TWIST

Why don’t we take their idea and just fucking run with it?

What idea?

The “get out of my country” idea.

Here’s a great idea… how about YOU get the fuck out of OUR country.

The difference between us and them? They speak in “My” and “I” and we speak for “us” and “our” lives.

So how about it then…how about YOU get the fuck out of OUR country?

Don’t have anywhere to go? What’s the problem? Not a lot of places for washed up confederate nazis losers to go? That’s what happens when your side loses three wars. You’ve got no where to go. The moment you poke your head out into the real world, you can’t believe what you see: YOU’RE THE MINORITY.  Holy shit does it scare the fuck out of you. I almost feel sorry for you - but I can save that feeling for the next spider I find in my house right before I wrap it in a paper towel and flush it down the toilet.

I have been watching your side grow more and more angry throughout my lifetime.
I have watched your side stock pile guns and ammo, convinced that someone was going to take them from you some day.

Have you ever stopped to think about all the people who DON’T believe in confederate nazi ideas that have ALSO purchased and stockpiled guns? Have you ever stopped to think about the pure math of it all? I can break it down into Friday Night Lights vocabulary if it would help… Our team has all of our players on the field and on the sideline and you team has a quarterback and a kicker. Does that makes sense? Not only does our side have a sheer numerical advantage over yours, we also have a tremendous amount of intellect and awareness that your side is nearly void of. The advantages we have on you are mind boggling. Yet, because of the utter ignorance that is everywhere on your side, you mange to act fearless and much more intimidating than you actually are. Loud bark, small bite. No jawlines either. Why do so many of you look like thumbs with shoulders? Stop standing like that in your facebook photos with your vest and ar-15s. Stick your chin out a little, watch something on TV with a little class.

I know you shouldn’t tempt the devil buuuuuut—would you really take the safety off and start shooting? While standing there, in the courthouse of a Michigan city, with all those cameras, smart phones, facebook watch instagram live feeds, chests puffed out — standing up for and thinking of only yourselves — would you really murder all those people against you? You’re just “angry”… you’ve never been tested. You’ve never been pushed to the edge. You’ve never been told that a friend of yours or a brother or father or a mother or sister or any one of your loved ones had been murdered by a police officer. You’ve never been pulled over and thought: I might die during this. You have never feared for your life — in any capacity whatsoever. Yet you are convinced that there are threats to your life everywhere and they’re all a different color than you.

You are the embodiment of everything that you think is after you.

YOU are the evil you feel in the air.

YOU are the tip of the match, not US - and just like the tip of a match, you're the only part that disappears after it's lit.

this keeps going on and on
and on and on and on and on
you're too drunk to hold on
smashing your head against me

jordanvsbird1on1: aaron i'm so fucked

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Auto response from Oyster the frog: here's this long haired weird dude spouting nonsesical mayham to those under him. they're lauging. what the fuck am i doing??? Dry Ramin speaks: "Yo this kid can do the moonwalk!" fuuuuuck. i can, but not on concrete you fool! shut up Ramin! ah fuck it. i did it. it was horrible, but the people all jumped and hooted and yelped. my audience loved it. Ramin started doing the robot. "oh man that's horrible," someone said, "what is that the drunken robot?" too much oil, i said as i turned and walked back into the house. either these people were the dumbest bunch of assholes, or all piss drunk... but when i said "too much oil," they all lost it. hardy freakin' har har! laughing like goofballs.

brockport was fun.

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jordanvsbird1on1 returned at 5:55:13 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1: that sounds ho larious. haha. hahaha. i could picture these people. or no.. i couldnt, but i can imagine -and the birds -and oh i have two huge tests tomorrow and then TUESDAY -bloody tuesday. dead on the beach wiped out tuesday. hung and strung out ripped open black bacteria bitchin bladder bustin bum biting tuesday. i have the biggest report tuesday. oh yeah -and its due. theres no way out. i feel like tupac in timesquare. why does half of me try? i need you to do me a big thing -i need you to really help me here man... this is the only way i'll buy you beer/liquor. find some info on your choice of the geography, culture, government, economy, military, or international dsiputes -i'll take you and your sister to polar express 3d -i'll buy her a pony -anything. just help me out. its a community thing. i'll check my e mails. i'll take ye ice fishing. i'll... shit i gotta go
jordanvsbird1on1: heh bacteria
jordanvsbird1on1: :?:?END OF TRANSMISSION:!:!
jordanvsbird1on1 is away at 6:04:42 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1 returned at 7:23:30 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1: GO BILLS

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Auto response from Oyster the frog: here's this long haired weird dude spouting nonsesical mayham to those under him. they're lauging. what the fuck am i doing??? Dry Ramin speaks: "Yo this kid can do the moonwalk!" fuuuuuck. i can, but not on concrete you fool! shut up Ramin! ah fuck it. i did it. it was horrible, but the people all jumped and hooted and yelped. my audience loved it. Ramin started doing the robot. "oh man that's horrible," someone said, "what is that the drunken robot?" too much oil, i said as i turned and walked back into the house. either these people were the dumbest bunch of assholes, or all piss drunk... but when i said "too much oil," they all lost it. hardy freakin' har har! laughing like goofballs.

brockport was fun.

---

jordanvsbird1on1 is away at 7:23:43 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1: hah

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Auto response from Oyster the frog: here's this long haired weird dude spouting nonsesical mayham to those under him. they're lauging. what the fuck am i doing??? Dry Ramin speaks: "Yo this kid can do the moonwalk!" fuuuuuck. i can, but not on concrete you fool! shut up Ramin! ah fuck it. i did it. it was horrible, but the people all jumped and hooted and yelped. my audience loved it. Ramin started doing the robot. "oh man that's horrible," someone said, "what is that the drunken robot?" too much oil, i said as i turned and walked back into the house. either these people were the dumbest bunch of assholes, or all piss drunk... but when i said "too much oil," they all lost it. hardy freakin' har har! laughing like goofballs.

brockport was fun.

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jordanvsbird1on1 returned at 9:37:40 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1: what did i say a few hours ago? i was just plain drunk and high. oh man, a little work later and i'm ok. i dont even remember what the fuck i said to you... jordanvsbird1on1: GO BILLS ...haha i just pasted that. anthony's profile maybe?
jordanvsbird1on1: i dont know
jordanvsbird1on1 is away at 9:44:32 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1 returned at 9:53:19 PM.
jordanvsbird1on1: read my amazing profile

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Auto response from Oyster the frog: here's this long haired weird dude spouting nonsesical mayham to those under him. they're lauging. what the fuck am i doing??? Dry Ramin speaks: "Yo this kid can do the moonwalk!" fuuuuuck. i can, but not on concrete you fool! shut up Ramin! ah fuck it. i did it. it was horrible, but the people all jumped and hooted and yelped. my audience loved it. Ramin started doing the robot. "oh man that's horrible," someone said, "what is that the drunken robot?" too much oil, i said as i turned and walked back into the house. either these people were the dumbest bunch of assholes, or all piss drunk... but when i said "too much oil," they all lost it. hardy freakin' har har! laughing like goofballs.

brockport was fun.

---

jordanvsbird1on1: i am a genius
jordanvsbird1on1 is away at 9:57:16 PM.

he was 63 years old.
"all you need to worry about," he said pointing upward with his eyebrows, "is The Flag."
my eyes themselves lowerd a bit...
he continued, "all you have to do is defend That Flag."
i looked away for a moment. i had to. sipping more of this god awful beer he'd bought for me helped lighten the mood. it was bud light; simple, 'normal,' mindless... american.
i dropped the beer from my throat into my stomach, and looked at him.
deep into the black of his eyes.
i grabbed a hold of the back of his mind. that place where you'd only dare attempt to see when coming face to face with either an enemy or a friend.
that place, tucked behind the muscles, cells, and electronic impluses that literaly make up your eyes and brain.
without knowing it he spoke again. "would you defened The Flag to your death?" he asked.
i saw into him and held him there.
"No," was all i said.

DAY ONE of the 2004 Joy Family Vacation. I was up at night last night.
Our flight left at 5:30am. Up. Up. Up. In the sky, me scared shitless only because I was. Much like the girl in the terminal whom I will never forget. Balled up, scared shitless. Rocking back & forth, head buried inbetween her knees. She was powerful - full of gravity. My mind, at 9am singled her out. Our eyes skipped off one another a few times. I hope she felt what was on my face - the look, the uneasy quiet fear. Somehow our gravity melded together and she ended up next to me on the plane. I kept my head pressed against the side of the cabin, hoping for sleep. She sat with her knees up, her feet on the edge of the seat. As the plane began its noise, spreading and fanning the fear, the Girl hid. Covering herself with the complementary blanket found in the over-head compartment, she didn't move until we touched down in Florida.

Drinking beer at 11:34 in the morning is always a good idea.
I've been on the beach since 9. Sweating, squinting, reading. I walked aimlessly up and down listening to Beck's opus off of Eternal Sunshine. All that ran through my head was, "gee where should this song go on the Kate mix?"
I told myself that I would never again fall hard for a girl. That was truth, a fact and something that was actually happening until I met Kate.
It's only been about a week since rearanging the pieces so the water would flow in this direction, but already I'm turning into clay mud just thinking about her.
There is no burn, no longing - no earth stopping longing - but it's only been a week, it's only been a few kisses...
We stood in what I'm assuming was her father's "office", holding each other.
Holding each other?!!?!
It was as if we were old, harden'd Ex's finally returning to normality. Returning to that infinatly small space that exists inbetween two humans pressed so tightly against one another that stars could form. Smashed together, squeezing. I pressed my head against her neck.
My God she smells like beauty.
I can feel the alcohol she spilled soaking through my shirt and into my skin. In the darkness, the sound of us is deafining.
Luke, I can hear him shuffeling through the house, his bare feet skidding on the hardwood floor. Even though I'm transfixed on her face, I can sense Luke and Brittany standing behind us, by the staircase. I don't care. How could I? With Kate pressed against me, it's hard to think about anything else. Including the continuation of this paragraph.
I've been thrown back into the hear-and-now.
My Brother and Mother have returned from the beach. Michael is complaining about my music (Stevie Wonder), wanting to watch TV. Mom's making sand-whiches. I'm eating one and drinking a fresh beer. Michael has moved into the bedroom where a door can seperate us. Dad's on his way back here for the sand-whiches and Mom's left.
As quickly as this room filled, it's empty again. When I drink around my parents, I get more drunk than I would with said company above.
When I was at Kate's, I finished a 750 of Captin' (with major help from Kate) and only after I got high, did the rest of the evenings consumption smash me in the forehead. It might have had something to do with the numbers the grandfather clock was pointing at (3, 5).
I asked her to stick around for a while. She answerd by tightening her grip around me.
Blur-all blurr until we are on the couch. Her head nuzzled under my chin.
She passed out like a rock, quickly cutting off blood flow to my arm. My left arm. I pressed my nose against the top of her head. Pouting my lips I kissed her hair. She smells like shampoo.
Well, at least her hair does, which is a good thing. Shows me she likes to be clean--what the hell am I writing about?
Back to the hear-and-now. My Dad has made it back here for his sand-which. He is enjoying it next to me. We're going to converse and discuss the eventless day a head of us.

It's Sunday. My hair's wet and my shoulders are ruined. The sun has tap danced the Charleston across both of them, with golf shoes.
I haven't written in here since thursday and right now I'm forcing it. My Dad is in the room with me. "Aaron! Do you want a piece of provolone cheese?" my Mother just asked. My answer would have to be, no. I have yet to shower. I think my hair is turning white.
I went to a flea market yesterday. Blah-zow! the event of the vacation. When I get back to Blahtavia, the populous (as I now call them) will ask, "So, what'd you do while you were down there?" Answer: Flea Market. Other than that, I looked at the ocean a lot, floated in a pool quite a bit, and ate food.
This entry is turning to shit. Way way way too many people in and out. I try to ignore them, but my vision is too wide. I'm going to freak out. This is hopeless. (Train of thought: why is Fishman such an amazing drummer? Answer: because Fishman is such an amazing drummer.)
Questions seem to be the theme of this entry. Questions & rolling frustration.
I don't like people around when I write, it hold me too far outside their realm. Me, this pen. This paper. My mind transforming into a phsical object - that being these words up this. It's too much.
...Yes! Victory! They are gone.
Look at that, they cleaned the freakin' room while they were here. More quotes: "It's 3." Yes, thank you Dad for that bit of information. I'm thinking about eating some food. We're going to eat at 4:30. My body is lame right now. Sun, heat, water, and only Cherrio's will do that. I need to shower, but dammit I'm too tired.

My headphones are on. The Yankees are on. Phish is in my head, thanks not to the Yankees, but rather to my headphones. It's still Sunday. This vacation is getting longer as it gets shorter. I still have 3 days in this state. Day three will be spent traveling.
I want to write about Kate, but I don't want to over do it. I think about her, but they are slow thoughts. Ones that come and go, but never really leave. It's a calm aloe-like idea, the thoughts of her. Who is she? We've only just met. Things have (if at all) just begun. Thursday (could have been Wednesday) on the phone she pressed out words about falling easily for people. "I'm scared," she said. Not wanting to fall into that todash darkness where your thoughts become overpowerd-BLAHBLAHBLAH.
Yanks are losing 7-2 against Boston. My brother turns into Satan while watching these two teams battle.
Those sentences I just crapped out, fucking sucked. "I want to write about Kate, but I don't want to over do it," and I did. So forced. So fake. "Todash darkness" was the moment I knew it was time to put down the pen for the night.

I had my first dream about her last night.
I'm standing in the grass of some annonomus subconcisous home. There is a party floating around me and as usual I'm the last to arrive -and the one to arrive alone. I know Kate's somewhree around here and I begin looking for her. When I find her, she's on edge, nervous & her eyes are bouncing around looking never right at me. There's a guy there with her - I can feel him stairing at me. She keeps telling me that she wants to get out of there but before she can leave she has to go talk to this other guy.
It's not a good dream. Laiden with paranoia.
Kate is new in my life. A human whom I've just begun to understand. The manafestatoin of her past which is unknown to me is this kid in the blue jacket. Kate walks over to him and whispers something to him. He looks over her shoulder at me whith his head down peering through his bangs.
My God, it's me, only I'm taller and skinnier.
As dreams happen, the shift from one image/moment to the next is unnoticable and impossible to describe.
I'm looking down now at Kate. She's in my arms, making a horrible face. Her mouth is sucked in on itself and has turned into a crack running lengthwise across her face. "Aaron," she says, "everyone is leaving and going to Amanda's house to smoke pot. Ireally want to smoke pot but I really want to go with you."
"Can you stop that with your mouth," I ask. Apparently she can't. Her eyes have begun to do the same thing. Her face now is only a nose bookended on top and bottom by what looks like a deep groove, almost like an ass crack, from one side of her head to the other. I violently push open the groove where her eyes should be. "Look at me please," I said. As soon as I take my fingers awy, the groove/divit returns.
"I hope, I really hope they don't actually smoke," she says, "because I want to go with you."
Alcohol. Suddenly we need alcohol.
I leave her at her house and I am on main street, Batavia. All the streetlights are off. Half the road is under construction. As I get infront of 3D liquor, all the cars a head of me have their lights off. It's pitch black. I flash them 4 times. The car on the right is the first to turn them on. Soon, almost all the cars are glowing with light, illuminating the road. As I turn down center street I can sense/see Jackson St. it's coverd thick in darkness. Bad darkness. Todash darnkness. Something is wrong. Is the power out? Why did I leave Kate? It's so dark over here. Something, some huge devistating presance is waiting for me at home. Why did I leave kate? Turning onto Ellicott, I know that leaving Kate was a bad idea. "I had to get alcohol at my house, that's why I left you!" But why? Wasn't there booze at her house? What the fuck am I doing out here?! I can't that this shit -
my shoulders are on fire. My sunburn. I'm back in Florida, crawling out of this dream, rolling back and forth on the bed. Holy shit, my shoulders are burning alive. I either need to fall back asleep (near impossible) or just get the hell out of bed.
It's Monday now. Two more days to go.

Tomorrow I fly. We fly. 1pm flight time. Lay-over in Atlanta and then on to Rochester. I'm on the beach today at 9:30 attempting to finish my book. The longer I'm out here, the greater the puddle of sweat is that's forming on my stomache. It couldn't be any later than 10 and enough is enough. I gotta get inside.
The walk down the million-dollar walkway is growing. The weight of my backpack is growing. Why the hell did I bring all these CD's in the first place? 96 Phish CD's plus 96 random. You have got to be kidding me Aaron. Actully, now that I think about it, it might only be 72. Reguardless it's a lot, and I don't know if I'll make it inside because of it.
Out from under the palms, across the road and onto the blacktop parking lot. Door No. 2 -closer. Closer. Get under the shade, fast. Past door No. 4. My ears begin to ring. I'm so weak that at door 3 I have to switch hands and hold my backpack with my left. The backpack's coverd in sand, otherwise I would have had it on my back. Attempting to unlock the door is near impossible.
THE A/C!!! Praise the Man Jesus it's cold air!
I am NOT built for this state.
Collapsing in the first chair I get to, I begin heaving in huge gulps of air. Maybe I'm dying. Maybe I'm deydrated. Maybe I should sleep. Yes. Sleep would be amazing -and ya know what? That's all I did today. Not bake in the sun, like I wanted to -but sleep. It was lousy dreamless sleep too.
Noon, two, five. Okay! Dinner at six. Off to Stevie Tomatoes. Home of the best wings, best pizza in Naples and full of the lousiest idiots I've ever come across. As you could expect, the pizza was as good as the people.
Florida. Full of plastic. Cheap fake plastic.
So here I am, sitting upon a bar stool, in Naples, eating "hot" wings and waxing poetic Jethro Tull with my father and brother. Meanwhile my mother and her sister, my aunt, are drunk on vodkatonics and who knows what Frank is. Michelle, our waitress is getting a full-on of what the Semmens are capabul of: quiet mind control. Michelle has a lot of tables, and the last thing she needs is a couple of we-think-we-know-it-all flower childern telling her where and what to do next in her life. I have ears like a hawk has eyes. If the wind blows in the right direction, if the holes inbetween the sounds of the resturant arrive at the right time, I can pick up on bits of their conversation. They're feeding her the "just be happy" with your life bullshit. I'm sorry Michelle, I didn't get to pick my family. Please ignore them... and what's with Frank pointing at me? Why is Frank pointing at me? Michelle comes to my side of the table. I have dirty plates and since I'm not allowed back in the kitchen - "He's a writer," Frank begins. Oh no, fuck you man. Michelle smiles. "He could write you a wonderful love poems." Jesus fucking shit! Michelle can only smile. I can do anything but. "Oh! You're embarassing him," the Sisters yelp. At least by this time Michelle's left.

If you wanted to split hairs, I could just write her a journal entry.

theMANpantsdance: hey sexy.
RingMessenger: Hello again, theMANpantsdance. Where would you like this journey to take you?
theMANpantsdance: into my pants.
RingMessenger: I reckon I will have to think about that for awhile.

living in between buffalo and rochester is somewhat like sleeping wrapped in a $5000 comforter you got from your mother who got it from her mother's brother's wife for nothing.

life is good.

living in an apartment that costs you nothing, teaches you nothing. living with an amazingly beautiful virgin dosen't help the situation either, especially after that goes.

dj apple j a x: "oh, yeah johnny depp is going to do a movie baised on a ride at disney world and then be nominated for an oscar because of it."
"yeah sure, and martha stewart will be a convicted felon with a prison record."
AngryInch82: the world is ending a week from tuesday
dj apple j a x: i figured.

i was 14. much like everything else at one moment or another. at some point during those moments my cousin or the might-as-well-be-my-older-brother Loren asked me if i had heard of the musical act who believed they were aliens from elsewhere. i hadn't. those same two bastards thinking they were aliens just got themselves a grammy for album of the year. in honor of stuff happening here's a website to the new movie Loren's producing and editing: www.slightlymotivated.com two guys from the cast (ya gotta check out the bio's) i've actually worked with. jimmy owens was on loren's first movie (i was the boom mic guy) and the infamous gareth reynolds who was loren's roommate on joy st. in boston -i ended up with a pair of gareth's shoes. true stroy, one way to tell if you're seriously drunk is to lose your own shoes. Anyway...

I went to a new years eve party when I was 18. that party was as close to "almost" as two people get. It was also Y2K. I drove 15 minutes away from my town, with three other guys in the car. They of course could, if any showed, drink as much as they wanted to. I was destined to spend the biggest new years sober and bored. I remember standing inside this barn, it was a huge barn. Big enough for 50, 60 kids. There was a pool table, 4 couches and a makeshift bar with a huge refridgerator behind it. on top of the bar, at first I thought there was a television. But the way the humans standing infront of it interacted with it’s glowing screen I could tell that it wasn’t a TV. The longer I stared at them staring I realized it was a computer monitor. There were people 360 degrees around me so I just asked aloud as to why there might be a computer outside in a barn. When I found out as to why the monitor sat on the bar, I couldn’t believe it. he was using his computer to play music. Not cd’s inside the cd-rom, but actual files on his computer? Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me. I couldn’t believe it, this kid had 100’s of songs playing all night. Jessie’s Girl, All Along the Watch Tower, Purple Rain, Stairway to Heaven… it was my first living moment with mp3’s. something that has taken over our lives here in the 21st century. Kodak has stopped production on all 35mm products. Holy shit. So I suppose it’s safe to say that the “future” is beginning. The space age where dinosaurs walk across the skyscrapers of Tokyo on high definition monitors inside the windows. To live to see Walt Disney not only shut down the animation studio in Florida, but to go so far as to change the name of hand drawn animation to “traditional animation.” I could go on and on but it’s almost 4am and Ryan Finn is getting married tomorrow.

Random memories are for the most part, the best memories to have. You can get away with calling them flash backs. I almost forgot the one that caused this chunk of writing. I’ve been sitting in front of this screen for 4 years now. My eyes have melded to the pixels inside the motherboard.

Mystikal52173: yo what up kid
Dj Applejax: hello
Mystikal52173: is this aj
Dj Applejax: it is, who is this?
Mystikal52173: michelle
Mystikal52173: what up kid
Mystikal52173: what did you want beth to find out
Dj Applejax: who's beth?
Mystikal52173: ??????????/
Dj Applejax: are you sure you have the right person?
Mystikal52173: is this beths cuzent
Mystikal52173: are you aj
Dj Applejax: i am.
Mystikal52173: how old are you
Dj Applejax: 21.
Mystikal52173: sorry
Dj Applejax: hahaha... it's okay. i've been trying to figure out who you are for like a week now...
Dj Applejax: where did you get my screename from?
Mystikal52173: you
Mystikal52173: i think
Dj Applejax: hmmmm
Mystikal52173: sorry
Dj Applejax: who is this beth you speak of?
Dj Applejax: where are you guys from?
Mystikal52173: woonsocket
Dj Applejax: huh. no clue.
Mystikal52173: where you from
Dj Applejax: new york
Mystikal52173: oh sit
Dj Applejax: my name is aaron. but people do call me aj
Mystikal52173: oh ic
Mystikal52173: dogs
Dj Applejax: not the person you thought i was?
Mystikal52173: nope
Mystikal52173: dogs

[this is an away message i wrote for mike varland durning the middle of one of the many Varlandapaloozas. i think this was the night justin bachulack got coldcocked by aaron weaver... twice.]

so i'm home... but home is not here. here is not where i live. i am not michael. i have a brother named michael, but it's not the one you know... unless you know a Joy. alas, 3am is amazing no matter how many times you get there... new deal in the backround, floating through the kitchen from the speaker by the rafters. "this is porno music!" julia dumo-house-key just said. "yeah, blahblahblah." echoed jon mager. that's not May-Grrr... you can call him Cracked One-Eye Jon. to tell you the truth, i just forgot what beer i was drinking...
to review: Michael is alive and well, he's home for break and enjoying it to the fullest. wish you were here, and all that bullshit.

I know this much is true. Every time you think its love, it’s not. The line between love and lust is so fine that to be able to say “I love” that person takes years. But those years, they can’t be spent in the presence of the one you love. Real love is something that cannot be felt. It doesn’t make your toes curl or your fingers tingle. It doesn’t knot up your stomach and leave you breathless. That’s lust. At first it’s lust for the physical touching, but it never moves much past that. Craving their presence, needing to smell their skin, to lie naked under cold sheets, waiting breathlessly for them to get to your house. Missing them when they’re gone… it ain’t love. Love is only a word, like lust, like all of these… Love, I have finally come to understand, is something that’s not felt by your body. In fact it has nothing to do with the physical person you’re with, but rather, their mind, the subconscious connection that can only be formed once you’ve lived through the lust. To arrive at a connection this deep can only be made by giving up all hope. You have to realize that you’re never going to see this person again, you will never share another moment under the blankets, or across from one another at The Olive Garden. The endless mindless hours of movies, of TV, mix CD’s in the car, all of that will never happen again. In order to live with someone for the rest of your life, you have to figure out how to live with out them. Nothing is permanent. All great loves will one day have to part and if you don’t understand that, then you can never complete the circle with that person, it will be broken at the weakest point. The same location every other lust goes askew. That bullshit cliché sentence that everyone from DMX to your mother knows “if you love something, let it go…” is true. I hate myself for admitting this, but it’s true. The love that forms is slow love, real love, love that has nothing to do with the word, or what they show you on TV. It’s a calm blanket over one’s mind. An understanding that only the authors know, being able to squint your eyes just right to see the syntax in between the lines. In other words, not having to say or do a damn thing. No need for explanations, because there is no way to form the words to explain. What exists is beyond words. Our entire perception of everything around us is controlled and limited by words. They’re only patterns of sounds we recognize. You hear the word “love” and you make think of roses and wine. Problem is you’re stuck limiting yourself to the understanding of words. In fact, roses and wine have nothing to do with loving someone. That’s “lust.” The acts, the physical portion of what I’m talking about, is all lust. Love and Lust go hand in hand. For every human being on this planet there are actually two. You. Your physical body, your ass sittin’ in front of this computer, and then there’s you. Whatever you are inside your mind, the never-ending vastness of your conscious and subconscious. You have your body, and your thoughts. Two parts. Two words. Love, Lust. The line is the finest in the history of evolutionary emotions. Confusion of the two leads to doom. The understanding between the two is only achieved through time, which means doing and saying nothing. Allowing life to move around you and not through you. Every moment something is happening otherwise you’d be dead. And every moment has two outcomes, it either happens, or it doesn’t. Leaning your mind towards one of the two will falter your path. You have to stay humble and allow the outcomes to move past on either side of you. The truth that is hidden behind “love” stands with you at the other end of your path. From where you stand, in between every moment’s outcome, is where your mind opens up and the understanding of “why” is finally achieved. Why all the shit ‘n’ piss that ended things in the first place happened. Why you’ve gone in the direction you have. You begin to understand all the choices you’ve made and even the ones you haven’t gotten to yet. You feel that tranquilizing calm of what is behind the word “love,” and for some reason everything… makes… sense. Lust is there to bite you in the ass; Love is there to mop up the blood.




Maybe we did something wrong.

Or didn't do something.

No, what happened happened and couldn't have happened any other way.

How do you know?

We are still alive.

PROLOUGE: The Next Thing You Know… (front porch scene)
PART ONE: The New Deal (from blockbuster to Ithaca)
PART TWO: This Will Teach Us Nothing (the colts lost)
PART THREE: What Happened Last Time (the yanks lost)



Prolouge: The Next Thing You Know…

FRONT PORCH: NIGHT

SAMANTHA and KURT are seated next to one another on the loveseat. Their legs and arms intertwined. HOWEY and JOEL are standing with their backs against the wall. In between the wall and the loveseat is the front door. Everyone has a cigarette in their hand. There is also cigar forgotten in the ashtray still burning.


HOWEY AND JOEL exchange looks. JOEL finishes his cigarette and picks up the cigar.

Kind of like we just happen to forget about the blunt?

(flatly)
No one’s listening…

Naw man, we heard ya. People always say “everything happens for a reason”

-And you’re saying that if everything is happening for reasons-

(like she’s heard it a million times)
Wouldn’t aaalll reason be lost? Wouldn’t things just happen.

KURT frowns and slowly nods. JOEL hands him the blunt. KURT sips his beer, and hands it to SAMANTHA who begins to drink it. He exhales loudly and stares aimless at the blunt as he rolls it back and forth in between his fingers. He inhales very slowly. SAMANTHA continues to drink the beer until it’s finished.

“I need a buffalo trip,” I said. “Shit man, what the fuck?”
Eric shook his head, “Not in the next seven days bro.”
I took a step back, “Whoa,” I laughed. “What's up for the next week?”
He smirked calmly and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m booked all week, and maybe even Saturday. Monday and Tuesday I need to work on my Halloween costume. The next day is the party.”
I kept staring at him.
“Then Thursday is Marty’s farewell party at Romar’s, and Friday I might have a hot bitch to attend to.”
I slowly nodded in silence, reworking plans out for the rest of the week in my head.
“Saturday I shale sleep,” Eric finished. He sat back and took a sip of his 10 minute stale Coors.
“I guess Friday really is Halloween,” I said. “Wait… did you just tell me that two out of your six days of social life will be spent working,” I paused. “On a costume?” I couldn’t believe it. “Are you sewing it together yourself?”
“Yes actually, I am,” Eric bit back. “I’m gonna be a Siamese twin.”
I stopped for moment and finished the worst part of my beer. I took a slow deep breath, exhaling through my nose, reflecting on the potential of Eric’s costume. He began laughing to himself, understanding what I wouldn’t until the unveiling at the party five days from now.
I pressed my lips together in a Don Corleone frown of modest agreement. “I would have said maybe something to do with anti-gravity, or a Siamese twin.” I opened another beer. “Or maybe turning yourself into a hot slut, or even Beethoven.”

[two away messages: one written for mike blecha, one written upon returning home from his house that night]



i have to tell you guys something...
this... this person that is creating these words right now... i'm not michael... infact he's not even in this room. mr. bleach-uh is in the kitchen surrounded by hookers and piles of money. we were playing 3's but i think everyone is too fucked up to play anymore. personaly, i'm enjoying myself right now, being aaron, listening to radiohead and whigging out do to my intoxication level. for those of you expecting something else -perhaps, "drinking and shit," i apologize. you see, my parents own the house that your dear friend michael lives in. thus resulting in my ability to do anything i want. please, don't think i am full of what you people would say "myself," it's just a natural reaction to the ability to proceed any why i choose. so call his cellphone already!



oh man... oh man. oh man oh man. i think i made it home safe and sound before all the goddamn goldschlager hit me. -and the world... it's got me spinning. NO! it's the inability to overpower the grasp of gravity, thus keeping you "grounded" with reality. the fact that i have now gotten an eyelash into my poor right eye socket -and my random memory of buying Austin (Plattsburg) a bottle of jack @ the store where the proprietor had won a 19 million dollar lotto pull two weeks prior...
all this, amounts to nothing.
everything is just one long, over worded continuously flowing never ending unstoppable rhetorical directionless sentence- ???????????
what?!
what's next? i have no clue! either do you. alas, the same boat we find ourselves paddling...

[i don't know who wrote this. i think i might have.]



“who wants to play, drink a beer?”
“I do.” He drinks a beer.
“he wins!”
“what do I win?”
“another beer!”

standing at home plate he says, “come on timmy throw the silly ball.”


and then there's nelly. god i hate nelly.
and then there's taildaters. god i hate taildaters.
and then there's r. kelly.
god hate's r. kelly.
me too.
why is he allowed to write songs about asian thongs -or something. as i have been bed-ridden all day, the amount of horrible TV is making me sicker. and one moment that occured was the new r.kelly video. he's fucking gross. "thoiathoiathoia thong?" dude, what the hell do you think you're doing? you like to fuck. you like to piss on girls. and you enjoy it more when they're not old enough to drive.

i'll tell you one thing, if George W. Bush and R. Kelly made a video together, i bet there'd be a lot of coke and underage sex.

"we'll go to the lagoon. we gotta weed and rake, and clean all the spaghetti sauce that's in the sponges. wash it out. then clean the webs out, clean the webs out swiftly."
i just stood there, dumbfounded. i couldn't believe what just came out of his mouth. the lagoon? spaghetti filled sponges? webs!?
he was still sitting there, holding his carrot. he still looked like a rabbit. his nose continued to do that annoying rabbit twitch. he was surrounded by a small cage floored with woodchippings and shit. his shit. HE'S A RABBIT!
why in the hell is he speaking english?
"well, ya awful jackass," he said. "are we going to the lagoon tomorrow or am i gonna have to shoot you in the other foot?"
i looked down. that would explain the unbearable pain i was in.

here's another story you fucks:
i was standing outside at some bar last night and this kid's got on a bathtub gin shirt. i yelled to him, "and wendy's on the window sill waiting to be let in!" he laughed and hit me in the arm. "hey, d'you go to IT?" he asks me.
no. no i didn't, thanks for asking.

-i never said the story was gonna be good.

what you lil bitch let me tell you something you havent raised nothing except for your dick... other than that you aint shit and ill fuck your crew up....i dont need 5 or 10 pple those folks are just behind my back..you just dont have no one backin you up because your not trusted enywere..pple always told me they dont like you in the hood lol...this will be one on one for everyone then you ll see who s number one!!>:o

murz56: wonderfull typing from dennis vendetaa

this doesn't make sence

the slow burn of that certian kind of sarcasim
that can only be felt between former love
and rolling hills
if we made such a good team
then why the fuck am i writing this?

i've got a bad song
stuck within my head
the words, the rythms
remind me of you
that's not saying much
a car accident
would do the same
or the smell of broken glass
the idea of slit hands
it should've ended with the first argument
i don't care if it was over showtimes
or pizza toppings.
the fire was there
only this shit burned the hell out of me
you're lacking in the soothing fire of passion.

there's a storm coming and i'm not talking about us
i mean the clouds over head are beginning to move
the leaves are turning upside down
embracing what is about to come
the only life on this planet that needs the rain more than me.

JusBlazea50: CHAP

---

Auto response from dj applejax: i don't know how,
but i'm 21 at midnight.

---

JusBlazea50: you can be called CHAP
JusBlazea50: WHAT THE FUCK!
JusBlazea50: well atleast your not an old chap
JusBlazea50: then you;d be in for it.
JusBlazea50: you're* rather
JusBlazea50: imagine you're on IM for the first time and its almost satisfying to type here right now
JusBlazea50: well
JusBlazea50: yes.
JusBlazea50: MARCH: a love written in blood
JusBlazea50: the Joys of Flesh
JusBlazea50: stripped Bare
JusBlazea50: dirty secrets?
JusBlazea50: are the titles of the movies playing the painting as mu' backdround, ya HEAR wilbar?...
JusBlazea50: "this boy will have hurting kidneys the next morning"
JusBlazea50: -latest from tcm
JusBlazea50: not latest anymore
JusBlazea50: about ten secounds ago now
JusBlazea50: scouts
JusBlazea50: scouts and scoundrals
JusBlazea50: HAH
JusBlazea50: WOWOWO
JusBlazea50: HA
JusBlazea50: and thats it
JusBlazea50: .
JusBlazea50: the NOT SO ENDING SO, ONCE ABOUT A TIME LIKE THIS, A WEAK WEEK IN OUR LIVES I PRESSED BUTTONS SO LIFE COULD FUNCTION BUT teathered WIVES IN THE STREET MADE THE CONJUNTION I NEEDED, SO I BLEEDED TO CRYPT THE BEING INSIDE ME BUT TEARS ESACPE AND I ALSO SHIT PISSED AND SNEEZE. AKA BLONDE RAPPER NAMES SHIESTA, RAMBO, AND M&M booed off stage last night at Chreenes house of blues. Ray, you know who from the ghostbusters fucked shit up when that bastard rat Charlottes Web brabbed his cob of corn

---

Auto response from dj applejax: i don't know how,
but i'm 21 at midnight.

---

JusBlazea50: i dont know
JusBlazea50: HAH
JusBlazea50: brilliant
JusBlazea50: its a fucking gold classic fuck
JusBlazea50: a gold classic fuck for aaron joy ladies and jatalmen
JusBlazea50: THE BELVEDERE TRUMPETS
JusBlazea50: AND A BOGGEY BOO

posted by This Old Man  # 10:47 PM 0 comments