DADDY sez...

I just been told I'm not a whippersnapper... I'm mature.

mm hm. yeah, I'm good at playing that.

Fuckin' whatever.

But really, what is being "grown up"? Is it making every fucking little God Damn feeling and gut-itch I have inside into the whole muthafuckin as-built Universe?

Now I know that I (and every other motherfucker in this Kali Yuga/Armageddon wave) be a zero-integrity, no account fuck-head who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone else. And no matter how much rationalizing or double-speak I impose on my so-called "enlightened" motherfuckin path, I love the wide swath of discord and uber-psycho-drama I leave in my wake. Yeah, I'm, a "genius". Whatever.

Blah blah - I-m-so-cool - look-at-my-white-light-sorcery - blah fucking blah... mm hm.

Does that mean I have to make every single uncomfortable thought and feeling about ME?!!?!?

I suppose I fuckin' could. That way no matter what I do to let my friends down... no matter how harsh an emanation of words and action I unleash... I can still sleep deep at night knowing full well that I'm an "expressed" and free-spirited BEING.

Fuckin' HOO-RAY for me. i AM so damn cool. Fuck everyone else. That's the price of my FREEDOM, baby. Deal with it.

Nice way to live, Prick.

In the latest edition of the New-Speak Dictionary, we'll call it "Service" and "Devotion".
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I used to be able to vomit out the Darkness and let it pass.

Now it just stays with me.

In other lifetimes, feeding on the essence of the many others was so damn convenient.

It isn't as easy nowadays. We feed on the Other, not noticing the dissipation of the Self until it's much too late.... and then it's all gone.

There's nothing left to see or be seen.

Maybe I'll crib some "Culture" from them brown people we killed long ago, and spin some fire sticks in the night to entertain my oh-so-exciting Tribe, right before I drive through that 24-7 McDonald's to get me some fries and a Coke as those two ducks beg some of the fries from me, their pea-sized brains not remembering that this asphalt lot was once a swamp their kind have come to for millenia.

You're the last of your breed. Do you like your new parking lot? Didn't think so, bitch. So what.

Live it up, Daffy.

Bye bye.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 02:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

It appears the apartment is now in continuous flux.

Greggy did a funny ass observational rant about how the shrines, pictures on the wall, cameras and weapons could lead one to belive that... I dunno... maybe I'm a Stalker or Serial Killer.

Now maybe it was the alcohol talking to me that caused it, but the latest additions will leave everyone thinking that I'm just plain crazy.

For most people it's: "Don't mix alcohol with driving". For me, the bad news combination is with Sharpies, blank paper and any form of Mass Media to incite me. This time it was magazines that got me going... Yoga, Gun and Business magazines.

I won't go into the gory details of what trinspired, but if you drop by the pad in the next week or so - you might end up finding reasons in the future for NOT coming over.

"Uh... yeah dude, I can't make it. I... uh... have to moisturize my hair."

Pussies!

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 07:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In a day or so, Red is off. She'll be gone for like 5 weeks.

I'm glad she's finally giving herself a break. She goes 7 days a week, never stopping; pushing all the time.

It's gonna be weird with her not around for so long. I've gotten used to her essence permeating my life.

The conversations that can fly from the deepest to the stupidest and back again with ease. The comfortable silences that fill the in-between. Not really spending a whole lot of time together - just being THERE when we're there.

Yeah, I got a bunch of stuff to do. That's good. It will keep my mind off the big empty hole in space that she usually occupies (and NO, I'm not calling her fat.)

I don't think there's much else to say about someone who has sort of become my best friend.. whatever that means... I'm gonna miss her.

She will have a great time, and a much needed break. That makes it good.

5 weeks. Just 5 weeks. that's nothing. a blip in time.

yeah.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 05:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

On Angela's birthday, Laura cooked fajitas for her

We walked to the market to get the ingredients. At the checkstand, fuckin Angela plays "quckdraw" and slaps down her card.

It was her birthday... freakin' clown.

The fajitas were super yummy. Angela thinks fajitas are the perfect food. She's right. My Umani Ramen is perfect, too. So's a Loco Moco. And a #1 no onions from In n' Out. And a plate at Bob's Okazu Ya: beef curry, chicken long rice, potato-mac salad, sweet sour ribs, kalua cabbage, tsukemono hot off the steam table. So fuckin good. Oooo, chocolate peanut butter ice cream out the ice cream maker and batch frozen for an hour... nut topping and whipped cream right in the tub - five spoons, no waiting.

But I digress.

I got her a stack of random-ass stuff from the japanese store: a giant pencil, a plush unicorn...

We got high and all curled up in the 'Nest' sofa, talked about how her character should be in the "GreggyChristo" movie - she has very specific ideas, all good... talked about all sorts of shit and laughed like idiots; laughing ourselves to sleep.

I been thinking of fate and choice and the accumulation of quanta that gets us to where we are now.

Angela wanted to go do Graduate studies a few years back, ended up not doing it; going a different direction. Even though she gets a little bent sometimes about that path not taken, I think the thing she's in right now serves her perfectly.

But what if it went the other way. And not just that one thing, but the millions of choices in our lives and the things outside of our control that brings us into the here-now.

Any one of a near-infinite number of factors could have prevented us from being sprawled out on a sofa on a hot summer night laughing our asses off like the retards we are.

If she had done Graduate work, I would have never met her. Fuck that.

everything is so perfect the way it is.

Anyway sometime after midnight I woke and started making a "to do" list. I haven't done one of those in months. I got sleepy again and crawled back into the "nest".

It was hot as fuck. Between my body heat and Angela's and the vertical crib-like sides of the Nest, it was like a sauna. So I doze off and enter into a dream cycle. But instead of getting a deep relaxing rest, friggin Angela's dream/energy body kept molesting me.

Oh, maybe I imagined the whole thing. No... no, not my imagination. Ang's Dream Body is even more hypersexual than her waking self. I awoke with that confused, fatigued just-penetrated feeling.

Angela woke and crawled over to the cool side of the room (the middle of the floor actually) and went back to sleep, as did I.

And I rested better, not being engulfed by Ang's succubus-like Dreamtime hypersexuality.

Really though, it's not her fault. I'm the one who crawled back into the "nest" at 4 in the morning instead of crashing back on the floor.

Clearly I was "asking for it."

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 04:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)