The flick was a bit trite but better than the original, and Kate Beckinsdale is naked though hid behind the carefully place arms of the lead actor that looked like the lead singer for Creed.
Area 51 was kicking last night which mean another rough Friday morning. There's never enough sleep and I'm always late for an appointment. In my case, three audits in north Scottsdale. No breakfast and traffic to deal with, it was a hellish day. At least in a few hours all will disappear in a haze. Where the lunar surface of nooks and crannies that is my popcorn ceiling will bring to mind alabaster skin and memories of indigo eyes, diabetic lips and sugar-coma kisses.

♫ of the day: Depeche Mode "Sibeling"

01.17.06 Polaroid Me

"All human beings should try to learn what they are running from, and to, and why." -James Thurber- My vacation is sadly over. Classes started today at ASU and SCC and I'm not enrolled in either. This is the direct result of lack of money and a lack of classes to take. Financially, I'm damn lucky to have gone 10yrs ago instead of now. Though I only wish I knew then what I know now. We had it good with Clinton, everyone knew he was a lover, not a fighter. It was peacetime, gas was cheap and so was education. Now we have a puppet trying to prove his dick is as big as his daddy's.
A single university class should not cost more than my mortgage. The ever-rising prices in education only ensure the age-old cliche of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. It's a crime that educational budgets have to be slashed so that we can make a better bomb; so that some republican president can send the US warmachine to liberate another third-world nation. The Gov. does promise assistance for those willing to kill for college money; turning freshly graduated high school go-nowhere's into cannon-fodder.
The US increases military spending by cutting education, shortchanging future generations; instead of well-to-do intellectuals, we'll have a nation of shell-shocked vets without social security. Can't they see if we had more intelligent people we could avoid wars in the first place?

♫ of the day: Combichrist "Today I woke up to the Rain of Blood"

01.16.06 Hpnotiq Weekend

Sadly my crazy weekend is winding to an end, I've been partying since the crepuscule of Thursday set, when I received a call from Anthony Napoleon Francis inquiring if was hitting Area 51. I was taking my brother to the airport at 10 and heading to the club afterwards. Usually a night out with Fracis equals trouble, I reluctantly confirmed hoping for the best and fearing the worst of what the night had in store. Buzzing like a droning-beehive, the airport was its usual hell and even worse I was as sober as a priest on Sunday. I sped to the club finding a full parking lot, truly a rare sight. I headed to the door as Francois was arriving, he was kind enough to indulge me to a white Russian at the bar as I found a table. Renzy and April joined the party, Jeremy was playing all of my requests and the alcohol flowed through my periwinkle veins to bass on the floor. Francis and I left around 12:30 and I met up with the girls at my place to continue the party with Glow and Vertigo and Mario Kart till 2:30am.
I awoke on Friday to four hours of sleep and a headache
T H I S BIG
, hung over, sore and late for my appointment. Renzy and April left for the Westside and I went to work, auditing a couple of schools up north. I met Lyss for lunch at CPK, where a crazy-eyed waiter messed up on my order, luckily the manager noticed and took it off the bill. I went home after that knowing I had to clean the house before my date later that night. Another amazing night of bliss and for reason known to only us: Mario Kart. We made plans for later that night at the God Module show. As luck would have it, the band got into a car accident and cancelled the performance. With nothing to so I called Renzy, she was waiting for her friends and bf to get off work, she offered a bottle of Hpnotiq in exchange for a pick up. Seeing as my plans were cancelled, I headed down the freeway blasting the Combichrist I had gotten from April. I picked her up and made our way to paraphernalia boutique and found a replacement for Vivica. She got the sky blue concoction and we headed to my place.

We were messed up beyond belief and still not practicing the material for our Decemberists cover-band: The Novemberists.
I had to deal with Marathon traffic on Sunday and it prevented me from doing anything till after 1. The rest of my sort day was I did my chores and later picked up the "entertainment" at 6pm. The debauchery continued till this morning making me wish every Monday was as good.

♫ of the day: Dido "Take My Hand"

01.12.06 Lehrer

In silent stares that say more than words, we become the world around us.
Bleeding in sympathy, broken Empathy reflects off my shattered mind like a tinfoil cross.
Recalling the gallant curves of her body yearning to heal my broken mind.
Relishing her summer skin like midnight sin: Ephemeral as a stolen kiss.
Desire sinking till it settles, falling like petals in heretofore unknown bliss
Secrets told, to a wish dissolved in ecstasy lining the road to perdition.

♫ of the day: Blonde Redhead "Pink Love"

01.11.06 "Rotten & so Beautiful"

Sadly, my darling Vivica passed away last night. She joins Sapphire among my secrets lovers whose midnight kisses lifted me above the stresses of my days and the reaches of my mind.
May she rest in peace.

♫ of the day: Jack Off Jill "Vivica"

01.10.06 Verbigeration

Still in the midst of this godforsaken writing block, which is the most aggravating thing so far in 2006. But you may say, it's only the second week, what is there to be angry about? Au contraire, mon frere, there always something to piss me off:

1.Skating/dancing with 'stars/celebrities' not only is Fox shamelessly ripping off an idea, they are ripping off an idiotic one. C'mon when the biggest "stars" are Debra "don't call me Debbie" Gibson and Todd "whatcha talkin' bout Willis?" Bridges, you know they are scraping the barnacles off of the C-list bucket.
2.Kristie Alley's Jenny Craig commercials: yes, Kristie, you lost weight. Guess what else? You're still FAT.
3.Grills: those horrible bling-encrusted tooth-caps that rappers wear.
4.My Chemical Romance: I hate how these screamo idiots misappropriate the term "goth". Wearing eyeliner doesn't make you goth anymore than dancing in your underwear make you Madonna.
5.PF Chang's "rock n' roll" marathon, which every year runs in front of my complex and blocks my way till after 2pm. I need to do the world a favor and cattleprod them in the ass!

♫ of the day: Pixies "Dig for Fire"

01.06.06 Bareback Mountain

In droves, white-belted hipsters and tight-panted scensters of the emo-set came trailing to the First Friday galleries like lemmings to a cliff. The splendor of my usual Friday night would have to wait another 24hrs as she had found other plans for this evening. As I walked on 3rd street towards Roosevelt, where a couple of months ago a pink-polo-ed "Luther" had given me the once-over, I witnessed the greatest juxtaposition of virility and gayness ever!
Three stereotypical biker guys: leather-clad six-footers with stubbled weather-beaten faces came towards me. Two of them were holding hands and the third had his arm around the back of the tallest one, calling him (I kid you not: "girlfriend"). They were either on their way to club Amsterdam or riding their Harley's to have gay-biker butt-sex and this guy was hoping to be their Lucky Pierre. It was a total Kodak moment, that made me wish I had taken my camera but I was afraid they turn around and wail on my ass.
...in more ways than one!

♫ of the day: Eisley "Marvelous Things"

01.02.06 Time for Naught

And so it seems another year has come to pass, with all of the allure and promise that each January holds as a renewal of hope and spirit. But let us not forget that time forgives no one and before we blink we'll be putting out the holiday decorations again. Much like broken Christmas ornaments, each year only shines in memory as we neglect the present to reminisce about the past or worry about the future. We wonder if this year will bring the cataclysmic change into our lives. From that first hello to that last goodbye, people and places play like chess pieces on the monochrome of our life while we awake a checkmate epiphany that will forever alter our personal hero's journey.
But as the song says, "...this is the new year, and I don't feel any different."

♫ of the day: Death Cab for Cutie "The New Year"

01.01.06 Faded Together

KB: check
Kahlua: check
Bailey's Irish cream: check
Vicodin: check
Last night's brain cell massacre started with the right mix of chemicals and atmosphere. By the end I was so messed up, I could barely recognize the prune known as Dick Clarke as he counted down the seconds to the New Year.
Overall it was a lowkey affair that I was grateful to share with some cool people.
So here we are in 2006, hungover and chuck-full of resolutions we don't plan on keeping.
Happy New Year.

♫ of the day: Franz Ferdinand "Fade Together"

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[J2K7]