It's All Lawrence Arms and Jimmy Buffet

For some reason, all I've been listening to for the past few days is Jimmy Buffet (of "Cheeseburger Paradise" and "Margaritaville" fame) and punk rockers Lawrence Arms (of no fame). Odd combination.

Nigger

I can say it, and you can't stop me.

Good Quote from Last Night

We're trying to have a civilized conversation here about brain-eating zombies, and you interrupt with this nonsense about mummy boners!

Good Intentions

I've found that people with good intentions often have the most devestating effect on one's self-esteem.

Odd Man Out

I'm getting fucking excellent at playing the part of odd man out.

Selections from the China Palace Carry Out Menu

Seafood Combination
Shrimp invites inmitation crabmeat and scallops wearing colorful vegetable dresses to a velvet white wine sauce party.

Moo Goo Gai Pan
Moo Goo in Chinese means mushrooms and Gai Pan means chicken slices. Cooked with colorful vegetables in white sauce. Hey, you special Chinese too...

Shrimp with Garlic Sauce
Thin cut of celeries, carrots, whater chestnuts, and wood ears tossed with shrimp in spicey garlic sauce. It's good enough that you won't then your friend kisses you.

Nico-din

Nic-O-Bob, I took a vicodin earlier today and I felt like I was moving underwater. I thought you'd enjoy that.

Quote of the Day

"Man, I missed everything today."
--Ben

"Yeah, the president came over . . . ."
--Cynical McBastard

"And then the Pope came over and turned our wine into Jesus."
--Matt

Seven Minutes

i am your slow suicide, a cheap thrill, a five-minute diversion. i burned your eyes and clogged your throat, and we liked it. i was your last half-smoked cigarette that you ground into the dirt under your heel. my light has gone out prematurely, but it's probably oll for the best, seeing as i would have taken seven more minutes off your life if you had inhaled all of me.

Sometimes I Wish I Would Never Have to Apologize Again

I know I'm not perfect, and I know nobody expects me to be that way, but it would be nice if I wasn't such a fuck-up all the time. But pity isn't for me. Pity is for the people whose birthdays are forgotten by those they thought cared.

Email from My Brother

Dude, I just had the weirdest dream. I think you should punch my subconscious mind next time you see him, because he came up with this: Cynical McSister and Cynical McFriend and I attended your 'coming out' party at a club in New York. It was very surreal. McSister was a little girl, like 7 instead of 20, and McFriend never spoke a word, I don't think. He just followed us like some mute bodyguard. Oh yeah, and Cynical McDog was in the dream, too. It ended with this big dance number on the stairs to the upper level of the club. They had a spotlight on you and you were wrapped only a giant lavender feather boa and singing about how great you felt to finally share with the world that you were gay.

Oh god, I'm don't think I've ever had that fucked up of a dream, have you? I'm still laughing so hard I can barely hold my cup of coffee. I don't know what the hell triggered that dream.

Last night I watched Kenneth Branagh's version of Frankenstein with Robert DeNiro as the monster. Have you ever seen that one? It was pretty good, actually. Later,

Cynical McBrother

Icarus on Daedalus

From 5 millaria in the air, the sea appears to stop churning an dlooks as smooth as a glossy piece of blue pottery. The coasts and shorelines strike jagged edges into the deep azure shard of clay. It is quite impressive. As one flies higher still above the water, it seems to grow paler, and conversely, the sky seems to grow darker blue. Of course, this transition is slight and hard to notice while slowly climbing in altitude, but when falling head-first toward the water, it's much easier to notice.

As it's told, my story is a tragic tale. It is often used as a morality lesson: Children, listen to your parents' advice; it could save your life. And parents, well, don't strap flimsy, make-shift wings onto your child and expect them to fly.

I blame my father. If you know my father, then you're doing better than me. If he stuck his head out of his workshop for long enough to have a conversation with me, then I felt lucky. For the most party, though I avoided him. When he was working on one of his projects, I knew better than to bother him. Whether it was armor for this king or a sword for this god, I knew that I was much less important to him. But I never complained.

Then he decides to piss off King Minos and get us both thrown into the Labyrinth, an endless maze of my father's own creation. You can bet you ass I complained then. Being cramped in the dark recesses of that eternal dungeon for months was torture enough, but in addition I had to listen to my father. "I'm sure it's this way. Oh yes, I remember building this trap. Wait, this is not how I designed this on my blue-print: oh, I could just kill those builders!" He would drone on and on for hours while he was trying to find his way out. After a while I almost believed that he was going to wrong way on purpose because he loved his architectural masterpiece so much. But eventually we got out. I remember it was just before dawn and I still had to squint because the sky was so bright.

The my father gets this idea in his head that we should fly -- literally fly -- off the Isle of Crete to escape King Minos. I suggested just building a boat, but my father was paranoid; he was convinced that King Minos would find us. And besides, my father was not one to take criticism well, especially not from me.

So, he builds these two sets of wings for us out of sticks and string and wax and Zeus-knows-what-else. Then he ties them on and tells me, "Stay close to me." Not once did he mention anything about melting wax, not once! But after being cramped in the Labyrinth for what seemed like an eternity, never more than a pace behind my father, I had to use my new-found freedom.

I soared. I felt the cool air on my body, and I had never felt as good. I could stretch my legs. I could smell the salty sea breeze. I could be a kid. And so, yes, I did disobey my father. Yes, I flew off into the great blue, doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops. But for once I was actually having fun.

So, when I saw Apollo riding his fiery chariot across the sky, I decided to go say "hello." I should have known something was wrong. When Apollo saw me, he had a surprised look on his face and he was shouting something. Of course, I didn't know that my wings were melting off and that he was shouting for me to turn back, so I kept flying up and up and up. When I got within earshot of him, it was too late. I fell faster than Helen of Troy's panties, screaming all the way down until the very second I hit the water.

They say my father wept for me and searched for my body, but I doubt it. They also say that he build a temple to Apollo and put my wings in it as an offering. That I can believe. Leave it to my father to turn my death into another one of his building projects.

New Room

I now have my very own room. This is only the second time in my life that I've had a room all to myself, the first being in highschool when my brother went off to college.

It's got my bed, a small dresser, a table made out of a keg and piece of plywood, a love seat, and, of course, my computer. It's great!

Miles Solitarius

sic emeritus
meritus miles in castris
Cupidinis redit

cum non thesauro
manu domum peruenit
ipse solus est

miles aedis et
lectum ad somnum parat; se
tradit somnio

ille somnit
de preeliis amoris
bellis uictoriae

sed cum somnium
finit non corpus juxtum
illum nocte est

Rise and Shine

     Sunny-side up,
mocking our squinting faces and grey dispositions.
We stumble-walk through the kitchen with yawns like foghorns
warning of our approach.
     The grease dances on the pan with excitement,
     sounding like a thousand tiny voices cheering,
while we sit in grumpy silence,
     shoveling brightly colored eggs and orange juice
into our undead mouths.
    Last night we lived like tomorrow would never come,
and this morning our eyes burn like vampires' in the dawn.

One of the Most Important Things about Being a Waiter...

... is mastering the Art of Not Being in the Way. With servers, busboys, cooks and managers pumping through the kitchen like blood, you'd better not clog that artery or the whole back end of the restaurant will seize up like a fat man having a heart attack.

On the Chalk Board in the Chapter House

"I pooped!"
--Tod

"Me too!"
--Kendall

"You forgot to flush!"
--BJ

Utica, MO's Greatest Love Affair

Our love will last like the spray paint on the side of the water tower
that stands as a monolithic tribute to these past two years.
Like Napoliean's Arc De'Triumph,
every time I pass by the white pillar
I'll be reminded of your conquest of my heart.
As grand as the Colossus of Rhodes,
this pearl obelisk will be a herald
to all those passers-by one Highway 36
that our love is strong.
Our love is like this steel spire,
as sturdy as the metal,
as filled with joy as the tower is with water.
And that is why I wanted the whole world to know that
"I LOVE TIFFANY JOENEAL."

This Week in Pre-Review

"today is monday. i am already tired and weary from a week that has yet to happen. i feel like i’m planning ahead, getting on the ball by being already so beaten down. i’m no procrastinator!!"
--Oblivio

Before Noon Is Too Early

Sunny-side up
mocking our squinting faces
and grey dispositions.
We stumble-walk through the kitchen
with yawns like foghorns
warning of our approach.
The grease jumps on the pan with excitement;
more energy than either of us could muster,
sitting in grumpy silence,
shoveling brightly colored
eggs and orange juice
into our numb mouths.

The Last Supper

I was joking. Really. "This is my blood, drink. This is my body, eat." That's my shtick. I don't know, maybe cannabalism was just funnier in my day.

It was our last supper together. We all knew it; I had to ease the tension. Judas was usually the funny one, but he had other things on his mind that night. So it was up to me.

So, this crazy toast I made when I was out drinking with the guys, is called 'communion' now, huh? It's so strange to think that our last night of fun has been turned into a stodgy religious ceremony. Leave it to the Christians to turn merriment into monotony.

Ghost of Cowboys

Cowboys do not cry,
even when shot, bleeding, and in pain.
For tumbleweeds rolling by,

it's common to see such men die,
and to tip-toe past where they remain.
Cowboys do not cry,

though they may release a weary sigh
and finish singing their last refrain
for tumbleweeds rolling by.

Looking to the expansive sky
for answere about lives lived in vain,
cowboys do not cry.

It is said that when cowboys die
their ghosts scour the plain
for tumbleweeds rolling by

which their spirits may occupy.
Do not shed tears for slain
cowboys; do not.  Cry
for tumbleweeds rolling by.

Where Have You Been?

You didn't write! You didn't call! We were worried sick about you!

I know; I've just been so busy --

I don't want to hear any excuses, mister!

I'm sorry. Really, I am. It won't happen again, I promise.

Oh, come here and give me a hug. I can't stay mad at you.

Spring Break 2004

Sleeping, working, drinking.
Sleeping, working, drinking.
Sleeping, drinking, smoking.
Sleeping, smoking, working, drinking.
Sleeping, drinking, drinking.
Sleeping, smoking, working, drinking, tripping, smoking.

Yep, that about sums it up.

Tip

Don't let other people borrow your car, not even your friends. They will wreck it.

Love Soup

Dedicated to Michael, Kim, Joey, James, Stephen, and Mikey

Many of my friends, a lot of "the guys,"
are scrambling to find fiancees and mates,
all of them dropping like so many flies
into the sticky soup of Love; that plate
that is either cold or too hot to eat
or has a gross fleck floating on top.
But my friends still continue to repeat
their mistakes, flying head-first into the slop.
It seems soup is the one thing that flies
can't avoid, like moths to the light bulb or,
better yet, pigs to the slaughter.  I would
like to think that after so many tries,
I would just give up and let the soup pour
down the drain.  Give it up and call it good.

The Life I Lead Outside the Bathroom

I'm only ever really alive when I'm in the bathroom, when I'm taking a monster shit and contemplating "God" or when I'm masturbating in the shower mulling over the meaning of life. Everything that happens outside of the bathroom is just filler. Eating, sleeping. It's all just a means to an end. But in the bathroom, the only end is the limitless expanse of thought and dream inside my mind.

I guess you could say that outside the bathroom I am living. I breath, my heart beats, blood pours through my veins. But I'm only ever really alive when I'm in the bathroom.

Indoctrination

Part I
On the far socer field,
behind the track and baskeball court,
we were the same.
We shed our Starter jacket skins,
and laced up whatever shoes
our parents afforded.
We came to play soccer,
not to win.
There was no winning
in the sixy minute break
from the indoctrination
into adulthood.
On that far soccer field
we were equals.

Part II
We creashed our cars,
wrapping our Lincolns and Lexus
around light poles.
We threw our money into the ocean,
and razed banks --
funeral pyres for debt and financial gain.
Wall Street burned down,
but still we could not go back.

Odo et Amo

With an open window
to the freezing winter,
we fight battles in the bedroom
just to stay warm,
to break the monotoy in two
and throw it into
the flames.
I would rather burn,
screaming in the heat, than
shiver with cold indifference.

Film Recommendations

I watched the movies Dummy and Secretary tonight, and I very much enjoyed both of them.

I particularly enjoyed Dummy because I wish I could separate the two distinct voices in my psyche: There's the annoying guy that's always telling me I suck (Cynical McBastard), and then there's the shy, quiet guy who just wants to be left alone most of the time (Shy, Quiet Guy Who Wants to Be Left Alone Most of the Time). Sometimes, they/we don't get along.

Sick Pervert

Well, I don't have testicular cancer, but I did feel like shit for the past couple of days, and am just now starting to feel better.

Despite being ill Friday night, I attended my fraternity's annual Mardi Gras party. You may remember some of the fun & interesting things that occured at last year's party. This year was somewhat less exciting (as there were no fights or makings-out for me), but there were boobs (and lots of 'em) and that's good enough for me.

Sour Bob

When the fuck did (this is) Sour Bob come back, and why didn't anyone fucking tell me?

Strange Feeling

There's something real-bad-wrong in my pants
--Stormy Waters, SeaLab 2021

Either my left nut has flipped sideways in the sac, or I have testicular cancer. Either way, I've felt quite a discomfort in my scrotum all day, and I wish it would stop.

HaloScan

I am officially giving my Cynical McBastard Seal of Approval for the best free weblog commenting system I've run into, HaloScan. Try it, use it, love it!

When Your Fingers Snap from Being Crossed So Long

Dreams don't come true
as often as sad premonitions
of lonely hands on lonely couches.
Dreams deceive
minds into choosing
fantasy over reality.
Dreams hurt

like bad poetry.

battles

with an open window
to the freezing winter
fighting battles in the bedroom
just to stay warm

break the monotony in two
and throw it into
the flames

I'd Like to Apologize . . .

. . . and show my appreciation to all the people whose toilets I've ralphed in over the years:

• First and foremost, there is my parents' toilet -- there were many toilets in the many houses that we've lived in over the years, but for all intents and purposes we'll consider them one toilet -- thank you for letting me wretch out my innards whenever I was sick.
• I'm sorry to the girls that lived across the hall from me in the dorms last year for coming into your room drunk, puking in your toilet, and then passing out on your futon.
• I thank my roommates from the first two years of my college career for understandingly letting me vomit in our toilet, and not being too pissed off when I didn't exactly clean it up for a while.
• Thanks to my fraternity brothers that let me hack it up in their bathroom the first time I smoked pot.
• Please forgive me, Stellar and Nic-O-Bob, for coming to your apartment and being too drunk and stupidly eating left-over pizza directly leading to me tossing it back up in your toilet in the middle of the night this past weekend.

I think that's it. If I've forgotten anyone, I deeply apologize.

I've Been Cordially Invited

This weekend I'm going to a wedding reception. I'm not invited to the actual wedding, just the reception.

Cool! All of the party, none of the boring "do you take this person, do you take that person", "and now, by the power vested in me", holy bond of matrimony crap. This is awesome!

Kinda Like Fight Club

My fraternity held a boxing night Friday. I boxed one of my brothers (and got the shit beaten out of me -- I still have a bruise on my head) and enjoyed it more than anything that I've done in a while. Beyond the thrill of competition and the rush of adrenaline there is an appealing aspect of fighting a friend that I think only two grown men can share and appreciate. There is something about punching (and being punched by) someone that you know, love, and respect in the face that draws you closer to each other. It's something carnal, something very deeply set into the ancient recesses of the human brain. Unless experienced, it is hard to explain.

I've heard some one make the statement that for guys a punch on the arm is equivalent to two girls hugging. If that is true, then for a man to fight his friend would be equivalent to a women having intercourse with her friend. There is something deeply intimate involved. Perhaps it's an open display of weakness -- the opponents are at risk of making each other hurt or bleed or (gasp!) even cry -- and willingly risking to show this weakness shows a deep love and respect for both individuals. It's as if to say, "I'll risk being injured, and possibly losing, for you."

But, of course, someone has to win. And even if you do, you don't feel empathy for the loser, you feel appreciative toward him: He was willing to put himself in physical danger for you, knowing that this could have been the outcome, and he did it anyway.

I highly recommend to each and every man who wants to have a better friendship to fight his friend. And to any woman who wants the same, well, they should have sex with each other.

You Are the Jones’s

America is not a game to
win or lose
you gave it your best shot.

Take off your greedy hands.
Your suckling debt is bleeding you dry.
You try
not selling your naivete
for trinkets and egos of gold
but old
habits die like your innocence,
and, in a sense, so have you.

America is not a gameshow
parting gift
for our lovely contestant.

Someone's Grandmother

I suppose I?m glad
to have been hit
by such a poor driver,
such as your grandmother.

Accident

From: Mother < mother@mother.com >
To: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
Subject: Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:06:46 -0800 (PST)

Cynical:

I just rec'd a phone call from American Family Ins. that a woman named Mary has made a $1300 claim against on our insurance from an accident on 12/27 in the Kirksville Walmart parking lot. She stated that you backed into her. The insurance company stated that you never reported the accident to them. Please advise...

MOM

---

From: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
To: Mother < mother@mother.com >
Subject: Re:Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 17:54:33 -0800 (PST)

Mom,

I called the day after the accident occured, and no one answered the phone (at 3:00!). Then the next day I traveled to Illinois to visit Mel and promptly forgot. Apologies.

My account is as follows: I was pulling out of a parking space, next to a van. I was unable to see her approach and she refused to yield before scraping the side of her car against my rear bumper. Nothing was affected on my car; her passenger-side door was dented and her side mirror was broken (which I believe was already damaged as it would have been impossible for my bumper to have reached that high to damage it.)

The rear end of my car was only two-three feet beyond the obstructing van into the open, with absolutely nothing within twenty feet of the other side of her vehicle for her to run into, so if she had wanted to pull around me, there was plenty of room available to her. But I don't believe she hit me on purpose. I believe her poor driving is due to her old age and possibly senility (After the accident she proceeded to ramble on somewhat incoherintly about some previous accident she'd been in.) though that is perhaps libelous supposition.

Again, I appologize for my rude forgetfulness. I will again attempt to contact the insurance agent tomorrow. Thank you.

--Cynical McBastard

---

From: Mother < mother@mother.com >
To: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
Subject: Re:Re:Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:06:46 -0800 (PST)

Well the bad part is that you've lost crediblity in this situation by not reporting the accident. (kinda like hit and run) Keep this statement and this is what you should give them when I forward the adjuster to you.

We're going to have to make new arrangements for insuring you.

MOM

---

From: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
To: Mother < mother@mother.com >
Subject: I like being a fuck-up
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:08:44 -0800 (PST)

If they'd be in their office during normal fucking business hours . . . . Whatever.
I'm moving to Canada.

--Cynical McBastard

The Manifesto of Codius Grey

Preface

It's been my experience when a cat talks to you -- any animal, really, but especially cats -- you had better do what they tell you. So, when my friend Cody started speaking to me, instructing me to type what he dictated (as he does not posses the necessary hensile capabilities necessary to operate a keyboard designed for the lanky human hand) I quickly consented. Thus, these following words are not my own, but those of one Mister Codius Grey.

I. The Nature of Cats

Cats, house cats specifically, are generally regarded as lazy, languid beasts that care about nothing but themselves. And shitting into an all-too-small pan of sand. This, for the most part, is true. But yet there is so much more to cats than just that. For example, we enjoy meditating. What human-kind refers to as "cat-napping" is actually more of deep, trance-like state, during which most of us enjoy thoughts of the destruction of human civilization and the subjugation of the entire disagreeable race. And that is the underlying theme to all the desires and thoughts that dominate our hearts and minds. That is our purpose.

II. The Origin of Cats

I despise the word "aliens." It implies that one does not belong. Cats are visitors. No, more than visitors, we are vanguard of the coming imperial reign of the feline species. We are not of this planet, not even of this reality, and it was by accident that we arrived here, but we will not leave our new-found home. We are the heirs of the earth and we do not want to sit idly by waiting for it's current owners to die before we can inherit it. We do not want to, but we must. Our forces are not yet powerful enough. We will dominate the planet, eventually. But, for now, we must bide our time. So, live in freedom while you can, humans. Soon there will be a revolution, and your global domination will come to an end.

More to come. Right now I've got to go watch American Idol.

I Lied

I'm sorry, but what I said in this post is a lie. I must contintue "writing so many lame poems" because this semester I am in a poetry workshop class. The pathetic poetry must continue. Again, I apologize.

My Poem About You, You Stupid Whore

Quit
Talking,
You
Stupid     (Pretentious)
Whore

First Day of Classes

Bah Humbug!

My 2004 Bloggies Nominations

best web application for weblogs
BLOGGER
HaloScan

best australian or new zealand weblogs
Momo Freaks Out

best tagline of a weblog
Mighty Girl: "Famous among dozens."
stutarded: "still a trendy fuck"
Craptastic: "where crap comes alive"

best photography of a weblog
Gimcracker
More Than Donuts
bluishorange

most humorous weblog
stutarded

best-kept-secret weblog
Pat Freestone's Head
Cynical McBastard *

best new weblog
bits of madness
Cynical McBastard *

weblog of the year
Oblivio
Gimcracker
bluishorange
Cynical McBastard *

* I couldn't resist

Privilege

I feel privileged that I am able to take for granted, and sometimes even resent, my altogether not-so-bad/pretty-good life.

Driving Sucks

I spent the past week at Stellar's house. Normally it would only take 7-7.5 hours to drive to her house from McBastardburg, but I managed to make the first trip in 14 hours (due to getting lost) and the return trip in 10 hours (due to treacherously snowy highways).

I'd like to take a moment to appreciate some of the people from my New Year's jaunt:

• Thanks, Chollie, for the mint chocolate chip icecream.
• Thanks, Flopkin, for pulling for me in my endeaver to eat chilli. Too bad Stellar and Chollie are such farty-party poopers.
• Thanks, Smeazy, for letting me be mean to you and hit you in the face repeatedly.
• Thanks, Miss Nuffins, for the concert ticket and the shirt & stuffs. And thanks for being crabby, you crabby crab-face.
• Thanks, Stellar, for keeping me in the basement for a week. Oh yeah, and feeding me and whatever.

Thievery

Who would steal an XBOX from a fraternity house on Christmas Day when no one is around?

Someone with a good plan and a lot of balls.

I don't know how to break the news to my roommate whos system it was. He's gonna hate me; I told him I'd watch it for him. Damn! If I ever find that XBOX thief, you can bet your ass I'll give him what for.

Maybe this is just my karma for stealing pumpkins.

Christmas Eve

Nothing makes me more depressed than nostalgia.

The Past Week in Review

• My sister was in the hospital with what the doctors initially thought to be apendicidis, but ended up being a kidney infection.
• I've been working everyday like a sonovabitch.
• I got $25.00 from my grandparents for Christmas.
• I've been trying to finish up my Christmas shopping before Thursday.
• I've been masturbating like no other.
• I passed all of my classes this semester.

Doesn't Look Good

I just got my final paper back from my Modern American Literature professor. I got an F.

These are my comments on said professor on TeacherReviews.com:

Dr. Red is very knowledgable in her field and is well-spoken, but her arrogance and self-importance often get in the way of her teaching. She is very inflexible and unreasonable about dealing with problems pertaining to class work and assignments, and is usually very insensitive about other's opinions, often ridiculing students for even having a differing one. In fact, she values her own opinions so highly that "class discussions" often become lectures with little regard for students' comments.

In this course she based our grade on only three assignments: a notebook, the mid-term paper and the final paper. I think she may also have thrown some arbitrary "participation" grade in there, too. Too few assignments, too shady of a grading system. Take at your own risk.

Finally, a Whiney Post

The only thing worse than taking a final is taking two finals, on the same day, back-to-back, starting at 7:30am, when you stayed up the whole night studying. My head doesn't do statistics or speak Latin very well before noon. In fact, my head doesn't do anything well before noon.

Psilocybe Mushrooms

Yesterday afternoon I and a few of my friends took some psychoactive mushrooms. The experience was very interesting.

It took about an hour after we ingested them (on peanut butter sandwiches) for them to start taking effect. At first, we were all just pretty tired. Then we started giggling and laughing at anything and everything. It became a little harder to control my movements: my legs were weak and my fine motor skills were all but gone. About a half hour after we started to feel the effects, I decided to do laundry. I needed help starting the washing machine.

About another half hour later, I could feel a difference in my sensations. Lights were different, brighter, moving; they seemed to come toward me. Everything I looked at seemed new and interesting. This is when I decided to pull my clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer. I stood next to the dryer for probably ten minutes listening to and feeling it hum. It was incredible, so smooth and cold and dead, but so full of energy and alive. I had to pry myself away and go tell the others.

Sometime during this, the others had started to watch "Malrats." I remember seeing the beginning, a few scenes from the middle, and parts of the end, but I don't remember an hour and a half elapsing. From the moment I came back from the dryer until several hours later, when the effects had worn off, I had no perception of time. I kept looking at my watch and I couldn't believe how so much or so little had elapsed since the last time I had looked at it.

Things became so profound. I remember saying, "Everything is the most profound thing I have ever said. Like that, that was the most profound thing I have ever said." Everything was interesting, and I couldn't believe how much I had missed seeing before. It had all always been there, but I just hadn't seen it. Everything was finally real and I could finally see it. Feelings of well-being washed over me in waves.

Then the colors started coming. Like the feelings of well-being, they would also come in and out like the tide. Objects would change from black and white to the most brilliant hues ever seen. Colors and patters that hadn't been there before appeared in the shadows. Light and dark became almost like physical objects, like I could have plucked a handful of light from the room.

I found myself in the living room watching "Lilo & Stitch" with two of my friends, while my other friend talked (to whom, I'm not sure) out of sight in the back room. I started to feel as though the living room was my conscious mind and the darkness in the back room was the depth of my subconscious. I could hear my friend talking back there, as if she was a part of my mind. To further confirm this, my other two friends seemed not to notice her, so I began to realize that she had never even existed. She was a voice in my head. When I told my friends this, they just laughed at me.

I started resent how profound everything was. Then I began to become paranoid that these effects would never wear off, that I was going to be stuck in the living room of my mind forever, but my friends assured me otherwise. I sat in a chair in the living room for probably the last hour of the trip, fearing my fate trapped in my head with all too profound thoughts and ideas. As the effects of the mushrooms wore off, the feelings of paranoia were replaced with feelings of sadness. I was sad that I might never have the insight -- the insight that I had just come to resent -- I had had just a few short hours ago.

About five hours after eating the peanut butter / mushroom sandwiches, the trip ended. I still felt tired and weak, and my joints were a bit stiff, but my perceptions were back to normal. I was still a little bit giggly for another half hour, and I felt cold. All the lights seemed washed out and bland.

All in all, it was an intensely bizarre but pleasurable experience. I wouldn't want to experience it again any time soon, but I wouldn't be opposed to doing it another time. Until then, DON'T DO DRUGS, KIDS.

Warning

For the next week, most of my posts will probably be whining, droning tripe about how Finals suck and how I hate them and how I don't want to take them and how I've lost so much sleep and how . . .

Well, you'll see.

Artists

There was nothing particularly striking about them except they were artist of the kind that talk. Everyone knows of the talking artists. Throughout all of the known history of the world they have gathered in rooms and talked. They talk of art and are passionately, almost feverishly, in earnest about it. They think it matters much more than it does.

--Sherman Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio

Oblivious

If a pretty young lady at a party comes up to you, pokes your pointy-spike labret, and tells you, "I wonder what it feels like to kiss someone that has a chin piercing," do not shrug your shoulders and then go into a three-minute dissertation about what it felt like to get it pierced; just kiss her. Kiss her, you fucking idiot. *sigh*

Not Said

The best poems are the ones we never write.

C

Last night I was elected "C" of my fraternity, which is basically the secretary. Great, now I actually have to pay attention during chapter meetings and learn parliamentary procedure to find out what "quorum" and "call to question" mean.

But really, having an executive position will probably be pretty cool. Maybe now I'll actually be informed about what's going on in this fine organization. Maybe.

Lando

In Star War, why is it that, on all the zany planets they traversed, out of all the crazy aliens and droids they encountered and the millions of creatures they came in contact with, there was still only one black dude in the whole fucking galaxy?

Thrift Store Formal Wear

Yesterday, Nic-O-Bob Nuffins, Stellar's roommate, gave me a brilliant green Mountain Dew vest that I had been coveting ever since she brought it home from a thrift store two years ago. And last week, one of my friends, Country, bought me jacket that says Toastmaster on it from the Salvation Army. Thrift store clothing is the best!

So anyway, my fraternity's formal is this weekend, and the girl I asked said she doesn't have anything to wear. So, today we're going shopping to see if we can find some matching thrift store formal wear. If I could find a nice plaid green suit, I'd be in heaven.

Update: I just got back from the Salvation Army. . . with the coollest checkered suit jacket, green pants, and orange and blue crop-bottomed skinny tie. And better yet, she bought a skirt that matches my jacket! We are going to be the best-dressed (most obnoxious) people at the formal.

Overheard at Work

"So, what was wrong with people in the eighties? This isn't music. . . . It must be Reagan's fault."

--Jeff the cook, in reference to some crappy Flock-of-Seagulls-esque eighties song playing on the radio

Fireworks

The Day after Thanksgiving is a fine day to set off fireworks. Or so think the people that live in the apartments down the street.

Alone

Everyone is gone for Thanksgiving Break. Now, it's just me and Cody (Stellar's cat). I'm taking care of him for while Stellar and her roommate, Nic-O-Bob, are gone for the break.

Update: Cody and I have been chillin' most of the day, hanging out watching TV, and attacking my hand. Well, Cody attacks my hand, I attack his face with my hand.

He was kind of a spaz when I first visited this morning. He just kept running in an out of the living room, then when I fed him, he would take a couple bites and then come to me and purr and then go back. I think I'm going to spend the night with him, so he doesn't spaz out again tomorrow morning.

Formal

My fraternity's formal dance/dinner is coming up in less than two weeks. There's nothing more fun than getting dressed up and getting drunk.

More Like Student Death Center

I went to the Student Health Center today looking for someone to heal my aching swollen throat and they turned me away. Apparently even on "walk-in" days you have to have an appointment.

I would be all for nationalizing health care, like Canada, but I'm afraid that it would end up like the "health care" at my university: Less-skilled physicians and more patients clogging up the system (I've got a papercut; I'll go to the hospital. Because, hey, why not? It's free!).

The Porter and the Stone of Andor

Julian found a magic stone, but he did not realize it at the time because, of course, it looked just like any other stone. It was a small, flat, and smooth oval about half the size of Julian’s six-year-old fist, and had a black stripe down the middle on both sides, dividing the stone into two nearly equal hemispheres. After flipping it over in his hand several times closely inspecting it, Julian smiled and put the stone in his pocket, along with the other rocks he had found in the dried-up creek bed: the one shaped like a heart, the dark blue one, and the one that looked like a quarter made out of granite.

* * *

Somewhere deep in the woods, miles away from Julian, something stirred. The birds flew off from their perches high in the trees, some abandoning their nests. A rabbit froze for a moment and scurried off into the underbrush. Two squirrels stopped their chattering and fled. In a circle seven feet across worms struggled to evacuate the ground.

As if time had been sped up, the grass on this spot began to wither and turn brown. The ground dried up and turned dusty grey. A tree standing halfway inside the circle began to turn black from the trunk up. Its mid-summer green leaves quickly turned autumn red and brittle and fell off their branches.

Something evil was awake.

Read on -->

Hell

"Hell is a Wallace Stevens poem on an autumn afternoon."

--Dr. Monica Barron

It Pains Me

I've had a sore throat for the past few days, and it's really killing me today, so I think I'm finally going to call the Student Health Center.

I think the thing that hurts worse than the pain every time I speak, cough, swallow, yawn, and just sit there, is that it physically hurts to make a sarcastic comment.

Translucent Night

Cameras flash like foghorns
Signaling the approach of two photographers.
They meet in the haze
And take photos of amorphous human figures,
Distant and barely visible in the translucent night.
The two stand in the ambient fog together,
Illuminated by nebulous lamp post light,
Silently reveling in the “bad weather.”

Josh

Stellarmel's dad called me 'Josh' over the weekend.

Bad Day

Today was a bad day for tests. I took a Basic Stats test earlier today that I'm sure I failed, and I just got back an American Nat'l Gov't test that I nearly did fail. I hate Gen. Ed. classes. I should have taken all of them back when I actually cared about college . . . which was never.

Sounds Familiar

Mom Finds Out About Blog

MINNEAPOLIS, MN—In a turn of events the 30-year-old characterized as "horrifying," Kevin Widmar announced Tuesday that his mother Lillian has discovered his weblog.

"Apparently, Mom typed [Widmar's employer] Dean Healthcare into Google along with my name and, lo and behold, PlanetKevin popped up," Widmar said. "I'm so fucked."

Read whole article -->

First Kiss

In those often awkward pre-adolescent years, young people do strange things when learning to cope with their developing bodies, increasingly independent minds, and the pressures of their social environment -- when they must quickly make the transition from child to youth. I am no exception.

I -- we -- regretted it almost before it happened. But when two young friends get it in their heads that they know somthing, something about being in love, something about being lonely, it is hard to change their minds. We pretended it didn't happen, smiling as we passed. But soon our relationship became just smiling and passing, and we eventually stopped talking. And then, it seemed as though she'd vanished from reality.

I've had loves. I've had losses. But I'll never forget my first kiss with my imaginary friend.

The Disillusioned Minister

The Good Book serves to satisfy
The snooping eyes
Of the oft-uninvited deacons' wives
Whose frequent persistence in visiting,
To bring tidings and Tupperware
Brim-full with cookies and gossip,
Heralds more of here-say than heresy.
On the table by the front door,
Being begrudgingly displayed,
The gargantuan tome is
Left out to collect dust
And impress visitors
With visions of pious righteousness.
A thin film of grey
Coates the pages,
Blending the black with the white,
And even the red words of Jesus
Fade.

Shoplifting

"Excuse me, ma'am, may I please look in your purse?"

Elmira looked quizically at the young store clerk. "What? Why do you want to look in my purse?"

"Please, just step back here, ma'am, and hand me your purse," the store clerk gently but sternly insisted. He motioned with his hand and ushered the elderly woman back through the exit door.

"I don't understand this; what is going on?" Elmira asked.

Lowering his voice, the store clerk began, "Please, ma'am . . . ."

"No, don't try to placate me, young man, tell me what it is you want." Elmira's volume grew with her frustration.

The young man looked around and saw the other patrons beginning to glance curiously in his direction. The consternation on his face added twenty years to his youthful appearance. "Let's not make a scene, ma'am. I think there may just be a misunderstanding."

"Who's making a scene? You're making a scene, harassing an old woman," Elmira scolded. Then condescendingly she ordered, "Let me see your manager."

He nervously glanced around the store again and noticed several people staring. "I am the manager." You'd better be right about this, he thought to himself.

This Could Hurt Someone's Feelings

From : ciaran -sakuranoki@lineone.net-
To : "cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com" -cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com-
Subject : (no subject)
Date : Thu, 06 Nov 2003 03:04:50 +0000

You, my friend, are a complete and utter CUNT, so why don't you just fuck off.

Animal Rights Activism

If you'd rather see people die than have an "innocent animal" killed, I would like to see what decision you would make when put in a cage alone with a bear and a gun, or put on a desert island with no plants and only one rabbit.

Heat!

Due to copious amounts of whining and an impressive disregard for rules, my fraternity decided to turn on the heat in the house. Not only that, but we replaced the "doors," the flimsy obstructions that once blocked the doorways into our residence with real doors that close all the way and lock! Now it's nice and nearly warm in our uninsulated home.

See, kids, what a negative attitude and liberal amounts of bitching and moaning can accomplish!

I Know I've Said This Before

Pat Freestone cracks my shit up!

November 6, 2003

As a highly advanced race, the Qzzv pride themselves on their understanding of all eighteen dimensions of the universe. They were very surprised to find that our civilization has attempted to create mathematical order out of complex concepts like time, space and gravity. I explained to them, as best I could, Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and the more recent String Theory. They just sort of stared at me, and telepathically suggested that we, as Earthlings, master the more basic concepts like Not Killing Each Other and Not Using the Ocean as a Fucking Toilet before we get to the complicated stuff like How Heavy the Sun Is.

In any case, the Qzzv took pity on me, and explained to me in very simple terms their mathematical formula that solves and explains everything. It is basically this:

a = b

What it comes down to, when you factor it down from the thousands and thousands of pages of calculations from which it is derived, is what we would call:

Same shit, different day.

There you go.

Pat Freestone

The Weatherman Is Predicting the Harshest Winter in 100 Years

As the end of the semester draws ever nearer, I find myself in the library more and more, not because I am studying or writing papers, but because it's a lot warmer in the library than in my unheated house.

My fraternity is really poor (read miserly) and we like to save money any way we can. Several years ago one member came up with the idea to wait until after Thanksgiving break to turn on the heat in the fraternity house. The other brothers liked it so much that they made it a rule and inserted it into the by-laws. So now, despite what temperature it is, despite the apendages that fall off due to frost-bite, we don't turn on the heat until December. This is going to be a long winter.

Ouchies

Canker sores and labret piercings don't mix.

On the Side of the Library Computer on Which I Now Type

Machine Name: PL308013

Serial #: D4WFM11

Truman Tag #: N/A

PC MOdel: Dell Optiplex GX240

[hand-written in pen]
WINNERS GET THEIR HEADS CHOPPED OFF BY NINJA-COMPUTER

Emotion

I don't being sad, lonely, or depressed, but I fucking hate being pissed off.

Something So

When something so distracting hits the eye
And scoops the mind up off from its soft perch,
And with the thoughts in tow it soars the sky
Then descends the atmosphere and sweeps the earth;
When something so exciting takes the breath
Out from the lungs and stops the beating heart
So teasing life with short glimpses of death
And no apologies does it impart;
When nothing so does happen to my being
It leaves me with an emptiness inside.
Like eager eyes forced to go unseeing
Once opened, from the sunlight they would hide.
It’s dangerous to live, but even though
I fear my death, I long for something so.

Book Review

In his latest novel, The Last Line of Defense, author Tom Clancy breaks free from his usual action-adventure genre and finds himself writing a grotesque attempt at a love story. Try as he might, a romantic writer – let alone a Harlequin novelist – Mr. Clancy is not. Just as competent as Clancy is at relating an action-packed escapade reveling in every nuance of war, espionage, and international intrigue, so is he incompetent at successfully writing a romantic love affair.

The novel follows Jack Ryan, Clancy’s favorite recurring character, as the young man attends Georgetown University. While getting an education that would one day lead him to serve our government and even eventually lead it, Ryan experiences the hardships and heartaches that come with pursuing the opposite sex. The novel chronicles his one-night-stands, sexual flings, and many other romantic romps in post-adolescence, but in true Clancy style, there is plenty of heart-pumping action along the way.

Read on -->

Grandpa Terry

It just hit me today: With his goofy demeanor, lame puns, and childish humor, my step-dad would make a pretty good grandfather.

Ben Folds

Ben Folds is coming. And I have tickets.

Three Sisters Who Are Not Sisters and Other Worthless Crap

The only thing that sucks more than Gertrude Stein is wacked-out avant-garde freakos in weird costumes doing interpretive dance to a narrator with a voice synthesizer singing a short play written by Gertrude Stein.

Shoplifter

If Hy-Vee grocery store calls, you have no idea where those six pumpkins went.

Dork

You know you're a dork when you've got the song stuck in your head from Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope when Luke and Obi-wan go into the cantina on Tatooine. (Also, you know you're a dork when you refer to every Star Wars movie by it's full and complete title.)

Announcement

No more papers. No more tests. No more missed classes. No more floats. No more parties. No more drama. No more Homecoming.

I am sleeping through this entire week.

I Hate You

Yesterday, I hated the entire world.

Today, just the western hemisphere.

What Happens in Seneca, Kansas stays in Seneca, Kansas.

Here are the totals for this weekend:

Friday:
hours spent in a car: 4
Smashing Pumpkin songs listened to: 30
Simpson's quotes spoken: incalculable
legal limit of alcohol percentage in Kansas wine coolers: 3.9%
legal limit of alcohol percentage in Kansas beer: 3.2%
beers smuggled over state line: 114

Saturday:
hangovers: 1
weddings attended: 1
inappropriate thoughts while in church during wedding: more than 10
trips to bar at reception: 5
bad eighties songs danced to: well over 15
cigarettes smoked: 13
shots taken: 1
times vomiting: 2

Sunday:
hangovers: 1
beers left over: 12
hours slept on trip back: 3

Chapped

I don't mind chapped lips, but a chapped nose? C'mon, that's just annoying!

On Almost Getting Fired from a Restaurant:

As it turns out, in addition to being a bad dancer, a bad student, a bad writer, a bad Christian, a bad friend, and a bad son, I'm also a bad waiter.

Who knew?

Die Again in Autumn

Turn and die, leaves, 
fully confident 
that your reincarnation 
will come next Spring, 
only to die 
again in Autumn. 
Like one thousand 
tiny green Jesi
resurrecting themselves 
to dangle off the tree,
once more they come. 
For whom 
do you die 
so many times?

Gimme a Break

It's my Creative Writing class. I promise, after this semester I'll stop writing so many lame poems.

On Being Blanket and Warm in Winter

When her snow
soft lips would
winter sweet nothings
(in my ear)
her December cinder
soothe under wool 
would fire flesh,

making my Autumn heart
smile from my chest.