Burger King Onion Rings used to be made with onions

I decided to go to the movies today. I saw I am Legend and National Treasure: Book Of Secrets. I was planning on seeing The Golden Compass, I even bought a ticket, but I was tired. I bought 24 season 6. And I headed home.

On the way I detoured to Burger King to get dinner. I didn't lock up my bike so I spent the whole time in the restaurant looking out. There was this bum standing by my bike the whole time. I had blown him off when I walked in. A car with a big open bed stopped by my bike, and I imagined what I'd have to do if they tossed my bike in their bed. That's how I lost bike number 3. Being on bike number 11 or 12 now I know how to not get it stolen. If they did toss it in the bed, I imagined droping my stuff hopping the railing, knocking a guy over, breaking the glass door on my way out, jumping into the bed of the truck and calling the police while in the truck. I even thought about how I would speak, how I would navigate the cops, and pondered if I would have to fight them or if they would take me someplace where they had backup. In all this bike worry I ordered my meal. I didn't want the soda, but I started imagining that I could find a way to bring it home with me, I certainly didn't want to spend another minute there. I got my food, went out to my bike and dumped months old gatorade out of my water bottle. I tried to put the cup of soda in the water bottle holder, but the top popped instantly and I knew it was hopeless. This whole time this goddamn bum has been watching me, nobody watches me for minutes on end, especially not entire visits, so thoughts of having to beat him to shit, and what I'd do if he had a knife crossed my mind. I imagined kicking him in the throat rather than trying to kick his knife away, in this scenario he's already on the ground (that's why he'd pull the knife of course). I decided to walk my bike for a while instead.

By the time I crossed the street I imagined throwing my soda into the parking lot or against a building, but I don't litter, I don't make messes, and I knew that God damned bum was still watching. I crossed the street again, about 3 or 4 steps into the street one of the straps to the bag holding all my food and DVDs breaks. I know that soon the second one will go, but I'm juggling a bag, a cup of soda, and a bike. At the exact middle of the street the second strap breaks all my shit hits the ground and spills out. My can of "Duff" energy drink I had purchased as a collector item is fucked up and my food is in the street. I bend over but I still have to hold my bike and the cup of soda in my hand. I start stuffing everything into the bag and I see the street light turn green on me. I move faster pick all my shit up, except for one casualty, a package of zesty onion ring sauce. I move over to the side of the road and toss the fucking cup of soda into the trash. All the while I imagine that God fucking damn bum is watching. I hop on my bike. I glide downhill. Down down. I imagine that the flood of criminals and bums I am passing can't hear me while I am traveling in stealth mode. I get down by the trolley tracks and I illegaly cross them on a red. As soon as I am on the other side I see a cop car parked so I make a right turn onto the sidewalk. I pass by a couple men who had just been talking to a bum. "Merry Christmas" they say to the bum and he walks over to one of the street saplings. He grabs a bag of something out of the tree and walked away. I am amazed by this. I just illegally crossed a street, and then these guys just did a drug deal, and this cop car doesn't move. I keep rolling down down hill. Bums and crazys and criminals. Anyway. That was my day. I know I changed tenses half way through, but my left hand is numb, I need to take a shit, I'm tired, and my food's gotten cold again while writing this.

Why Superman is a Hero

Why are dreams stuck in with "Supernatural". Dreams are completely fucking natural. Though, seeing as how nobody reads my blogs, and nobody I know writes blogs frequently besides me, I guess it doesn't really matter. On Myspace, the most popular blogs are ALL hot girls writing dumb dumb RETARDEDLY dumb shit, and band/celebrity blogs that aren't even written by the people the blogs are titled for. So blogs on myspace are essentially tits and celebrities. Yay. I lose. So on to my actual blog, which would by itself be beautiful and inspiring, but considering no one will read it. It means absolutely nothing. Just like me.

There was this movie called "Angus". Maybe you've seen it. One scene stuck with me ever since I first saw it. It was the words of Angus' Grandfather, played by the late great George C. Scott. I paraphrase "Superman wasn't a hero because he was invincible. He had nothing to fear when he went out into the world and saved all those people..."

I now realize this isn't true. Because Superman is still a man. He may be invincible, but only physically. He (as portrayed) possesses all the range of human emotions and desires. Certainly he is at least a good man to not turn his powers to hurt others, but then that doesn't exactly make him a hero. What makes him a hero is time. Superman gives his time. Looking at it from a purely selfish, individualist perspective this is indeed a great gift. Just because he can't be hurt and he can save others doesn't obligate him. He could simply live his life and only act when he needs to. Instead this character devotes his entire existance to saving people. He has no life. He has no friends. He doesn't go to parties. He only has one love, and he hardly has that. He trades his very soul to help people, putting himself out there to be judged. Not exactly Ayn Randian. Still hero enough. I get the feeling I've written an allusion here. I assure you I have not. Only a comparison. For I devote little time to helping others. It's hard to. I try sometimes. Sometimes I succeed. But I am a grotesque monster, and the screams of terror wear me down. I can't put myself out there anymore. I am always judged guilty. Even writing this, if you read it, you judge me guilty for not being stronger. For feeling sorry for myself. Well I am not. I am not sorry. Fuck you and I will not change to meet their standards. Still it hurts. But heroes can't cry. So I walk away. Let the beautiful men do all the saving. They'll get the credit either way.

San Diego Apocalypse

There was light this morning, beyond the dark wall looming on the buildings so far removed from the earth. The sun came high but shone not through, but around. The clouds of smoke turned black to blot the light that threatened the fire's glory. Blood red light poured over the wall, ending darknesses celebratory hold. Though the ashen rain reminded us all that the wall was moving, and it was destroying everything it touched.

Guns and guns and guns and bullets

I shot the M240G a few days ago at Camp Pendleton. It's a belt fed machine gun. I was really almost excited to do it. Not many people in America are even legally able to have that experience. I yelled out "Get some!" as I poured the bullets into an old car about 500 yards away. I'm going to shoot the M9 pistol tomorrow. I've already qualified "Expert" on it twice. You can't get a higher rating for shooting. I'm really good at shooting yep. Though my time in the Navy has never involved a need to shoot anything other than inanimate objects.

On October 1 I go to SRF A school. I will run around with real guns shooting quite painful simrounds at mock terrorists. I will be running around getting shot by painful simrounds by mock terrorists. The instructors are all war vets. It may be a lot of fun.



I think maybe if I make it out of this, I might enjoy to some extent reading these blogs that I write. Most of them while trashed. I don't look anywhere anymore.

Not Japanese Poem, Japanese porn

I learned a new word about an hour ago "ecchi". It's Japanese and means "lewd" "sexy" or even "sexual intercourse". At first I thought it was just another one of the many sex words Americans are adopting from it's porn loving best friend. Further investigation has revealed something much more interesting (surprisingly) than its Americanized definition of Anime sensuality.

Ecchi is actually derived from the English letter "H". Which means that the Americans are getting their letter back, all fucked up and sloppy seconds-like. What's stranger is that the word goes back to Meiji era, meaning this is way older than anime, porn, or the Americanization of anything Japanese (like the word "Hentai", which to Americans means naked cartoons, whereas in Japan it is a noun meaning "pervert" and has nothing to do with nudity, sex, women, cartoons, the internet, or drawing. Just perverts.). So I don't buy the theory that it implies the word "hentai". It was most likely orginating of one of the other sex related Japanese words that start with H, like "harenchi".

Regardless, it was actually started by Japanese school girls in the Meiji era as a euphimism for sex. Thus showing its amazing transition from an English letter hiding the true meaning of sex, used by Japanese school girls, to becoming a Japanese word hiding its true meaning of sex, used by American guys jerking off to cartoons of Japanese school girls.

Of course in researching this word I ran across many others that I'm sure a good percentage of American men know and think they understand. Which just pisses me off, since I know none of you have any clue about the REAL Japan. I wish more of their culture than photos of school girls would make it out but I suppose they literally bring it upon themselves.

Que’ bueno suerte

Mi amor, el sol sigue el noche. Pero no hay un ley para cuando la luz llega. Demo, watashi no ai, kyo wa kyo soshite aishta wa aishta soshite kon ban wa ii otenki desu. So just run with it, that without design cannot fail.

Traffic

So I helped smuggle some chronic and counterfit money over the border with a certain un-named person this weekend. Ha ha ha! No, not kidding. Though honestly none of the shit was mine.

sans reason

Di was assaulted in Hong Kong. Swore to never talk about it. It was $90 for a massage and a harassing bitch of unknown nationality. At least I wasn't had. Just a thought. Mikey got video of me with some whores, but hey. You just don't know. When I think about how stupid I was in Japan, I know I can't go through with it anymore. Here though. Here is just depressing. I think about the origins, and the lies, and I lie to myself, and I punish myself.

She swears she feels nothing. I don't know if it's because she's doing that thing that teenage girls do oftimes, but I know I can't claim I'm any more down than her. I told her she wasn't allowed to die until after I do. You know there's a curious and seldom publicly discussed political/ethical debate about suicide. The two sides have no titles, but if they did, the pro-lifers would do as much as possible to legally ruin any one who thinks about self extermination. The pro-choicers are primarily pro-suicide. The opinion I hold, that reason allows for both life and death, seems a rare if not unique one.

Lately I've been thinking more of my past. I mean a more broad view, not the typical narrow and short version I usually employ in thought.

There was a boy of 5 who know every person on his street by name, because he went to their houses and spoke with them. There was a reality much harsher, in his life. Though the boy resurfaced, a kiss, a lack of kisses, and the ease of corruption in the souls surrounding makes this boy me, and I only talk to who I must, and I think often of the boy's choices, and of the Glock.

what life this man has wrought.

Backed into a corner. I just want this pain to stop. I know what I've done to deserve this. Oh god. Somehow. End this. My eyes burn. waiting. Kick in this door a kill me.

Mr. Wacy's Push

Here's the short of it, Wacy wouldn't listen to me when I told him my spirit was dead, because of him I ended up dancing with a beautiful half black/ half native american college girl from Novato and her 3 friends. Fucking Wacy quit and went to a titty bar. Don't know how that turned out. I really am unhappy about the matter. If I weren't dead inside I might have enjoyed it more.

Der Words

This liquor on my lips the blood of the German's Hart it is, my Russian is weak but the grain is strong, as we sing this cola song. I remember the nights of pleasures past and the newfound glories of stories that couldn't last. For it is my job to hurt, you and I and oftimes I am so good it makes girls cry. Not that I haven't, I surely wouldn't deny, but those days are over and now only silent night. The dream I had, the skin. the music, the pain, it's only today's arrangement of sugar that I disdain. But I still feel, I still move if only in mockery of the man whose words flourished in ample debauchery.

God forbid my actions and lack of faith, for I remain true in my trials and ways. I will not secede that which I held but if it ripped from me, this life that's been felled. I write this drunk of the fruits I have named, the German, the Russian, and the purest of grain, but that makes it no less true you see, for I am simply siempre a man of honesty.

Nadie or the Purses

My roommate Mr. Mikey brings a girl over every day. I don't know who they are, and I don't really care. But I noticed I can remember them by the purse they leave on the counter. I've become the drunk roommate. The girls don't really acknowledge me. I just am drunk and siiting abouts. It reminds me of Ai's (Thai woman) roommate who was always home when I came over and made fantastic happy time. She made me dinner once. Also we went to her restauraunt, where she was a waitress once. Those were good times. Now I'm out on my drunk ass.

I sometimes wonder if I'll ever have to deal with one of these women. I wonder if any of them care. I don't think so. But I'm stuck on the double standard. Where I felt no connection to Ai, but assumed she felt a connection to me. Well, not me, but I mean a more a general idea that women are more emotional about sex. (btw thank buddha I learned how to type, cause I'm litterally too drunk to read this)

Anyway. The only reason I can imagine that Mr. Mikey can pull these girls into bed is that once these girls come to our apartment (or lair of awesomeness as it is) is that he plays completely "understanding" completely "fascinated" by everything she says. I am litarally sitting next to Mr. Mikey and girl of the night (tonight it's an AC) while she's blabing about her roommate and he's "yes sir" ing her. Also I'm trashed. So it's a wonder of science that I can write this, listen to her babble, and listen to TV. I am like a superhero.

I'm not jealous of him. He has no standards. If I had no standards, I could fuck a girl every night. All I feel on this subject is that I need to die.



"So how did you become a lightweight then?" - My roommate about to fuck girl number whatever, purse: red aligator skin/ leather.

"I don't know, I think it's because I haven't gone drinking out much since "C' school" since then." -Girl who Mikey saw today, therefor invited to come over today. (It's hella the only reason I know she's an AC cause they clean the hall right next to us.)

Hey she's on "Blue Moon" number 2!

Did you know, stupid people make more sense when your trashed?

The Ice Bridge

So if you pour yourself a glass of 151 and Sprite, is ice the bridge? I mean the 151 is a liquid and the Sprite is a liquid, but the ice, it's as cold as the 151 but isn't toxic, just like the Sprite. Drinking while ironing, and fixing bike flats is more than just fun, it's intoxicating.

Arcade Fire

I got an apartment! The same day I saw that Arcade Fire was playing, so I saw them play.It was probably the best single-band concert I've ever been to. A Mr. Mike Canales is signing on with me for this brand new place downtown. Its only a 5 minute walk to the Gaslamp! I would say its is in fact the coolest apartment under half a million dollars in San Diego. You can all come sleep in my living room, soon to be stocked with Goodwill's finest!

A Day in San Diego

Walking alone I let the World possess me.

They are beautiful and many, yet I could consume them all. Passing briskly by a sign a glow blurs my sight and burns me. I see a woman at this moment and I judge her. I think of ways to dismiss her even as the chill of winter drains me. I think of how much better I am but as this light blinds me. It is not but a few more steps and I find my place again. Left to my own accord, left unthreatened, I drop my guard, my wings, my shelter. I see children beautiful and young. I see women of all types of beauty and I think I could be happy the rest of my life with the stay of the women within my sight at this or any other moment out on the street. I think should I do something about it? There was a beautiful woman about my age and the Buddhist had gotten to her, she was shelling out something and I watched a man of great poverty approach, he hung around the nearby trash can but I imagined him going for the opportunity of her generosity. It was in this same place I stood an hour earlier with two apples. I had paid $4.00 for 4 apples at a Vons. The grocer noticed me eyeing them, I asked if these "Grapples" were just sweet apples, or a hybrid. He indicated the later and went and got a knife. He opened a package and shaved an apple, then cut a piece for me to try. It was very sweet and unusual. I watched him carry away the package. It would be thrown out so I could take one bite? I bought a different package of 4 and headed out. I ate one right away, a second while watching fire trucks pass me. I didn't want the last two. I thought I was going to see a movie so I was in that spot looking for a bum that I had passed twice. The second time I passed him I doubted him. He moved as a man of ability. Although he wore the same clothes the man walked as if he had a place to go, and it is by that, that I judged him to be someone else. I was wrong. I felt this cold. I thought how strange it me, since the last time I gave anything to a bum was because I was scared of where I was living. In the most dangerous area in San Francisco, I lived, barely housed with nothing but my mother to provide any food or clothing or shelter. I gave a bum $6.00 in hopes that he would not try to harm me or my existence on another day. So it was that the last time I gave to a bum was when I was on the verge of being one myself. None of this I was thinking about as the beautiful young woman was giving to this Buddhist who had books on Yoga. I only thought it would be funny if I took my approach as I oft tend to do in a manner most dominating and mocking by walking up to her as the Buddhist and bum try to get something from her I would ask for money too, because it would be funny, but the thought hurt me, since it's a truth I was feeling. I may not be on the verge of homelessness, though I have no home, I have recently dumped away about as much money as I make in a year, it was most of my savings, and all I get in return for that is that maybe I saved the house my mother couldn't. In her death a void was created and this void sucked away my $10,000 with no promise of anything. The Grapples as they were called could go to no one it seemed so I took out a third and ate at it. I read completely the plastic container that held the apples and I read something that set fire to my heart like a lighter, small annoying, but not so dangerous in it's standard dose. These "Grapples" were not hybrids, they were artificially flavored apples. I had paid a dollar a piece for grape flavoring on dime a piece apples. I threw what I had not eaten into the trash feeling it's better there than these lies going into the mouth of an innocent bum. I did not go to the beautiful woman handing out to the Buddhist, and none of this did cross my mind at the time, for the World was possessing me at that moment and when I turned to continue in my effort to kill my day I was blinded by the light of a sign and in my blurred vision I judged a woman as I passed.

THE MAGICIAN AND THE PRISM

Transparent. To call something such is to insult. Why? Is not a window the most appreciated feature in a room? Is not the truth of all things the most sought after goal? As if knowing what is, is the end of what was. Maybe so. Dissecting a movie critically, angularly, edictally, plot-wise, ruins the entertainment. Respect is lost, not gained when someone knows how a magician does tricks. As if knowing is being. Maybe so.


Transparency in itself isn't beautiful without something behind it to appreciate, without light to dance through it, like through a prism. Though, nothing is beautiful without light. The physical transparency is then not so logically associated with the conceptual transparency. Though they are associated.


To see through, conceptually, is to understand. Understanding though, is not passing through; it is entering and staying, and being. So to understand, that is what is what the negative connotation implies. Not a glass of water, but the water within, it's molecules, it's temperature, it's mass, it's reaction to, or remarkably abreaction to what it surrounds, physically, chemically, lovingly.


Understanding is the great sin. It is the original sin. God would have you believe this. I don't fear God though. I fear you. Your ignorance, it isn't natural, it is by design. It is not my design. It is not my ignorance. It is not my God. It is my understanding.


Tell me now Great Silence, what is substance? Tell me now Great Silence, why do you exist? How do you exist? I am transparent because I am honest. My path, my actions are with reason and morality, they can not distort. I am transparent because I hide nothing and I show you the world around me as it passes through me. You are transparent because I can understand you. Because even your lies are clear to me. You are transparent because there is nothing to see.

Silence

You've found your screams are nothing to the silence and still. You know your matter is no match for 3 inches of cement. There is no light but you can see. There is no answer but you understand. You prepare. I hoped you would. I gave you nothing, I made you weak. Everything you value means nothing here. I hoped you had learned. I dreamed about it. I am my own justification for my actions. We share this loneliness. You know it doesn't matter who you are or what you've done. This emptiness fills you. A smile could save you. No one smiles at me. I can't even get a smile! They stare. They glance. They dance profoundly and make it hard for me to breath but never do they smile. What am I worth? Not even enough to be despised. Despise me. I can't take forgiveness. Forgiveness is more nothing. I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to hurt you more. I fed you. I kept you warm. You may have been confused. I really had no intention of treating you well or using you in any way but this, to kill me. I will open the door. I will stand in your way. You will have no choice. I am sorry if this haunts you. If you do manage to escape, and I remain living, I don't know how I could stop myself then. So I keep you here. I make you weak. I just need your finger. I just need your passion to finish me. Your desire to live must be greater than mine. Your desire to destroy me must defeat your desire to show compassion. I am sick of your compassion. This world's pity makes nothing of me. If only I could be loved! You all stare at me. WHAT IS THERE? You do not say. Silence, and you fade away.

Wrote this in my nowhere

My heart pounding, my mind racing. Perhaps it is only in my sleep that I know of these wonderful times of excellence and understanding. Times of whelming pleasure and satisfaction. Though some aren't dreams, some trancend what a dream could possibly generate.The warmth of someone beside me, someone whose focus is on my pleasure, and my focus is on theirs. Or the little triumphs in life hearing the buzzer go off as I'm busy drowning some poor bastard who dared to score on me, and knowing it is nothing but glory that awaits me when I get out of the water. The feeling I get when I finish a race and I pull my head out of the water and watch in calm as the hands of my opponents finish their struggle.

Though I know these feelings. It's the lasting feelings that I truly strive for. They may as well have been dreams. You look at me now, I am not swimming in a race. I'm not stopping a ball. I am not going to bed with someone in my arms. I am slow, and weak, and alone. This is the torture of my everyday. I wear no mask. I cannot lie. I respect this beautiful world more than you can imagine. I love reality and
I could never betray it. I find though that it is only in evil can the lasting pleasures exist. You do not respect the man that won't lie, you respect the image of the liars facade. You do not value the accomplishments of the intelligent analyst, you glorify the perpetual ignorance of the uneducated unthinkings perveyors of insurmountable feats of illogic expressed in media, and social gatherings. You see it
is with great selfishness that I declare you guilty. That I declare my refusal to submit. Truthfully though I am unable to submit. It isn't a choice for me, I am not a man who chooses truth, I am truthful. I am not a man who chooses logic, I am logical. My actions though, I choose them and mightily do I destroy myself in recognition of my ineptitude in ignorance. Plainly I punish myself for being right, by doing wrong.

Little left is there for me to imagine. I have conceived my way through every plot. I have only to actually face life before I can die. Now I find it repulsive. I see these sources of infinite pain and loss bursting around me, the shrapnel ripping holes in my soul I am a monster from a distance.

I am to be feared if I am right, I am to be feared if I am wrong. I will not play along in these games.

What can I say when I love you all and fear you all? I am disarmed. I am a source of destruction. Every wasted minute. Every misplaced trust. Everyone of you who put faith in anything kills me.

Dear God all I want is for the pain to subside. You won't do that though will you? No I have to hurt. I must endure. I must be the epitome of perseverance. everything has to be ten times harder. I can't even be literate in my own torture. Ouch, how about that? Can you understand that? Ouch is the expression of every fucking breath I take. Every thought I possess. I cannot be taken seriously. Nowun could possibly suffer as I do. I must be lying. I can't even be granted this o lord. You even take from me all credibility. My life is so absurd it makes laughter as vomit blood
and tears pour to the Earth. This Earth that I love is hard and unforgiving. Thank you lord for the bottle which I am about to receive, the alcohol within can take away my fear. Thank you lord for the bullet which I am about to receive, the gun can propel it into my brain and my solution becomes permanent. It is only one more thing that I ask of you my lord. Give me the strength I need to commit this act of treason. It is only with your strength my lord that I can destroy the monster. The great sinner. The destroyer of hope that I have become. I am a joke my lord
I shall laugh myself into oblivion.

Measure, Glow, Tie

His time is running out sir. The gun is in his hand sir.
Let it be she said; let him see he said.
There are a thousand more like him and they will not be so weak.
Then he is no priority sir? We can let him go sir?
To the wind go the patterns; to the ashes go the matters.
We will take what we can until there's nothing to lose.

His light will not die sir, the spark flares in the night sir.
Close your mouth in jest; shut your eyes to the rest.
Follow it in the dark, he has no path but there is an end.
The light I will follow sir. I see that which we destroyed sir.
The focus will turn away; the gaze will disintegrate.
Speak not a word, should the light bear you down.

He eats it up sir, the world as he passes sir.
The river has edges; the mountain has ledges.
The soil is his poison and the flow is his confusion.
Indeed sir! He is dead sir!
He'd never be she said; its better now he said.
Stand up straight, now tilt and bow. Send away the bitter taste and
enjoy what we can take from even the strangest, weakest, and most lost
of them in their waning hours.

This Suicide Is Ripe

The reigning passion of the dawn is an ominous perception of all that matters in the life that is chosen. I wake each morning with a vague apprehension for my continual breath and a sense of astonishment towards the aching of my life. This is merely a natural response to the transition from dreams of my mind to the nightmare of my reality. Not a decidedly pleasant experience, nor one I seek in any matter, the masochist that I am. I simply lose myself in the process of consciousness and know only that my life is no longer anything I enjoy. In the developing of my actions I let my thoughts die and my spirit subside, I let to the wind and the plants of my environment all my decisions. Alas to my best efforts go my failures and all my glories go to the earth. It is at this cross point that my mind becomes active again and longs for only one solution. In my nights I am free, but only to wake again and this is no longer tolerable. So it is that as soon as I begin to care again, I only think to end my pain. I want the strength of resolve, so I practice each day. I tell myself what I think I need to believe. I tell myself what my other options would produce, and let my mind seethe in self-hatred.



It is this way unless I can fully distract myself with some mind numbing exercise that can able my willing mind to spend as much time as possible in a state that isn't actively planning it's own destruction. So it is that only when I am in performance of special circumstance do I feel any waking relief. Writing, eating, watching movies and television, are easy outs, but the information must come fast and must be relatively original or I begin to become very active in analysis and too often conclude that in order for such a situation as I am experiencing to suck less I am only to put a gun to my head and relieve the first round into my brain.


Rarely do I find such waking fantasy that equals dream life and so I go to bed quite active in desire and planning. I spend at least an hour each night as I do most of my more lethargic and monotonous day periods thinking up ways to insult myself and destroy any fathoming of self respect or love. It is in this calm that I can then once again get to planning my inevitable suicide. Always promising my wary self that such finality although perfectly evil is the only way, and that I needn't worry too much this night for this finality will not take place tomorrow. For one year now this has been a frequent passion of mine. When the sun breaks on the life I am choosing you now understand why there is no smile on my face or any perception of what this day will develop into in the scheme of my nullified existence.

Mi corazon, ha!! How about my handshake?

What am I supposed to say? I want to meet you. How about that? I can't sell myself very well. I am not a salesman. When do I quit?

You are cute and single and obviously very intelligent and observant and real. I am attracted to that. Very much.

If you read my blog posts you get a very interesting view of me.But you can't really get to know me through my blogs. Only direct discussion. Because I leave out so much. You don't know if you'll like my personal touch. In person is the best I'd say. I'm always honest, so I only get more real the closer you get to me. I don't want to write any of this. I want things handed to me. But you, you are still keeping quiet. You can't get hurt if you don't give anybody a chance eh? Yeah I understand. I just work the other way around. I try harder.

North Island Jack Rabbit

Back before North Island was a military base, the only reason people came to North Island was to hunt Jack Rabbits. Funny thing is, they're still here. I see them every night. Dozens of them. Just this night I chased about 6 or 7 of them around a baseball field. I can see their underground lairs everywhere, the entrances leave huge piles of uprooted grass and dirt. They only come out at night, which may be a local adaptation to avoid humans and cars, as I've seen plenty of Jack Rabbits out in the day in other parts of California. I seem to be the only person who knows about these rabbits. The simple reason being, I'm the only loser on this fucking base who has to come back to the ship on a nightly basis and whose only means of transportation are his legs. I might catch one of these beasts to have it studied, or eaten, or both. I think others might be interested. Jack Rabbits used to exist all over Coronado, I know this because there's a story that the reason Orange Avenue doesn't have any Orange trees on it is because the Jack Rabbits dug up the roots. There's still Olives on Olive, and Palms on Palm, but no Oranges on Orange. I've been out on Coronado at night and I haven't even seen a hint of Jack Rabbits. The North Island Jack Rabbits are smaller than the typical California Jack. I've stood next to Jack Rabbits whose ears went above my waist. Whereas the NI Jacks look like little bunnies until you get close enough to see the distiguishing characteristics (long feet, ridiculously large hind legs and long pointed ears.) Once I get a decent camera I'll get some photos.My last camera didn't seem to make my trip to San Diego from the north.

Shreded

Dashing against the cold. The trees fall and the earth rises. rain and fire and hate and passion flow into the lights that bear down on me. Stop these lights I command of my surroundings. These lights bring pain, maybe death. A momentary pleasure, an escape from reality. Though I see them looking at me. And her beauty cuts me, it shreds my fantasy, that I have any control, any passion, any earth beneath me or trees beside me. That the lights wouldn't hurt me, because I'm not worth the thrill.

The driving force

I saw from beyond my nose a World fascinating and wonderful. There was perfection in my action and every moment was an adventure. somewhere I derailed but I have not stopped. No rails! I choose my path. How hard is it for a man that was not raised. My parents never told me who I had to be. They never told me "no" in my course but for when I was at the edge. This is ideal, no. Do not send your child away I say my friends. Do not send them to their end. Do not lie instead of loving each other, and my friends, pain isn't something to be lived with. No I was happier on the streets with my Mom than in a house with people who saw me as a burden. All my life I have been detached. Somewhere in the middle. No teacher ever said, "You're going to kickass, or, "You're going to suck" always both. Silence. That's what I get. Silence. My parents, silence, my teachers, silence, my friends, silence. My brother and sister, O' Lord I cannot give pennance. I sought my own goals. I thought with success, maybe then they'd speak. But no one does. Silence. I say it and I say it. You won't read this, those who are silent. If you did you wouldn't tell me. Sure there are a couple who aren't silent. Why only a couple? What the fuck am I? People talk to dogs, they talk to gods, they talk to themselves, their computers, their hands, their friends, their loves, their hates, their drives, their successes, their failures. Silence.

Damn you for the silence! IF YOU PRICK ME DO I NOT BLEED? Silence.

I wasn't born knowing everything. I have had to claw my way to knowledge, enough to tell me, silence, is not the way of humans. Yet silence deafens me. You won't even understand this if you read it. You won't I promise you that you don't, maybe I'll get a look from you. People look at shit. They don't talk to shit.



I told you what I saw. What I saw on the horizon, in the creeks, in the forrest, my pets, my neighbors, my backyard, myself.



What I see now, is not beyond my nose. Beyond my nose is pain, is violence, silence. I look inwards. My senses are shutting down. They will all go away. You have all gone away, but you know, you were never there. My senses found that out. They knew, when I do not hear, it isn't an inability to hear, it's an inability to be around sound. When I do not see, it isn't an inability to see, it's an inability to allure light. When I do not smell, or taste, it is not an inability to do so, it is an inability to be trusted. When I do not feel, it is not an inability to feel, it is revulsion.

I tell you humans. You still fascinate me. I just fascinate me more. What am I? Silence.