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.

Spirals and the nature of the 3rd dimension (my neurosis)

I was about to declare that spirals don't exist in nature but within seconds I noticed a vine spiraling up a potted tree. Spirals do exist, but in the 3rd dimension. I was thinking of spirals in 2D. We see in 2D, which is annoying to me. None of this was what I was wanting to write originally, but it did help me remember.

I think in spirals, when I come back around I'm a little farther from where I started. Thought threads are fleeting though. I can't even remember what the particular spiral I had in mind was.

So, my current loops of bullshit;

1. I need to care again. (this covers lots of littler issues)

2. My Mother's death (oh my dollars is this a lot of issues)

3. My lack of house and transportation (FTN)

4. My morality (this is just too much)

Where I am: So I decide that once I learned enough about the Vikings, I no longer felt the guilt I've felt for years for not telling my 12th grade British Literature class all I knew about the Vikings when the teacher put me on the spot. It always pissed me off that I didn't talk about their conwquests of America, and Russia, and trade with Constantinople and their written language. Now that I have learned much more, I see that even then I was not too qualified to teach about them at any length. I figured the same logic would help me to regain my control on the General Vallejo situation. That being I have read conflicting sources siting both Vallejo, and John Sutter as having had an army that wore Russian uniforms and took orders in German. It pissed me off that I could know so much, and then be unsure of something so grand. So I thought I'd go to a library. Then I remembered that I wasted years of my youth at libraries instead of socializing. This made me feel guilty for even wanting to read more. So I thought about going to a gun store. Why now? I can't buy one yet, I should take care of important things first. This issue was dropped when the phone book revealed that gun stores aren't open on Sundays. Are Libraries open on Sundays?

I thought about going dowtown to drink and socialize, once again though it's Sunday. I didn't want to go back to the ship. I had nothing else to do, I felt shame for liking to read, so I thought about this spiraling search in my mind for something productive to do on this Sunday. This led me to want to write about spirals. As you may imagine, Fashion Valley Mall is devoid of blank paper. I saw a Hallmark store and checked it out. Cards are almost stationary, but in there I thought about the nature of Hallmark cards. There are in a sense; For those who can't write on their own. Hallmark hates creative people, because creative people don't need Hallmark. They would then logically despise blank paper, for it takes creativity to make that paper valuable.

I then went to Border's Book Store. No paper there. Not a bit. I was mad at this, but had to conclude; For the common man, there is no direct correlation between reading and writing.

Fashion Valley Mall isn't about thought. Fashion is anti-thought, if it's "fashionable" then you didn't choose it, you didn't make it, it isn't creative. I also noticed it's mostly girls there, but they came to shop, or if they came to socialize too, I wouldn't know it, becuase I'm kinda pissed at sex right now. We aren't on speaking terms.

So all I have left to do is go back to the ship. I start walking, cause the trolley was packed, and I didn't want to call a Taxi. Eventually I end up at another Border's I see a beautiful woman in there and as soon as she looks at me, I know we won't be making-up any time soon. I find a book that is all about mid 1800s California with a lot of Vallejo shit in it. I get all excited and buy it. I'm a nerd. Fuck it.

Time

I went ice skating yesterday. I'm still sore and wobbly. I push it to the limit! Though some fucks through my book onto the ground, and the ground was all wet so my Ayn Rand was damaged. I think its awe ing to think about the world the way it really is. That most human minds are kept in bondage. Bondage by all the bullshit philosophies.

You know why Hotmail sucks? Because MSN bought it (this was a while ago), and fucking threw it in their big bag of shit they own. Why do I have to write "@hotmail.com" when I'm already there? Why do I have 120 emails in my inbox, and nothing worth opening? Because fuck Hotmail.

You know why sports suck? Because the players get paid millions to kind of go at each other. The rules just keep getting pussyier and pussyier. You'd think in this supply and demand World I could see a guy get injured for life making $23000 a year.



Out of time

That's why the Navy sucks.

Thanksgiving Post

They wouldn't let me in because I wore Vans! That's all I got. Truthfully though I'm like 15 people. Eminem is the epitome of today's society, but it would take me sooo long to explain why.

So I've spent the last 3 nights sleeping next to a beautiful intelligent relatively successful woman who won't even talk to me. Seriously, I suck. There's nothing more to it. I just put everything into everyone. Her not having any interest in me just tells me I need to fucking stop existing. I don't even know her. It has nothing to do with that. I don't even want to know her. I, Oh fuck this subject.

I'll just say this. I keep hoping that if I die, then maybe someone would read some of my blog posts at my funeral. I'm sure that when I die it will be pathetic and half assed. The tears will be real. They'll take my money and forget me.

I still have nightmares. I've been having nightmares every night for months now. I'm sure it has to do with my dead mother. She's in about a third of them. My dead Grandpa comes along sometimes too. They're always alive in my dreams. It's always a time that never existed. It's like I'm dreaming that they are alive now, and I am not in the Navy. She deserves a dedicated post. I think she was murdered. It's too late to prove it. I haven't told anyone this. But there are very good reasons for me thinking so.

In INDOC they described the side effects of stress. I noticed I have all of them except when there's a choice, like eats too little vs. too much. Most of these started a few months ago. This year has really sucked.

I'm 24. I'm old. Not really, but functionally. I am late.





I am very not normal/ Then people say, there is no normal. Yes there is. I'm not it. You might think you're not normal, but you probably are. Normal is good. Sometimes people are better than normal. That isn't me. I have zero female friends. I mean there's Hailey who bless her heart has never met me, and the YN that's all smiles but has never done anything social with me, but they can't count. I have never had a girlfriend. If you read my posts you might want to know why I would say this. I just mean i have never had a relationsip with a woman (ehem 50% of Earth's population) that wasn't purely sexual or purely hands off for more than say a few hours at a time. How can I have any credibility as a human being with this hanging over my head? That is what I call not normal. I can't even pretend to be human.

I'm jealous of Adrian Monk.



SO What did you want Brian? I'm not Fucking God. This has been the worst time of my life, and I'm still young. Ayn Rand only wrote shit like "We The Living" when she was young, that's the most sad depressing shit ever. A girl who watches everything she held be wrentched from existance, then all the good she created came to nothing, and everything she grew to love was destroyed. She tried to create a better life and ended up dead in a forrest in a pool of her own blood mixed in snow. That's happiness for you Brian. Fucking just do what you can. If life had cheat codes it wouldn't be worth it.

I write one happyish post and just smash it to shit. You like that Michael? You want my reality? I haven't heard anything from Alexandra since I left. She's got my email and a fucking computer right next to her.

Joshua, well I imagine you found this post entertaining. I honestly hope you did.

I'm wearing a designer t-shirt from "Affliction". Why is it that when you think "Designer Clothing" it's all rich and powerful sounding, but the standard precept is that homegrown shit is always the cheaper "old style" of doing things. In the food world the designer equivalent would be a "Mom and Pop" establishment. A place you'd be proud to go on Sunday, and the "non-designer" shit would be McDonalds and Wal-Mart, both of which are chastized for being popular. So its cool to wear the Capitalist pig's clothing, like Levis or Hanes, but not to eat his food like KFC or Waffle House. Designer just means that a real artist, that doesn't suck, made it, versus a coalition or panel of old crotchety fucks and focus groups. Yeah the shirt costs a little more, but the extra dollars are for the personal touch. So go ahead and look down on people who only wear designer clothing, and keep on praising Trader Joe's home town feel you hypocritical fucktards. Not that I only wear designer clothing. I'm a Capitalist for christ's sake. I certainly don't need designer underwear when the ladies never see it.

Leaving Japan

I should follow up the last one since it seems all desperate and gloomy like usual, and something good actually happened. I liked Alexandra, but she always worked and I was in another city. My last night in Japan I got a hotel room in Roppongi. There are very few hotels in Roppongi and people usually book way ahead. I didn't tell her that I got a hotel there just to see her, as opposed to an easier place to sleep like Okachimachi or Shibuya. I may have lied to myself and said I was going to party all night, but those days were done, for now at least. I almost didn't go to see her. It's tough, I don't know how it feels to be wanted by someone that I want, it's usually one way, either I like a woman, or she likes me, or I love a woman, and well. I went to her and we hung out for many hours. We drank the last of their wine that the Argentinian was saving for a special occasion. He said my leaving Japan was a good enough occasion for that.

On her break Alexandra met me at a coffee shop. I tried to explain to her how hard it is for a white guy to walk the streets of Roppongi. Every Nigerian doorman and South East Asian whore wants your money, and they get very personal. I told one Nigerian I had been in Japan 3 years. He replied; "You have been here 3 years, you are just learning to walk and talk. I have been here 13 years, I am already getting laid." Alexandra took me to a photo booth. We took lots of cutesy photos. All the night she kept saying "Don't go!" or "Take me with you." I played with her for saying this since I hadn't so much as kissed her, everytime she said "Don't go." I would ask her why I should stay. She once said; "So you could keep me company." I asked, "So I should stay in Japan, just so I can stand around in your bar and smile at you?" She started mumbling about how much she has to work and I heard her swear for the first time, it was really cute. The next day, my absolute last day in Japan I met her on a corner and we went and had brunch at T.G.I. Friday's. Two hours passed like nothing and I had to get to my plane. I invited her to come to the train station with me. We took a taxi to Tokyo eki. She held my hand the whole way. Alexandra had to get to Akihabara by 1:00 p.m. I was in line to by a ticket to Narita, she had to leave, but she didn't want to. She started hugging then kissing, then hugging, then kissing me. She sounded very sad when we parted. She texted me while I was on the train, and I talked to her when I got to the airport. She kept saying "Don't forget me." Alexandra, how could I forget you? Why did you wait so long to take me up on anything? I asked Alexandra to go places with me in the past but always she had work. Not really apropriate to kiss a bartender in the bar.

What the hell? I don't know. I suppose that was probably the most awesome way to leave a country. If I had done much more with her besides hugging and kissing I probably would be kicking myself right now. Just. Just. Well you know. You all fuck like rabbits. I savor my women. Alexandra, you were the finest. I want to drink from you again.

Instant Late Night Poem

I will make a poem right now;

Alexandra,

te quiero. Pero sera una dia en la futura.
Porque voy ahorra, y dices que quieri decir.
Nande? Ima? porque no en Augusto o Septiembre?
Anata ga hoshi desu. Solamente quiero una dia completa.
You give me your picture and say I should never forget you.
You say you want my picture and you will never forget me.
Demo, estuve tu' quieri, no una pictura.
We speak in 3 languages. When we drink we say; "Salud, Kampai, Cheers!" But I only got to say "hello."
Always and never this is my life. I see the extremes and you are there. I needed to realize it is now and not never. That there is no whole. That what is, is all.
I think I will see you in 3 hours. I think I will see you forever. My Colombian woman. Watashi no Colombiajin Onnanahito, mi colombiana.

Not Much

So I was trying to get money out of the ATM but it rejected me. Thats happened before and its usually the ATMs fault. I switch the majority of my dollars to Yen instead and I go to Yokohama with Tony. We eat at a nice Italian restaurant. When I go to pay I try to use my card but its rejected. I had to use nearly all my money to pay the bill. So Now I got just enough for a train ride back to Yokosuka and probably enough to cover the internet cafe Im using right now. The thing is, Washington Mutual has fucked me before, in fact, so well did they fuck me that I keep my account number with me at all times. I call them and they say they had switched to Master Card so my Visa check card has been cancelled. I told the lady that I was in Japan, that I had no money, and the damn Master Card is going to arrive at my Dads house in California. She puts me on hold, I knew going in I only had about 400 Yen on my phone, while on hold my phone says, "1 minute left" Then she comes back on, "Mr. Wise, thank you for waiting" I say "ok" and then she says "Heres what I can do BOOP BOOP BOOP (Thats the sound of the end of my prepayed call)" Im sure that she thinks I hung up on her. That would be terribly douchey of me, thatd be retarded anyway considering she was about to hook me up somehow. Anyway I cant call her back, I have no money for another pre-payed card. BUUUTT Heres where I come in and save my own ass from all this bullshit. You see, like I said, I have been fucked before, so the last time this happened, I made sure that I wouldnt completely rely on one card to access that account. Waiting for me at my house in Yoko is a new and never used ATM card thats been sitting in my room for months waiting for this day. Still theyre bitches. Just cause Im not completely fucked still doesnt change that. Cancel my fucking card cause they like Master Card, you know what I like Bank of America. Fuck you Washington Mutual!

7 Minutes

I will stop at 1035.

I am now resurfacing oh I wish. As the time counts down and the problems remain the tension builds. I am not quite feeling it intensely enough, I only think about it almost all day. There is too much. In this week I will have received a medal higher than any medal I've ever received and I'll probably get the Warfare qualification they've been torturing me to get. None of it makes me happy. I'm numb to any kind of positive aspects. I'm completely on the defensive now. Now is the time. I hold my shield close and I run in swinging. Those strong enough to not get cut down by me will stay close. Those I fell will never know. I will die, or my enemies will. I am an extremeist I know.

waiting waiting acting failing. Only NOW? I get close now? No. This is bullshit. Where am I going? She haunts me. It's like she knows and is hovering like a vulture. Waiting for me to pass. FUCK YOU MEGAN. YOU HAVE ALREADY FORGOTTEN ME. YOU WILL NEVER REMEMBER WHAT I MEANT TO YOU. WHAT YOU FELT. I have to. It's all I have. You can block it out. Your life is easy like that. You so happily kill everything that was good. Fuck my time's up/

My Mother's Funeral

I cried uncontrollably for about 20 or thirty minutes after reading a message from my sister that my Mother had died. The people on the ship were great about getting me on emergency leave. I flew into Oakland, got picked up by my Father and had him take me to my sister in South San Francisco. I went into the living room of a house I used to live in and hugged her awake. I then had her ride with me. We ate lunch at Bay Pastry, a Dim Sum restaurant in San Francisco we'd always go to after school, then went back to Stockton.

I rented a car that day with my Grandma, I don't really need her anymore to get the car, but she's always gone with me to get one.

I wore my uniform to my Mother's funeral. It was in the Castro district of San Francisco. That's the gay center of San Francisco if you didn't know. I only got one "Hey Sailor" which was enough. At her funeral I got trapped looking at her. I hadn't seen her in so long, and in the days prior I had avoided thinking about it. Looking at my dead Mom I couldn't hold myself together. My sister came up and hugged me and I talked to her up there for about ten minutes. I met a lot of people I didn't know, and some I hadn't seen in a long time. There I met a very aware and interesting little girl, my youngest cousin, Tara Dillon. I so wanted to spend more time with them all. I am very glad that I am going back in October.

When I was at my Uncle's I got to ride his $5000 road bike. I took a path along the American River all the way up to Folsom Prison. On the way I passed up some old guy, he managed to catch up with me later. Rather than face humiliation I turned off onto a foot bridge that leads into Folsom City. He followed me, but I had stopped on the bridge. He stopped too. I noticed some really cool rocks in the river, so I went down to see them. My Uncle John had told me to keep the bike close to me no matter what, so I carried it on my back down the rocky bank. It was about 20 feet down. I was wearing those bicycle shoes that lock into the pedals and they have no tread. I made it to the bottom and walked out onto the rocks. They were boulder sized and flowed into the river. I was able to stand on one that was surrounded by water that was at least ten feet deep. They were very slippery from the algae. The water was freezing my barefeet. I only had to take two steps to get back to the bank and I managed to slip on the second one. I didn't get too wet, or ruin my 4th iPod. Then I went back in the other direction so that old bastard wasn't on my trail. There were nothing but old people out biking then, my Unlce pointed out that its probably because the time of day I was out there most people have jobs.

Michael and his wife: I left Carmichael, slept at my Dad's house, then went to see Michael when I woke up. I was kinda late in leaving so I was going a good 90 MPH when I got pulled over. Somewhere halfway down the San Joaquin Valley I got a ticket, my first ever! Michael and his wife, mmmhmm, ok I think its cute that they are physically incapable of not making out every 3 to 5 minutes. BUUUUT I don't need to be there. Michael and I went to the Charger's Stadium where they were setting up for the Street Scene concert. we walked right in, me in my fine atire, to look for three people spending time in a porta-potty trying to get tickets to the concert. I couldn't even remember what radio station was doing it, and there were way too many porta-pottys. So days earlier I had only one shirt, a shirt I got in Guam. I bought another at Ross in Stockton. It was a little too small for me, but it was cool, a ratty old brown "Red Stripe" beer shirt that read "Stubby and proud of it" I wore that for about 5 days striaght, including while at my Unlce's so I took advantage of Mission Valley shopping and went to all the malls I went to back in '04 during the brief period I was stationed there. I bought some really fine clothing. I was a total pimp with a bad ass hat. I tried to tell them. We went to dinner and the "seating" girl said she really liked my hat. Michael's wife Allison said she was just being nice, and that my response to the girl, "Hell yeah!", was inapropriate. I told her she was wrong. That she can get as preachy as she wants but I wasn't the one getting all drunk and high when I was 15. That's cause I am a fucking douche, and I say those things to my best friend's wifes. Perhaps I didn't say it so harshly but when we were leaving and the "seating" girl once again said how awesome my hat was, I rubbed in Allison's face for a good twenty minutes. She's a great person by the way. If anything goes wrong with their relationship, I'm going to blame Michael. I think about how cool Allison is, and I pretty much lose all hope of ever having a good relationship. I certainly don't deserve a woman like that.

Winding down. There is so much unresolved. My Mother's boyfriend is all fucked up. My sister is all fucked up on her own. We have to deal with a house, some insurance, and a business. I left all that. I came back to Japan. Now I have unresolved issues in two countries.

I don't know what the hell is going on right now. I am seriously engulfed in something. Hearing Caitlin say "Columbian Woman", watching Michael and his life. Seeing my sister fighting, clinging to what isn't. My life. Jesus. What have I done?

Josho

I told my little cousin my name was Josho, and it is so cute hearing her say it. She made me a trophy for beating her in a paper airplane contest. She took lots of photos with my phone. I fell in love with her instantly. My Aunt and Uncle better watch out I might steal her. Tara's only 7 but she's got a fire inside. My other cousins were really cool too. Caitlin is 17 now, she and Maicy (16) are both all gothy Ashley Simpsony. I completely missed the last 7 years of their lives. They were both fun to hang out with for a couple days. I made salsa, they all loved it. My Aunt Jodie made me a nice lunch of Salmon Salad with olive oil lime juice and almond shavings. Then she told me to start feeding myself, that's when I knew I had reached freeloader status, and I left that night. Tara almost cried so I told her I would try to come back. They all wanted me to stay, I really wanted to stay. I, well. One step at a time.

Worlds

He is running fast. The pains in his calves grow warm and burn. His chest tears at him and his lungs hurt. His throat growls and his mouth is dry. He wasn't ready. These shoes will not do. The muscle is separating and his shins throw him down. He can't breathe hard enough, but he wants to scream. He falls to his knees and the rocks cut him. The air is dry and the dust enters the wounds. The tears streaming down his face push dirt, and mud falls to the earth. Nothing. He was eating, and all is consumed. He watched the fire melt his children. He saw his wife beaten and raped and then shot. The bloody mud dripping from his wrists are welcomed by the weeds beneath him. There is nothing ahead. There is nothing behind. This Earth that breathed him life will drain it away. He stands and stretches. He's a good runner; he's three miles from where he started. He's in no hurry now. He just needed a chance to think. He's thought. Now he must act.

There is a man putting up a road block. He is not worried; all the fighting is two miles away. The air is cooling to his skin and he's thinking about a girl he saw yesterday. His truck has no armor or weapons. He is not here to fight. His AK-47 is on the passenger seat, it's not even loaded. His righteousness gives him strength. His God demands he sacrifice. He wonders, 'If death be glory, then how can strength be a gift? Perhaps strength of soul at cost of body, that makes sense. Glory for my' The man stops thinking as pieces of his skull, blood, and hair arc towards the pavement as a crescent motion repeats upon his head, a fist holding a stone. He falls into a pile of himself, gloriously. The man gets into the truck and loads the AK. He drives into town.

Two children hide under their bed. They make no noise. One pulls at her hair, the pain she feels distracts her. The boy is focused on the legs. The four legs at the end of the bed, the two feet facing him, the boots they wear, worn and torn. The pants, the belt, the buckle that shakes and swings, clinking, clinking. He could grab that belt, maybe no one would notice, the five people in that room. Maybe no one would hear over the creaking of the bed, the screams of his mother.

They let her scream, they like it. The man at the door is waiting, his world is that room, that bed, that woman. The woman is waiting, her world is beneath her. The children have no world, the boy is making one. His arms extended, he leans on his sister, she is warm and soft, and he has held her before. He is pulling on the belt and holding the pants in place. The kid whose belt is being removed is not in that room. He's home with his girlfriend, she is on this bed and she is moaning. There is no one behind him, and there is no one at his feet avoiding the boots that are worn.

The man in the truck drives slowly, anyone can drive fast but a man with nothing to fear. How can anyone possibly not fear the force upon this city, unless they are the force? Explosions in the distance, waves of smoke, fires, and bullets. He hears the screams. He stops the truck and gets out. The man enters the house, his barrel before him. At the doorway to that room he sees a man whose world he's beside. The man decides to be quiet, and despite all desires to fill the doorman with all his gun's worth, the doorman's head is introduced to the stock of an AK-47. As the doorman's world goes dark and shrinks, the kid without a belt enters the room. He finds his right hand holding a pistol to a woman's head; he quickly makes orphans and turns the pistol towards the 'dispeller of road-blockers and doormen'. The man whose world is all-encompassing moves away and waits. The small caliber of that pistol couldn't shoot through a wall. The kid whose penis had just left a dying woman he's never met is startled by her last attempts at breath. He fires on her twice. One bullet hits her in the chest, the other, small though it may be in caliber, easily passes through the thin mattress. The kid turns his gun towards the doorway and tries to move away from the bed, his left leg goes nowhere and guides the rest of his body towards the floor. The boy hadn't time to tie off the belt and it slips from his hands. His world was briefly a strap of leather and a leg with a worn boot. It was not the belt that tripped this leg. This leg, whose owner wore pants at his ankles. The boy's world was consumed. What did he think was going to happen? He had to do something, but how would that have helped? Now the owner of the legs that had faced him with worn boots could turn his attention to him, to his sister. His sister whose warmth was dispersing, the warmth of her now underneath the boy, in her blood. The girl is dead and this boy has nothing.

The man had focused on that gunfire and the thud, he re-entered the doorway, his AK pointed where the kid should have been. The kid's gun was pointed where the man shouldn't be, and he fires, he fires, and he fires. The man whose world had been all-encompassing now focuses all of himself, all that he is capable of doing, and fires into the kid. The kid is killed instantly. The man falls to his knees again. Even more blood and dirt drips to the floor. The boy emerges from under the bed, covered in the warmth his sister had given him. He walks towards the man. The man looks on this boy and remembers his own son. The man thinks perhaps if he had not entered this room, they would all be alive and before the guilt can develop, and swirl, and consume his stomach, a bullet from an increasingly conscious doorman ends all his worlds. The boy charges the doorman and is cut down. Blood from his chest, from his sister finds its way across the room, across the bed, across the exposed skin of his mother. The doorman rises, dripping in the blood and sweat of all but two in this room. He walks towards the bed and pulls out the girl from underneath. She was beautiful. He lays her body next to her mother, removes his pants, and fucks her lifeless body.

Israel

Sparing the pages of argument I have simply supporting Israel's right to exist. I'll just jump to the issue at hand. Israel doesn't take shit from anyone. Though in this particular instance I don't think they are taking the right course. The funny thing is, nobody will read this, but I have a solution. That's what I'm good at, solutions that no one wants to hear.

Here is the flow;

1. Israel is surrounded by Muslim nations

2. Being a Jewish state makes Israel a constant target.

3. Israel has fought and defeated every nation surrounding it at some point, and subsequently occupied portions of them. They still occupy a portion of Syria.

This then is not a small conflict but a great potential for total war. So then, what is Israel's solution? Bomb the shit out of the only democratic country it borders.

Israel should fight, but so should Lebanon. Lebanon supposedly isn't strong enough to destroy Hizbollah. They are portrayed as innocent, and I'm inclined to agree. Their government has Christians, Jews, and Muslims in elected positions. I can't imagine there is any other middle Eastern nation that can say that, maybe no other nation on Earth. Lebanon should kick out Hizbollah. Here's where I should get my own nation and a peace prize, here's an idea; Israel should give aid to Lebanon. Like we aid Israel. Israel should give them money and weapons, and together they should drive out Hizbollah. Hizbollah having been formed in Lebanon soley as a reaction to Israel's invasion years ago, and existing solely to destroy Israel is kind of a huge bump in the road to any kind of peace. Just imagine it, Israel and Lebanon driving out Hizbollah, the Syrians would have no grounds to occupy Lebanon again, and Iran would have to shut up. Nobody but Hizbollah wants this fight, I think they should feel it.

On the other hand, Israel could play their Hulk-Smash tactics all the way into Syria, since it is Syria supporting Hizbollah, then Iran would join Syria against Israel, and since everybody is pissed at Iran right now, and it is one of Bush's axis of evil countries, I'm sure the U.S. and Britian would join. At this point Lebanon's support might not mean anything. We already have Afghanistan and Iraq consumed in war, what's wrong with engulfing the rest of the Middle East? sounds crazy? This has happened before, again and again. Where will it stop? Who knows, but the logical conclusion to the tactics employed now is that the only end is when everyone able to fight is dead. Israel makes enemies like Columbains make coffee. Every time they roll their tanks into Gaza and level school houses you get another fucking generation of suicide bombers.

Iran could very easily join this fight. To their left is American Iraq, to their right is American Afghanistan. If Syria is attacked by Israel, Israel will win. They are already on the brink with their nuke issues, self preservation comes into mind, and nobody in this area of the world seems to think negotiations, or a ceasing of attacks on other people are viable options for improving relations. Hiabollah says it just wants to trade. Ha! The only reason they have their people imprisoned is because of previous conflicts. Their only solution to conflict, is more conflict. What is needed is a bit of fucking morality.

Come on Jews. Come on. Why do you even bother to exist? I thought you were different. One of the most influential people in my life was Dr. Laura, she's Jewish. I had a precept that followers of the Jewish faith would be somewhat moral. What the fuck is this shit? STOP KILLING EVERYBODY. IF I WERE IN GAZA, OR LEBANON, OR SYRIA, OR EGYPT, AND I HAD TO WATCH YOU RUIN MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE OVER A BORDER DISPUTE OR A TOLL BOOTH, I'D FUCKING SUICIDE BOMB YOU TOO. AN EYE FOR AN EYE MOTHERFUCKERS, ITS IN ALL THE BIBLES.

America made an investment in Israel. We wanted a free state, so we payed for it. Israel, being the recipient of this money and these weapons, might realize that this is a good way to get peace. Give Lebanon aid. Give them guns, give them money. It is an investment, it is morally right. Just do this one thing. If Lebanon turns the guns on you, then by all means, turn the whole country into a glass parking lot. Don't just come out swinging. It is wrong in the eyes of God. I don't even believe in God and I know this. I am an Objectivist. My moral code is based on treating every individual with the respect an individual deserves. This always mandates not punishing the masses for the crimes of the few. Since I believe it is morally justified to kill off the Hizbollah, but not regular type Lebanese, one would need Lebanese support. Just think of it like Israel hiring Lebanon to get rid of Hizbollah.

Well, that's all I got right now, its 4:54 am so I'm not perfectly fluent.

Rebel

The things I write here are not read by many. I want to write for a living. Somehow. I also write posts about the military on the government's Secret internet. Even people who know about and use the Secret internet don't believe me or comprehend, so I won't try here, just to say the government thought it would be cool if there were secret blogs. I thought it was cool too. I can read about people from every branch of the government doing anything and everything all over the world, first hand accounts. So I write about stuff, and lots of people read it. I get lots of positives. I was able to communicate with experts in the fields I was discussing. Only problem is that it's a government blog, so no personal stuff. Nothing but business. Anyway. I just wish I had more readers. Maybe when I actually pick a field and stick to it, and appeal to the desires, or more Objectivistly, pick a field, and let them come. That rant over.

What I wanted to rant about on the secret net was about ESWS. This is a qualification that sailors can recieve on ships. This used to be an honor. Sailors would work hard and prove themselves worthy of the title, worthy of the pin. Now commands desperate to look better than other commands. Departments and Divisions desperate to stand out within commands have ruined the value of the ESWS qualification. They threaten sailors to get it. They punish sailors who don't. They make it easier for people to help them get the title. This is anti-Objectivist. Flat out, if I were Christian, this would be like asking me to bow down to Satan. So I am being punished, alot. I am being threatened even more. ESWS is an abomination, and an embarrassment. I would feel ashamed to get this meaningless, fallen, piece of metal. Yet now I am compelled. I am not allowed off the ship until 7:30 PM every one of the few days I'm inport, except the weekend. I have been ordered to get this qualification by July 15, or they will send me to Captain's Mast. If that happens, I could lose my rank, with it the pay, and the ability to live off the ship, and they could cancel my orders to San Diego. Basically, if I don't get ESWS in the next month, they will ruin my career, and take from me everything I have worked for in the last three years.

What to do? So I will give it a shot. I'll get it, because I have been ordered to, and I knew going in that I was being paid to follow orders. I won't stop my campaign against ESWS, but I'll end up wearing the mark of shame while doing it.

Entertaining International Women

The first night I danced with two groups of filipino girls. Then I went to McDonald's and met a Colombian woman. I talked to her for about 20 minutes in Spanish. From it I learned three new Spanish words, baracho (drunk) inebrio (inebriated or as she said, "A pretty way to say drunk" Except that she said that last quote in Spanish) pelegroso (careful). She gave me her business card and had to go back to work. I went to a pub and made fun of this Irish girl, and her Limey friend. I made fun of the Limey, because she was a Limey, and I made fun of the Irish girl, for having a Limey friend. Then I went back to Wall Street. The first girl I saw in there grabbed me and started feeling me up.
"I like your stomach" she said. "I want to lick it."
"That's cool, go right ahead." I replied. Then she stuck her hand down my pants and grabbed my penis. I was a little shocked. "Where are you from?"
"Malaysia." I left. I ended up at Gas Panic. Gas Panic always has a majority of Japanese people (Nihonjin). The waiters and waitresses are always assholes. I danced with a few Nihonjin girls. A group of French women came in and one stayed. I hunted her down, and danced with her for a couple hours. I was kissing her and rubbing her right. She wouldn't shut up about how the girls were dancing on the bar. Then she decided I had to battle for the privilege of dancing with her. She put me up against a Nihonjin guy and we took turns grinding on her. I made a sweet move when I managed to dance with her, and massage her at the same time. That Nihonjin bastard stole my flavor and tried to kick it up a notch. My next turn I decided to stop fucking around. I rubbed her all over, including her, well everywhere, you know. She wasn't too down with that, and informed me that I lost. A minute later the music stopped and the lights came on, so in your face Nihonjin douche, and French bitch! Some might say I lost more than a dance, but if you think about it, if she wasn't down with being rubbed, she wasn't going home with the winner. I went home and got to sleep around 7:30AM. I was awoken at 2pm by a Mikoshi parade camped in front of my house. International talley, 4 Philipino danced, two said no, 1 was clearly underage, 1 I got really freaky with. 1 French girl danced and kissed and fondled alot, 3 said no. 3 Japanese girls danced, 0 said no (but some were totally oblivious to all guys, fucking lesbains). 1 beautiful Colombian girl spoke slowly so I could understand her, and desire her more. 1 Malaysian chick sexually harassed me (hell yeah, not the first time!)
Saturday night I went to Roppongi again. First girls I saw I heard speaking Spanish, they turned about to be Peruanas (Peruvian girls) I layed down a wall of espanol, but they said I was too young for them, fucking shit, I shave my face and people think I'm a fucking kid. I know they make a big deal about me being 23, maybe I should just lie. I had about lost hope with the place when my hand caught the hip of a cute Nihonjin girl. I immediately struck like a viper and had two girls, one for each hip rubbing hand. The other girl was half Japanese, and half Philipino. She spoke English fluently. The Nihonjin guys that were with these girls bought me a drink. I danced with the girls while trying to talk to these guys. They turned out to be Japanese soldiers. I kept trying to tell them I was Navy, but they kept saying "Ranger?" So I gave up and let them think I was special forces. After a while I picked up another Japanese girl and she danced and grinded and got all kinds of dirty. She kept parading me around and telling everyone she knew that I was her man. Then she asked if I would get her some chapagne. I said sure and she frenched me. Then I saw what she wanted, a $400 bottle of alcohol. I told her no way. She blew me off after that, and I left. I ran about a mile around Roppongi to sober up a bit, I have never felt so good running in my life.

When did it become ok for girls outside of California to say "like" profusely? If a girl says "like" all the time, and she isn't from California, she's a bitch. If she is from California, she's probably a bitch, but who knows. As soon as I stopped running I saw the bar/grill the Columbian girl worked at. I went in and had some mixed drink with Tequila and Grenadine, and something else. She smiled alot but wasn't hangning out much, I think I'll email her, but I don't think she's too interested in me. That's the sweet part about an email. I can disect it, no b.s., no interference. Then ended up in a bad position trying to sober up after 3 or so shitty clubs, I just watched other people.

I noticed all the white girls were bitches, including these two models who were from California and Tennesse. They kept leaving and coming back. Why do white bitches even show up? They always hide in a corner, or at the bar. If they don't want to get with guys, they came to EXACTLY THE WORST PLACE ON EARTH. Roppongi is all about hooking up for a while, that's it. There are thousands of bar in Tokyo, only one Roppongi, stupid white bitches. I can understand if they are just being picky, but I have yet to see one single white chick from any country get with any guy that didn't come in with her, (Then Joshua remembers the French chick from the night before, and declares her a scientific oddity.)

Anyway some dude kept trying to drag a girl out of the bar and when the guy she was with was kicked out for being too drunk, she was alone. So I followed her out and made sure that fuck didn't drag her off into any alleys. Then I was offered about 4000 massages and I offered a masaji girl a massage for 2000 Yen. I decided to wait till I was completely sober so I wouldn't pass out on the train. I killed the time by writing this right now. Perfect timing, one hour for 400 Yen, the hour is up in two minutes.

Night two talley, Shot down by 2 Peruanas, even though estuvi el solo persana alli que habla espanol, chinga sus madres. 3 Nihonjin girls, including much loving, 0 nihonjin shot me down, but that one bitch, I saw her later, she tried to get me to go into a club with her, I told her it was fucked up that she blew me off for Champagne, I'm a sailor, I don't get paid. So I told her to fuck off. 1 Colombian woman didn't give me enough love. Lots of white girls ignored me and every other guy. Fuck white girls. Now I'm not looking forward to California anymore, you all suck. All in all, I got more love, love, loving from all those women of 8 or so countries than that filthy lying, oh, I won't finish that sentence. Fuck America. That's better. Solo un poco baracho ahorra. Fue como una idiota y empezo una hora mas. No tengo mas cosas hacer en el interneto. Ahorra necesito pagar para dos horas. ahh, pero esta bien, esta bien. Solo yo necisito usar el bano mucho pero no quiero levantar, No se el espanol, pero en ingles es "ironic" o estupido, no seguro.

Josho vs. Rum

Perception. Your eyes lie to you. How's that for a begining? Rationality has to be founded on one's perception, but what we perceive isn't exactly right to begin with. It's the butterfly effect and the stampede is me at a picnic seeing Ian alone and quiet. It's seeing her. When I see her I don't see a person, I see issues. I see an unresolvable conflict. These perceptions. So Sean show me a nice way to enjoy rum with Sprite. I had about 4 glasses, then decided I wasn't nearly drunk enough. So I slammed the bottle, literaly I chiped a tooth doing it. I just kept drinking it. I drank it like water. I drank it empty. I hoped it would kill me. I still wasn't drunk enough because it hadn't hit me yet. I hoped I'd at least pass out. I grabbed a beer and drank that too. Then I played some Weezer and did the dishes. I went to bed around 9:30. At some point in the night I found myself opening the door to my other bedroom. I don't know why or how I was there. Sean asks me if I'm ok, I say I'm really drunk, he says "Yeah I saw wht you did to that bottle." I go back to bed, and notice two huge piles of vomit on my bed. I sleep until 5:30 a.m. and get up for duty. I'm still drunk, I tell Sean about it. I shave drunk, I clean up the vomit, mostly. I notice at some point in the night I had gone downstairs grabbed my iPod and took it back to my room and recharged it. Aparantly I'm a very productive drunk. I tell Sean not to go into my room, he says that the only time he'd ever been in there was the night before to make sure I wouldn't choke on my own vomit in my sleep. I tell him I don't care if he goes in my room, but it's mass casualty in there.

I drunk bike to the base. At the main gate I get paranoid, I stop ten feet from the gaurd and try to get my ID card out of my pocket. I look at him, and I'm sure he knows. He says, "You dropped your money." I loudly say;

"Yeah it's just a Yen." I reach down and pick it up. I think he knows now for sure, because I should have said 'one Yen' not 'a Yen' or maybe 'a Yenny' if I were hip. I go through and drunk bike to my boat. I see the gate gaurds and I'm sure they know, but we don't talk. I get to the ship and I'm sure the OOD knows, but he says nothing. I drunk iron my uniform, because I had remembered to bring it. Then I go to muster, and afterwards I sleep most of the day. I have a dream that two guys, Misty Stokes, and I are burglars (only two of you could possibly know who she is, to you I say, I haven't a clue why, I never dreamed about her before).

It was more than 15 hours before I started feeling sober again, more than 24 before I stopped feeling sick. The whole time I was drinking I was thinking about Sasebo, Kagoshima, Hong Kong, her. I thoroughly distorted my perception, just for a momentary release from this hold on my soul.

Steal the show, and don't follow through

I went with Ian to Sakuragicho, the McDonald's was located at the end of one of the most beautiful night time walkways I have ever seen. You walk along a wooden bridge over a lake surrounded by life. The tallest building, the ferris wheel, the masted ship, lights and buildings, and music and dancing until you reach an impressive mall. This was the second McDonald's I've been to in Yokohama that had unique and amazing architecture. The other one is on the other side by "Jack" Mall. The girl we had quested for was learning the register. I got a Teriyaki McBurger and a Coke. She wasn't "hot" as Ian had said, I don't think. She looked 14. I'm not really down with that. I know she was 19, but numbers aren't so important to me. Ian says nothing, I say nothing. We sit and eat. Next to us are 4 really cute obviously rebelious America loving high school girls. 3 of them had their hair bleached to as blond as black can get. Two had extensive peircings. They were all dressed in what American's would call "punk" not the dark Goth style, but the frayed anti color coordination style. Seeing as how neither Ian nor I were to talk to this girl we had quested for, I chose to shamelessly hit on these girls.

I didn't have to do much. My skin color gave me instant celebrity status with these girls, and with Ian's help, I actually managed to understand them a bit. They all used fake American names, Lisa was really Mari, Michelle had some incomprehensibly hard to pronounce name. Anyway, it is always nice to have 4 hot high school girls paying absolute attention to you, and laugh hysterically in joyous exhaltation. I had no intention of a follow through. One of them said she wished she could see me again, I ignored it. Another asked if I would remember their names, I remembered Lisa, and Michelle, then made fun of them, "Ahh, Anata wa Amerikajin desu." ( Ahh, you are Americans) they loved that. It was like when Dave Chapelle did that skit where the blind black guy thought the ghetto white kids were black. Anyway. Every guy I have told this story to told me I should have gotten their numbers, or given mine. Ian made a good point though, if I had met them again, there is really very few legal things I could do with them. I wouldn't understand them, and they wouldn't understand me, so it would break down to me buying them liquer and fucking them, they were like 16, so no thank you. These girls had enough issues, let them be cute American posers without some douchebag American sailor contributing. Though the prospect is intriguing. I must say. So there. I turned down 4 cute Japanese girls in one night. I think that gives me free reign to tell you I am capable of moral conviction. That this isn't a issue of oportunity. These girls wanted to party, it was 9:30 on a Monday, and they wanted an excuse to not go home.

Ohh, hmm. Now if that girl behind the counter were all cute and punked out, I'd have been all over her. 19 is slightly different than 16ish. hmm. You know you're judging me. Judge away.

Steal the show, and don't follow through

I went with Ian to Sakuragicho, the McDonald's was located at the end of one of the most beautiful night time walkways I have ever seen. You walk along a wooden bridge over a lake surrounded by life. The tallest building, the ferris wheel, the masted ship, lights and buildings, and music and dancing until you reach an impressive mall. This was the second McDonald's I've been to in Yokohama that had unique and amazing architecture. The other one is on the other side by "Jack" Mall. The girl we had quested for was learning the register. I got a Teriyaki McBurger and a Coke. She wasn't "hot" as Ian had said, I don't think. She looked 14. I'm not really down with that. I know she was 19, but numbers aren't so important to me. Ian says nothing, I say nothing. We sit and eat. Next to us are 4 really cute obviously rebelious America loving high school girls. 3 of them had their hair bleached to as blond as black can get. Two had extensive peircings. They were all dressed in what American's would call "punk" not the dark Goth style, but the frayed anti color coordination style. Seeing as how neither Ian nor I were to talk to this girl we had quested for, I chose to shamelessly hit on these girls.

I didn't have to do much. My skin color gave me instant celebrity status with these girls, and with Ian's help, I actually managed to understand them a bit. They all used fake American names, Lisa was really Mari, Michelle had some incomprehensibly hard to pronounce name. Anyway, it is always nice to have 4 hot high school girls paying absolute attention to you, and laugh hysterically in joyous exhaltation. I had no intention of a follow through. One of them said she wished she could see me again, I ignored it. Another asked if I would remember their names, I remembered Lisa, and Michelle, then made fun of them, "Ahh, Anata wa Amerikajin desu." ( Ahh, you are Americans) they loved that. It was like when Dave Chapelle did that skit where the blind black guy thought the ghetto white kids were black. Anyway. Every guy I have told this story to told me I should have gotten their numbers, or given mine. Ian made a good point though, if I had met them again, there is really very few legal things I could do with them. I wouldn't understand them, and they wouldn't understand me, so it would break down to me buying them liquer and fucking them, they were like 16, so no thank you. These girls had enough issues, let them be cute American posers without some douchebag American sailor contributing. Though the prospect is intriguing. I must say. So there. I turned down 4 cute Japanese girls in one night. I think that gives me free reign to tell you I am capable of moral conviction. That this isn't a issue of oportunity. These girls wanted to party, it was 9:30 on a Monday, and they wanted an excuse to not go home.

Ohh, hmm. Now if that girl behind the counter were all cute and punked out, I'd have been all over her. 19 is slightly different than 16ish. hmm. You know you're judging me. Judge away.

How I feel

Sliding on my ass at the bottom of a snowy hill, the fun is over, but the ride hasn't stopped. Waking up after 2 hours of sleep, and spending an entire day sitting around. Wasting an entire day playing video games that I've already beaten. Standing watch. Red streaks of silk flash by and a sword enters my stomach, but it is just a dream and I move on and never remember it. I was 4 years old and he hit me in the head with a pipe. I was 12 and I stood in a field, a boy told me she had a crush on me. I have stood on a cliff facing the wrong direction. Sunday morning. Every day of December. After 4 ejaculations, and 5 hours of sexual activity, all the while thinking. Watching a opossum die on the side of a road, only 5 minutes into a two hour bike ride. The rear bumper of my Grandmother's Ford. Greyhound station at anytime of the day except 9:45 pm. Stale Dorritos out of a freshly opened bag. The same t-shirt, 4 days in a row. Never at the beach. Never in the forest. Never on a mountain. Never by a river. Swenson Park, on a weekday. My Mesquite tree. Recess after 5th grade.



I want to apologize to someone I shouldn't forgive. I want to leave someone I should kiss. I sit on a pedastal I made them build, if I stand, I will be higher than them, but I am content. I am so out of sorts, this is truly the closest I can come to speaking about how I feel.

On the 7th Week, Josho Rested

My fan base consists of only two people, the girl I loved, and the boy she loves. How's that for a kick in the nuts? I just set the filter to friends only and neither of them will read this. The girl I loved can't read this anymore, because she is a slutty alcoholic piece of shit, and the Navy recognizes this. The boy she loves is obsessed with me because he is a fucking moron. Here is a song I wrote after having to spend 5 hours with Boozy McDrunk Bitch.



Sunshine and Sparkles



I fell in love, and she fell apart. She's passed out, and I've a broken heart.

My sister sells Meth, my brother's a drunk. My Dad did coke, and my Mom tried to kill me.

Demo, ii desu, daijabu. I have a woman I can do anything to.

My friends are in jail, I quit my job. I'm being blackmailed, and I've become a slob.

Demo, ii desu, daijabu. I have a woman I can do anything to.

6 weeks straight of drunken debauchery. The edge has curved. I have fallen, I have risen, I will come all over my Thai woman.

BeruBot is on TV, he demands I drink more Asahi.

Demo, ii desu, daijabu. I have a woman I can do anything to.

BeeruBot ga hoshi desu

I had almost the perfect day today. I had the 2-7, I got to regale legends of the sea with a man from Saipan. This was fun because he told me he was from Sacramento, then asked me about Saipan. After about 5 minutes of shit talking the dirty little island, he told me where he grew up. So I asked him what "Hafa adai" meant, he said it was "welcome", but I have been pronouncing it wrong. It is supposed to be pronounced like you are saying "Half a day". Then I was free, I gave Tony the Playboy Masion game book so he could get the music. Then I went with Sean to my place and watched Jack Bauer stomp everyone's shit. I left it off where he finally killed the woman who killed his wife. Then I went to Tokyo and made sweet love to my woman. We watched Blade Trinity and I started acting like a vampire, biting her and the such, I thought it was cute. After we were all done, we watched Japan stomp Korea's shit in baseball, just like Japan had rocked China's world a couple days ago. Thats when I saw it... The Asahi BeeruBot. He fucking whips out a cold one, breaks it open and pours a glass. I told Ai that I wanted the BeeruBot. She laughed and asked me why, I dont even drink beer, I told her I could substitute with Coke. I dont understand enough Nihongo to figure out how to get one from the commercial, so I asked Ai, How do I get a BeerBot? This paused her on two fronts, first she didnt know how the word "how" was being used, and second, I had to explain the concept of calling some plastic thing I saw on a commercial a BeeruBot. Yeah good times. I ate some pork and curry for dinner at the Shinagawa eki and I got back to Yoko about 9:30.

Making Out In Japanese

One friday night. Two men. Roppongi. I danced all damn night, I was with the hottest girls and I got shot down 50% the time. It was awesome. Sean went for the slutiest girl in the bar, and had her leaving with him within 15 minutes, but her cock-blocking friend was there and that was shut down. Then the prostitutes came. I had managed to thwart them earlier when we first walked by, by singing to them "Iie keko desu." One of the fine women of the night sang it right back, in such a sweet voice. This time I had to lay down all my Japanese, it worked for me, I was able to confound the woman by being a white guy speaking Nihon go, Sean didn't have a chance, he wanted that sex so much, he didn't fight it when the two women carried him off. I ate what is affectionately referred to as a "Taliban Taco" and then I went back into the club. The absolutely most beautifuul girl gathered up my time, I was with her for at least two hours. We pretty much did everything but fuck on the bar. I was wondering if they were going to kick me out as I felt the soft breasts of this girl as she danced on the bar? Would my hand be slapped away as I made out with her, and her hot friend simultaneously? No, it was "Josh gets whatever he wants night." After I got drunk beyond reason, and spent $450 on various drinks, for various fine ladies, I decided I should go back home. I told the pretty girl I had to leave, so she wrote her number on my hand. As I was telling Sean I needed to go, I saw yet another hot Japanese girl. I could see from the look in her eyes that she needed me. So I told Sean, "I'm gonna be a minute." I started dancing with her, then making out. It couldn't last long though, I was just a little too drunk, so I kissed her goodbye too, and sean and I walked out into the sunlight, it was 6am Saturday morning.

Thai and Women

Something about waking up on a Sunday morning where the only decision to make is whether I get a blow job or vaginal intercourse with the beautiful women next to me, well I just cant have a bad day after that. Hell thats been every Sunday for the past month.

Yes it is good, but it isnt great. I want love. I am the kind of guy who never says `Things could be worse` I say `Things can be better`, and then I figure out how. It sucks because people think you are being negative. That is bullshit, saying things could be worse is a horrible way to look at life. You can always say things could be worse, until the person is dead, then it doesnt matter. I say things can be better until Im floating on a cloud enjoying every second of my life. What the fuck am I even writing this for, ok change up.

I am learning so much. I dont even know what is going on. Its amazing, this life I am living now, yet I see so much I can improve on. Plagued by my own potential. I can be so great. Puff, puff, goes my ego, but what you do not see is that I am filling it with substance. Many people dont care if its just hot air, but I am truly developing myself into an awesome person.

Eh, there are quite a few Thai people here, or maybe there are only a few and I know them all. Mmmm. If I could spell repitoir then I would write, I have decided to expand my myspace repitoir to include hot women who only want sex and are completely self involved, cant get enough of them. Hell if I could find a women as smart as me, no point in trying, shed probably be a total bitch and would just cut my nuts off for making a comment on her myspace. Jesus Christ, should I be allowed outside? One crazy bitch rips my heart and soul to shit and now Im becoming a cynical douche. Well, more so.

I left Ai today feeling a loss. Thats something. I cant get enough of that cool loss feeling. Maybe if my sister isnt dead before October I can go home and try to save her.

I dont really have any issues, just everybody else around me. Somehow when I care about somebody, their shit becomes my shit. I am absofuckinglutely peachy. Well 90% anyway. Crazy girl still owns me on some fields.

It all becomes so simple when you are with someone, or some people that just want to have a good time, no bull. Just dance, drink, screw. Jesus, I knew it didnt have to be hard, but I didnt imagine it would be so perfect. I am the most deep, contemplative, intelligent, introspective man I have ever met, and I just cant argue with a beer, a smiling girl, a dance floor, and some techno.

187 views, and only 3 comments, and 1 fucking Kudos. I only have 248 page views, so more than 50% involved someone reading a blog post. Why so fucking quiet? Is it because most of the page views are from Crazy Girl? I dont know, if she cared that much, how come she had no problem lying to me, and treating me like shit while she blew her boyfriend, huh? Yeah I am definitely still pissed at her. Meh, Ill just assume it because no comments are necessary, I am always right, and nobody needs to tell me. Or because whenever people read my posts, it makes them sick, and they cant control their vomiting, let alone leave a FUCKING COMMENT. Yes I am a lonely (albeit badass, and successful) motherfucker.

Kawaiiso

I told Ai I was taking the local train to Tokyo, and she replied by writing, Kawaiiso. I tried looking it up, but all I have is a phrasebook. It did have the word Kawa, which means river. I already knew the rest, "ii" (nice) "so" (so). So I thought she was calling the local train "So nice river" and I figured it was a nickname. The local train makes every stop on the way to Tokyo, so it's the slowest possible way to get there. I was all happy because I knew some cool phrase for the local train, but then later that day she said it again, and I asked her what she meant. Kawaiiso actually means "pity", she was just saying it was a pity I would be so long. Anyway, I think Kawaiiso would still be a cool nickname for the local, so I'm telling everyone to use it. It would be awesome if this Gaijin got the Japanese to use the pun.

Got laid, partied with hot Thai women didnt sleep

The title speaks for itself. Fuck Love, fuck being a good person, Jump some bones and party past dawn!

Gone Drinking

I got drunk bitches. First I hung out with Ruiz and we played the midnight lib game in the Honch, I even sang Karaoke. I drank, coconut rum, then tequila sunrise, then jack and coke, then two Asahi's in about 2 hours. I was probably at the lowest level of drunk possible becuase I could still walk and talk normally I just felt odd.

The next night Tony and I went to Roppongi all night and I drank well, I don't know, maybe 5 beers including Bud, Guiness, Asahi, and Foster's and I had a shot of Jameson, that really fucked me up. After the Jameson I drank Cokes for about 3 hours until I was sober again, then I had some more beer, and at some point a glass of Hennessy I never got so drunk that I couldn't walk straight. I surveyed the scene figured out the games and learned a lot, I think I'll be banging cheap Japanese and Euro trash girls in no time.

I learned a lot from this, for example being drunk didn't change who I was at all, so if a girl becomes a slut when she's drunk, then she's just a slut anyway, and if a guy becomes an asshole when he's drunk, well then he's an asshole. I never knew that. I thought alcohol lowered inhibition or some stupid shit like that, maybe it does, but that wouldn't work on me, I have no inhibitions, I really do and say anything I want all the time. All being drunk did was make me feel weird. Shit if you want elation, I've had much better highs when in deep philosophical discussions. I have experienced so much better mental pleasure from my own actions I don't see any point to alcohol, It isn't healthy so fuck it. I'm hard pressed to understand how anybody even becomes an alcoholic.

This is where I get back on my high horse. These experiences have only further proved how right I am, and how stupid you all are. If only I could show you the true pleasures of life. Sex is one of them, and I do believe I will go back to the land of hot Euro/Russian/Japanese/Brazillian women for that reason, but this alcohol business is silly. Well if it works for you good on you, I like people actually being themselves, we could all drape ourselves in bullshit so thick we could forget reality, but I rather everyone be honest. If getting drunk makes people act like they truly feel, then drink away!

Some people might say that's not cool becuase some people are dicks when they're drunk, well if their dicks when they're drunk, then they are dicks alltogether, they also happen to be liars who pretend to be cool, just stay away from the dicks.

And of course some girls, including the one I foolishly fell in love with are total sluts when they're drunk, well there's nothing wrong with being a slut, why not do it when you're sober too? It would make my life easier. I can prove logically that casual sex is a healthy thing, but you might not like the religion bashing it would require.

I guess the worst part is now that the mystery is gone, I see the world a mass of horribly pathetic people.

Now I know what the die hard drinkers are thinking right now, so I'll say, yes I had a great time, it is fun, but that had nothing to do with the alcohol. I was sober just as much as I was drunk last night, and my fun level didn't change, the only thing that changed was when I was at my peak drunkness, I couldn't concentrate, and I'm a man who likes his thoughts.

I also learned that a lot of these people aren't really having a good time, many were quite bored. I see this as a perfect opportunity. I might not be getting a stage performance gig anytime soon, but I'll be damned if I can't put a little sunshine in the eyes of up to and including 3 hot Japanese girls or 1 Euro girl, it is harder to remove sticks from their refined asses.I could probably entertain 1 or two Brazillians for short bursts, so I would have to strike quickly and max out on my Spanish, because I know much more spanish than Japanese. What I lack in language skills I can make up for in Americaness, you see being an American in Japan is often like being a celebrity, not a big one, but I've had my picture taken with at least 15 people on different occasions. I am inherently a curiosity, all I need to do is find a curious girl. Then out of spite I wrote; "Not some boring, fearful, hypocrite bitch."

To you, my love, or me, my pain

I was an open book. You read me, and threw me away. I'm sorry there isn't more. You don't want there to be more. If you ever want to read again, just pick me up. I am right where you left me. In the trash.
I can't be any more open to you. You can't be any more recluse to me. If you no longer fear what the pages say, then pick me up again.
I will remain here until someone else comes and takes me away. May I grab them like I could never grab you. May I mean enough to them that they pass me along, and not abandon me. You don't want to hear it. If you could even pretend you cared you wouldn't have slammed me shut so hard.
It is ok. This is life. I will suffer. You will play. Maybe another day.

"There's a pile of dead horses, somebody get the bat" or "I am like a hella cool poet "

Commit war and repent. I imagine. This passion is beyond the scope of understanding. My what a taste of life! Lie down for me, as I have for you. Or may I throw you to the floor? It is hard I know. But it is good. This life is all we have. I have made it. There is no end, or it is always ending.

Behind the curtain a thousand crimes we could commit. Though none would be just the same. You cannot go halfway. All or none. Life or death. Truth or lies. Oh, but both hurt. Then it is only in the mind that the war is waged for on the battlefield is nuetral ground. Not a single shot has been fired and yet there are casualties on both sides. What the does "All's fair in love and war." mean? I don't see one bit of fairness. Or is that it, because I seriously doubt anyone wants to stand on a battlefield and march to his death. I shall be in the corner. It is honest and yet deceitful. The agreement to lie. To hold true to whims. Contrapositives and oxymorons I know not what I say.

So in this I must decline to engage. I most certainly could hide behind the corner, I already failed at a frontal attack. I am war torn, shell shocked. I have lost the taste for this conflict. Should it persist, my absolute love and devotion to life will drive me on towards victory or glorious defeat. For now I stand on what ground I have not lost. My pain, my pleasure surrounds me. This was my life I think. This is my life now. If I had to choose, perhaps I wouldn't have chosen pity. Sorrow for my enemy. It is the love of victory that would drive me on, but it is the love of my enemy that stops me. So I beg of my enemy. Come forth and face me. I am quite ready. I am quite worthy. Do not doubt my ability to destroy you. It is within my reach all that you hold sacred. It is within myself that I will not take it. I do want it. So try. I dare you. I promise you the most glorious defeats you could ever obtain. I promise you dreams you couldn't tell your Grandchildren.

Or is this the game? Must I be the violator of the treaty? If this is the truth, then so is my promise. Although I am willing to die on foreign fields, humiliated and lone, I will always play by my own rules, I will not lie. I will not cheat. I will not steal. You need only say, "You can't lie, cheat, or steal" and I will do so in spite of you. I can lie, I can cheat, I can steal. All is fair in love and war.