so let's recap

I cryptically aluded to going on a date on Saturday which I kind of walked into thinking it would be on the brief and not a big deal end. It turned out to be a six-hour affair with a cool, intelligent and very attractive dude with whom things got pretty makey-outy and I found myself uttering the phrase 'Well...do you want to hang out tomorrow?' at the end of a parking lot passion-fest. It was actually kind of cool to not hop directly into bed (I like trying new things) and drive home with my lips buzzing and my heart racing - I ended up staying up til 5 so I could shave and smoke weed and attempt to decompress but not really sleep til the rooster started crowing (FUCK. THE. ROOSTER.).

Next day? My first call is from the famous Jenndaly, inviting me into her world for mimosas before any sort of non-liquid nutrition could grace my lips. Met up with the dude (let's call him...John...it's his name, after all) for some coffee, then hopped back over to my place to...drink it. Lemme tell you, that was some good...wine. I haven't sweat through wine like that since who knows when.

In spite of both of our attempts to be clean shaven...it seems that both parties got rubbed a little raw. In addition to having a rather minor chin wound I'm also sporting a huge hickey today.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little proud of it. It's been eons since I've hooked up with someone and not been completely mortified by them and the quality of the goings-on. So the fact that I had a pretty great time is enough of a reward for any minor phsyiological damage.

Oops. I kinda like a boy. Who might kinda like me. Do I know what the fuck to do or how I'm supposed to be acting?? Nooooo. But I definitely need a little chaos in my days right now.

Ohyeah, and I made a PM apperance at Jenndaly's and had a pretty spectacular dinner that finally made me realize I don't actually hate scallops. Yum.

ruthless in-efficiency

Yesterday I turned to the friendtor and said, "I just want to lay down my head and cry for the things that have already happened that stopped happening and may never happen again."

Her response? "Good. You should. That means you're not done experiencing it yet."

"I'm never done experiencing anything," I replied.

I am famous for throwing out little off the cuff statements like this, usually half-joking, and they rather instantly disturb me with the ring of truth about them. I suppose it is a faculty of memory to keep the events that dictate our lives in permanent stasis, allowing them to reverberate with decreasing force as time goes by.

Hearing snippets from the Arcade Fire's Funeral reminded me so much of being in Morlaix, walking around all over hell and compulsively listening to that album. Lost in my hash-headed, hamfisted thoughts, walking all over town be-scarfed and windblown, carrying groceries by the heaping armoload. Walking underneath the viaduct, strolling through the harbor, edging past the drunken celtic gypsies while listening to...yup, Arcade Fire, instead of their drunken, incomprehensible what-have-yous.

And Montana. For just about five minutes this morning, I wanted to be in Montana so bad I felt like there was a hand around my throat.

The hardest thing is to keep walking forward and believe that the memories you are making and the ones that will follow can be that good or even better or more profound or more intense.

I live in da ATX now, and I am living in a simultaneous simplicity and exorbitance that is rather incredibly appropriate to me - as balanced as any bloody thing I touch can be. I will be able to say I survived the summer in Texas without mothafucking air conditioning. Soon this could become the experience in my young life I one day relent ever coming to an end.

Tonight, I kind of have a date. We'll see how it goes...

trying diligently to blog, be less boring

The most depressing thing about trying to write in this slice o'bollocks is watching myself struggle in any attempt to characterize the way my time is being spent. What are the salient thoughts creeping outward? 'Work sucks.' 'Drugs good.' 'Friends fun.' It is a fucking struggle to cast any character into the vacant imagery of my world right now.

That was more of an attempt to explain my lack of blogging than to e-pen any form of suicide note. Sunday was a day deliciously spent with friendtor Jenndaly, grabbing up the red cans at about three that afternoon and not letting go for the next six hours. I ran around with her to deliver a present to a kickball game and to say hello to complete strangers that gave us weedbrownies. HELLO indeed.

Something that does not really need announcing: I am experiencing a rather dizzying friendlove affair with this girl, causing me to say things like, 'If you were a gay man, I would have no reason to leave your house.'

Which is clearly an exaggeration.

Unless, in this already hypothetical universe, freshdirect.com branches out to delivery care packages of cigs/booze/drugs. Then there would be trouble.

The following night, I stepped into her bar for a maybemeeting with friends that went to see Black Orpheus. Rather than seeing people I knew already, I rather stumbled into the acquaintance of an ex-N'awlins-ian who I knew the JD knew and who I was also able to piece together knew my forever famous N'awlins old flame, and pretty well at that. Since I ultimately measure myself and all others by his, um, yardstick of wit and charm, it was kind of dope to convince one of his friends that I was cool and worthy of merit. Which I actually do believe I am, but this is beside the point - last time I saw him, I was a tender 21, still gestating as the social dynamo you cybersee before you today.

I love Austin and New Orleans being connected that way. I get a taste of what I love about that place without having to live there. I will always visit - but I don't think I could really see myself living there. This is not an issue of hurricanes or even just obscene amounts of crime and crazy heat. I guess I want to be able to go there and have the same active appreciation for it. I don't want to have to be frustrated by it or whatevs-ed on it or what have you.

I would really just like it to be the weekend a little bit more, please.

my revolution

Will not be televised, but mostly due to budgetary constraints. I'm currently working on the script for theatrical presentation in the off-off-Broadway-in-Boca-Reton scene. Fresh-as-fuck.

Can you imagine anything more chilling than if there was some kind of way to tabulate the number of hours one spent checking myspace? I...could...but the chill of the idea of seeing such a physical representation of time-wastiness...it feels as though a clog-dancing convention is being held on my future grave.

Also startling: every piece of spam that you carelessly delete that is born of some freakish text-build program somehow contains a tiny fragment of poetry. Check out this lil snippet I cyber-dumpster-dove. It's title seems to be 'huge breadboard.'

Like flogging a dead horse


Can one go upon hot coals, and his feet not be burned?


Flies never visit an egg that has no crack


You cant hurry love.

I don't really know what I'm trying to get across here. The far-reaching implications of me being THIS bored at work. It almost makes me want to keep working here, if this place is going to return to such tomb-like-ness. Almost.

Other bits of oddness sure to be conveyed at a later date.

blog through the fog

That about says it all. Most of my days have been a blur of professional arena bullshit and frustration, punctuated by the stress-aggravated overindulgence in any substance at the ready. Two consecutive days found me at the elephant room after work, downing drinks and praying for a swift end to the week. At the end, there it was: my gleaming tower of excess. Mestima and I threw together a dance party in our teenytiny airconditioningless house and it was HAWT in every way that something can be. People dripped, dropped and poured outside for gulps of fresh air and cigarette smoke. An obtuse melange of records were spun and damn if it wasn't beautiful. One of the more enjoyable nights in recent history.

At the end of it, I was whiskeyed up enough to get into it with a friend of mine and ended up crying semi-hysterically for perhaps the second time in my life; the first time with a witness/crying pillow. Kind of mortifying, but also something I probably desperately needed to do, for all the various tributaries of despair going through my world right now.

Yikes. That makes things sound kind of bad. Maybe they kind of are - maybe a little glorious. I'm fighting to hang on. I'm trying to carve what I need out of what the world is offering me. I'm trying to find a way to reclaim the lifestyle I so prefer - as frustrating as it is to feel so much is wanting...at least it's better than complacency. I feel I can more actively pursue that now - before I was just forced to accept it, without the energy to dream of it ever coming to an end.

I'm trying to get a semi-fantastic new part time job that I actually stand a chance at, if I get my shiite together. Now, I am dreaming of walking out of that which is eating my soul like the obese at a dwindling buffet. And it will be glorious.

Otherwise? Made contact with an old friend currently living in the former Soviet republic of Georgia. I found this book by my old creative writing teacher at UM (we'll see if I dislike it as much as his other novel I read prior). My brother is going back to school in MT for a semester and then wants to move to...wait for it...Portland, Maine to...wait for it...study maritime law (?!). As someone profoundly on the latter side of the financial eight-ball, I have new appreciation for this kind of decision-making. Also, I think Maine would be a badass place to visit. My brother is someone who seems as capable as anyone can be in ability to balance levity and fun in a life like that - I wish him nothing but the best.

Currently reading the end of "The Sandman" by Neil Gaiman and goddamnitall if it isn't unbelievable. My friend Dale has suddenly been revealed to me as the old man from the bookstore in The Neverending Story, cleverly disguised as a young man. Between exposing me to that and various New X-Men trade paperbacks, there can be no two ways about it. Now, I must return to my resume and start breathing deep breaths so I might properly walk half-high into work.