So how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?

Oct 20, 2004 11:47


Yeah, I posted what of it?
I wouldn't expect everyone to read it, but I guess that's the whole nature of a cut, right?
Forgive me if I did it wrong, it's my first time.



One expects much from the monkey at this stage... at least enough to say it's worth posting, I'd assume. And really... I mean, I have to wonder exactly about this "one" just for the sake that there has to be more for one to wonder about than just myself and my musings and my... goings and comings and.... well ya'know to tell you the truth in the situation thusly, as being a long lost party one has not heard from in perhaps a month... two... three... whatever... does that last post even count? I can't tell you? In fact, I can't really tell you anything at this point. This is a person here, he's done some things in his life, lets call them... for the sake of argument lets call them all mistakes. I wouldn't contest this fact at all. Everything's been a mistake... Eworks, Texas, Pronto Roma, The apartment, Esquire, and the current venture... to explain as such would require much longer a pallate of available discussion and seriosuly.... well... I'm still a bit fucking drunk right now, so give me a minute you commie pricks.
Coffee... ok, yes, for those that might wonder, yes I do work 5-6 days a week and don't normally feel the need for that daily fix of journalitis on a nightly basis after I'm finally home. Truth would tell I merely come home to the AIM that awaits and if one were to contact the monkey on said AIM I would respond in kind. Yes... I would. I hold no ill will towards anyone, dispite what the zombie guru might tell you. But fuck Helga... that whore, seriously. I mean, Zombie Aristotle, maybe... but fucking Zombie Machiavelli? I mean, can you really give a utilitarian concept for a zombie? Seriously... let me tell you this story, essentially the basic ingredients involved to making a zombie are the "pufferfish toxin" and basically LSD or some other hallucinogen. That's the recent theory... to hell with the whole n'ame concept (*1) but lemme tell you about this, I mean, it's not as if our society has not already been run by a zombie for the past four years. But that's not the case of the dilemma involved whereas one has to wonder about the individual makings of being a person... to seperate the artificially intelligent robots from the sentient beings of biological origin and philosophical imperative, oooor... just to say, yeah, this is what makes me ok to be me and ta'hell with alluvya, dammit!

And I believe this point would I enjoy the idea of painting a sheer picture of my own turmoil through lyrical gaze via internet. Yes, I can get you Bowie and Social Distortion all at the same time... but this is merely Beethoven number 3... not the best I'd say, not that I'm an authority at all... it's certainly not the most famous at least, called the "Eroica.. This symphony is one of Beethoven's most famous works, originally intended by him to be dedicated to Napoleon Bonaparte Beethoven had admired the ideals of the French Revolution embodied in Napoleon..." Goddammit, shut up already, stupid stuck up computerized menace to humanity!

Baaaah. Well... so what's up, Chris? Have a beer... no? Ok, 8:30 in the morning, you're right, have some coffee.
Better?
Janeane Garofalo is on tv right now with her debut in The Truth About Cats and Dogs, ironically at the point of the phone sex masturbation scene which while on some respects turns me the fuck on there is a part of me that feels this twing, an unmistakable feeling of catholic guilt over the abuse my own temple has withstood by its own patron saint of virtue... uh... Bill... St. Bill... Riiiight... Yeah, I'm Lutheran. We ain't got shit for guilt. Seriously, I mean, it's as if Martin Luther once said, "Hey, why so glum?" and then he put up all these other rules and made his own church and here we are, basically the largest evangelical sect in the Western world... I suppose, I mean there must be something to the fact that JFK was catholic and everybody freaked out over that. I mean, my god, a follower of Cathol!?

By JFK of course I meant democratic candidate Kerry. And while I don't necessarily like him, I realize his purpose is not to be liked but to serve a specific role. He is the alternative to absolute evil. No, not Bush, you fuck. Come on, get with it. Darth Cheney is the one to worry about, and lord only knows what force he serves under that gives him Big Brother authority through that sneeringly angry "get off my lawn, you fucking kids" face. God, I'm an idealist. But come on, people! Don't you see this election paralleling that '60s race between obviously good and evil challengers. I mean, does Bush have to actually napalm a kindergarden for you to get the message here? I mean, seriously folks, if but 25% of the assertations presented in the movie Fahrenheit 9/11 were true the fucker should be on goddamn death row with everyone else he's put up there. Is that not enough for you to think twice about your 4 more year vote?

But I'm not talking politics... what was I talking about?

Ya'know... loss of this thought train could only mean one thing: time to pull out the notebook! I like this, I like the idea that whatever I wrote in some random notebook a fortnight(*2) ago about... well... ya'know it seems to be about what happened that day... some random Thursday I suppose. Whatever, ya'know, I fail to realize exactly why someone would care to even bother reading another person's journal. I mean, the only interest is curiosity... and you'd have to have a vested interest in that person's life to even bother with what they think and feel about said life. So I guess the question begged is "why read about a person you don't like?" But people still do this! Seriously. Lord knows why. I mean, Lord Cheney, Vader, Christ, Morrison, and Cash... they might know, but I don't have a clue, man.

Anyway, to get on with said shit in said book...

Give a listen... I'm trying to write here, trying to write, trying to put aside all notions hovering around, put aside everything in your mind but what you want said here and now on this paper, listen.... listen closely to that guitar riff in the air, you see and listen at the very same time a specific note that just faded while you wrote these words. I like it... the word evil comes to mind for various reasons. You, being a loyal reader of these words, of course want to know these reasons... in due time I suppose. Seriously now I'm just trying to think of slang to describe that song, both modern and of that specific date and time for which it came from... what the kids are saying... Shway? Uh... Shin? Does any of this seem familiar or am I just making this up? I coulda sworn I heard some hip young kids say that at some point. They were deffinitely young at least... baaaah... I don't think I ever knew a damn thing about being hig all my life, at the most I could just say I didnt' listen to a goddamn thing anybody told me about what was cool and what wasn't... and that's how I got the way I did-- until about a year or two ago where I finally started listening and realizing how far off I was and tried to make up for it with some half assed social interaction and solicitation when in all reality, hey Chris, you just don't belong here, do you?

Alright... privately founded joke only I would find funny... and only ironically, I suppose, in the sense that I always thought I was too full of myself to ever realize another person in my life that didn't fully capture my attention.... and the fact is, a person that I would realize would probably overwhelm me. I'm not as smart as I want to be, nor am I as attractive as I'd like to be, nor am I as talented as I feel I might be... one day... but still I tend to hold everyone else up to the standard of my own ideal and that seriously is quite the fo'pa (*3) when attempting to make good connections with the outside world. I mean, how exactly can one assume that one has reached any form of potential when one has realized all I have?
Let's not reiterate, please.

Not in the mood to list off my failings.

Apparantly, if you haven't seen the movie Team America you have no idea what anybody is talking about.
Haven't seen it, but I think I'm more interested in what one thinks of the movie I Heart Huckabees... seriously... "How am I not myself?" Is that not a question to stump Socrates himself with his own "Know thyself" shit? I suppose the nature of this question lies with seperating what is you from what isn't you... I am this fleshy ball of sexual viscera, not this metal collapsable table, nor this stuffed frog holding a tulip, nor am I Wayne Brady choking a bitch for not fronting the cash, nor am that picture of an old lady on the wall... not quite at her prime at said life point but at the current stage... uh... yeah.... won't get into that now. I am like myself... but what is thyself? The blanket is all, of course, and that would then encompass the lambs and sloths, and carp and anchovies, and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit-bats and large chu... to skip a bit, fucking everything in sight to know and see it all and be with it all in the end... and well... ya'know, to tell you the truth I would at this point go on a tangent about how bloody marvelous it is to realize that you are a part of something as wonderful as existence and that it fills you with some sort of sense of reality of being, that everything makes sense to you because you see the cracks beneath the spaces, beneath the lines, beneath the atoms... it's all the same in the end and we are all part of this unified collective organism of free will and being leading to a sense of the purity of existence...

Fuck that.
Dog eat dog and shit man.

Continuing, it was an 80's song we were talking about before... Sweet Child of Mine was playing in the background of this specific Clarke's visit, as predictable as could be, but yes, this is where I find my solace, and this is the most obvious place to seek inspiration from... And enlighten us, dear monkey, what is said inspirato usually? The fine dining? The alcoholic milkshake that shares your namesake? The psuedo-retro-50s look? No, it's the waitresses, and if failing that, there's usually some hot chick somewhere to get your mojo working. It's true. Your dick drives not only the left but also the right side of your brain. People can attest to this. No names will be mentioned, but these people.... they did exist at one point, in a different life I suppose is the only way to look at it.

And that of course brings us back to me again... which is appropriate for the question of the hour... perhaps appropriate enough to change the soundtrack considering that "Eroica"(*4) has ended and all... So what exactly is the nature of Chris? I mean, he seriously just goes to work everyday, comes home, chats online, jerks off, watches tv, plays video games, catches an occasional movie, gets drunk, jerks off while drunk... he's not much to speak of... but, is he not himself? Is he? It would be nice to think there is a person deeper and more interesting buried somewhere beneath all that horny monkey sinew and one day you can realize him... but until such time, bottoms up... Still... isn't there something that the you, today, now and presently can do to help this mental rehabilitation take place? Uh... school?

Don't laugh. It's really the best suggestion I've heard so far. Ok... facts... debts to the outside world have decreased substancially in the past year now. As it stands there seems to only be the small matter of a grand to credit card which constantly haunts you as a reminder to never trust people who call themselves your best friend.
:-D <--- look, smile, people! I hold no specific grudges and hate you all equally!
But, to tell you the truth, you could seriously afford going back to school and getting that damned degree... move away... work full time... be another waiter, you might actually make "real money" this time... you could afford the occasional classes... it's just the idea of starting over with your life that intimidates you. You're stuck on this notion that you failed on some aspect, as in this game is fucking over but you're just too stubborn to hit the bloody reset button. You can still make something of this. But it's not like you're gonna get anywhere. The most you'll get is saying "I survived." But what did you survive? Seriously, you are the most spoiled piece of shit there is, are you not? Why does your mother keep taking you back like that prodigal son? Why haven't you been able to make it by yourself yet? You don't have anything like poor health, small children, or other emotional attachments holding you back... why are you so afraid of what you're capable of? Why? Seriously, why?

Ok... annnn...nonymous questions out of the way...
I feel Fry in Futurama after his 100th cup of coffee... ev-er-y-thing... is... in... sloooow... mo-tion.
You're way past awake... tense... even past tense and inciting various verbs to make known that you are here. In the book....and Zerah begat Perez who begat Hezron who begat Ram and Amminadab who begat Ominamapia who begat Mahbutt.... no, that book where I was talking about what I did that night that I did something that I were to do... that I did... ja!

Breathe.

I am awake... It's 1:23 in the morning as I patronize the famous diner setting in that typical inspiratory fashion of consuming copious amounts of caffien with whatever staple entree is desired through awkward flirtation and twitchy eye contact until that serendipidous REM song cycles through... Shining Happy People... right on cue.... Soup and breadsticks, vegetarian chili and a reluctant desire to dispel the theme by ordering a buffalo burger because... well... because of that girl... Who is she? The blonde brain you can't get out of your head, the positive daily influence to your own morality, the only sheerly pro-active sort to remind you of the hypocracy of society and deny you the ability to relent your deep seeded convictions (*5), this zionistly pacifist would lend me her own Joyce after a brief mention of interest.

Seriously, I mean, I just said in passing "hey, I would like to read some Joyce. Someone said I write like him(*6)" and the next day suddenly she comes up with "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"... plus this other book about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict... fuck, and I owe it to her to finish those two... that is once I finish the two I'm currently working on, "A Confederacy of Dunces" and "Ham on Rye"... and I was supposed to get to "Tropic of Cancer" at some point in here... and I coulda sworn I was gonna finish "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"... goddammit, what was that, a year ago?

And is this merely to be spawned from a 4 month old conversation about the philosophy of kindness? Yes, it's true, we are the only two servers at this pathetic Italian joint that actually possess a desire for self sacrifice... and that of course is taken advantage of to no end for 3.30 an hour minus fucking tips.... but nonetheless, we remain selfless and considerate and unable to express the rage desired upon this very pointless bottom-feeder existence. Well, I can't speak for her... at least I can tear the flesh off the bones of some dead animal to sedate myself.

But then again, this of course devolves into politics... especially Bush's foreign policy of "shoot 'em all and let God sort 'em out" and how it relates to his anti-terrorism solution of "shoot 'em all and let Allah sort 'em out"... which for me always tends to lead to movies and then after a certain amount of talk, etc leading to actually going to see a movie... which then leads to me actually thinking the thoughts that lead me to this very predicament and all where you're in the position to form a long and lasting friendship with someone who shares your interests and keeps up conversation and seems to like you while you can't get past the notion of shoving your fucking tongue down her throat. Is that wrong? Is it? Should I attempt to contact her 250 lb ex-marine boyfriend to seak out his opnion? He might have a problem with that... but what does he care. He's a republican, he's useless. Seriously, he's actually a republican. Those people are still around. I mean, I thought our president ruined them for quite some time, but no, they're still devoted as ever... and I would think that this would be a problem, but being the selfless individual she is, obviously everyone is entitled their own opinion and the very nature of freedom lies in the concept of opposing viewpoints... but seriously!
She's a vegetarian communist!

Ecch... I know.... I know...
But I have to hear the worst of it... fucking friend zone.

Interesting quote by Robert Altman comes to mind though... not about that whole "I wanna fuck my friend" thing... but about that whole "Bush really sucks and needs to die" thing... in an interview after he mentioned that Kerry reminded him of this character "Tanner" he created, being a satire of a typical self serving "liberal" politician, he was asked if there was ever in his lifetime a good candidate for president. He replied "Adalai Stevenson" and added that for a good candidate to possibly ever emerge "Bush would have to win again, the maybe a good candidate could come out of the ashes... that is if anything at all could come out of the ashes." I suppose we're thinking the idea of nuclear war here and an eventual rebirth of civilization in the mid 21st century... which we'll never see, being dead and all.

It's scary, really... I mean, being a democratic you kinda have to be blindly optimistic about the Kerry campaign. You have to assume that he can fix all the damage Bush caused to rest of the world. No one wants to face the reality that what has happened in these past few years will lead up to something horrible that no one can stop and no one can recover from. I mean, Kerry's not gonna solve anything. The most he can do is buy us maybe another 10-20 years... less more than likely. It's scary, man, I mean, you don't think about it just because.... well... you've got life to live and all... but we really are all very close to some kind of all out war. Hell, in this country alone there's a possibility of a civil war just over this fucking election. It's true.... didn't you hear? Schwartzenegger wants to secede. He's talking about using a laser and all to seperate his part of Cali-forn-i-a with the rest of the state. It's just a sign that the final battle between good and evil will be settled within two weeks from now... that's fucking scary. I mean, shit, what if he fucking wins?!?

I mean... optimism and all... I just don't want to think about it.
Let's talk about... my job. Lately, aside from crushing over this strangly aluring redhead with a faux French accent who's usually reading Kafka... the life of the Loew's employee is seriously not too appealing. Customers are arrogant rich bastards who don't understand the idea of not getting their way at every moment. The building itself has enough cards agains it to wonder why one should put so much effort in keeping this particular theather in business... and then there's the marquee.

I will tell you, there is no other feeling in the world than that of dragging and setting up a couple hundred pound fifteen foot ladder in the middle of Chicago's autumn rain to take down letters and replace them with the phrase "A Day Without A Mexican" only to notice that you have no A's and you, considering the fact that yes you probably would be written up for leaving the sign half assed and incomprehensible and you wonder if it might be better to just hop down and get the fuck out of there, never looking back, never returning... never seeing another Oak Street special again. But no, still persistent... and still not looking forward to another fucking Thursday because you're th only one brave/stupid enough to climb up on that rickety ass thing. Hell, even that cop working security that night was amazed, "I make almost three times what you do and I wouldn't fucking go up there."
The worst thing is... I'm starting to hate going to the movies. I never hated that before. Something about having to clean up after them that spoils your perception of this event. It's like any other job, when you see it from behind the scenes it spoils the illusion and dispels the magic. I like magic, ergo, I gotta quit this fucking job.

But everything always comes back to building character like building King Tut's tomb.
And... ya'know... at this point, no one cares anymore.

Someday I'm gonna wake up and wonder what I've missed in my life.
Someday I'm gonna have some idea how to change it.
That day... is more than likely coming up.

...

Could somebody give me a ballpark... like January? Maybe mid April? At least sometime this next year?
Shit... just... don't.
I'll get back to you in a minute(*8).

------------------------------

1* Oh, there is definitely some history behind this idea... It all tends to come back to this black arts encyclopedia I had back in high school... lutheran high school that is... which told of the necessary concepts to maintaining and controlling a zombie (being any kind of living, undead, or semi-living creature maleable to oneself)... five parts consisting of the intact body, the individual soul, the universal life force energy that drives one's soul in a certain direction via the star of destiny, there's then the star of destiny that basically just dictates what the destiny of each individual is and remains in the sky for that soul to eventually reach (and when you do, you win and the game is over! Yay!), and the most intangle concept: the n'ame (pronounced name, with a pause after the n just to fuck with ya.... haha.... actually I pronounce it fairly similar to the name Naomi... just without the o) this is essentially nothing more than a physical force that seperates the intact body from becoming a decomposed corpse. I don't think there's anyway to describe it in a physical sense, it just exists until such time where it doesn't.

2* Yeah, I wrote that, and you accepted too, didn't you? Two weeks, brother, in case the Gettysburg Address is too obscure a historical reference to you.

3* Seriously, folks, I plead with you... how the fuck do you spell that phrase? Pho-pah? Fo-pa? Ph'o'pa? I'm at a loss here.

4* And by the way, if anyone knows what that term means, do not hesitate to let me know. Seriously... I looked it up, didn't find anything... got bored, played a video game, watched the Daily Show, Marisa Tomei was the guest, she looked hot, afterwards I went back to this and still couldn't figure out what that word meant. Please, help.

5* Just to note, it's not necessary for you, the reader, to know what said convictions are... just to be aware that I have them... that they exist... and I think there's about eight of them at that, so Nyaaah!

6* Fuck, man, the only thing me and James Joyce have in common is an excessive use of footnotes(*7)

7* True that.

8* Monkey time... give or take this Ragnarock
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