Quantity Is More Important Than Quality

Reality, in the metaphorical sense, in the sense that reality is everything undesirable about your otherwise good life, is back today like an old dying Aunt with no friends who just wants a few quarters for the slots. The last wave of inspiration has subsided, tonight I go back to work, the smell of coffee is negated by the smell of a full trashcan, the inbox is full of emails with bold underlined capitalized bullshit, and the guy who cut my hair last night somehow fucked it up. From now on I’m just getting that shit shaved. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking asking for some kind of ridiculous shit like short on the sides and messy on top. Yeah it’s a fucking mess now. Good fucking job.

I don’t think there’s really anything worth talking about now, especially since I can’t seem to even word the boring shit to be funny any more, so I might as well keep typing. At least I can get in a thousand words before getting bogged down in the mire. I’ll just resort to typing long cliches. I’m listening to an album of classical music called Mood Booster. I thought it would be a good idea. I started listening to The National at first and then I realized I was just going to type the lyrics over and over again if I didn’t stop.

Woo fuck, this is going to be tough shit. I do not feel in the least like writing. Ok, well, shit we’re a quarter of the way there now. Sometimes you just got to push on through, like Bob Marley said.

I been reading a lot about American History so I could write a book about a guy in America sometime. Maybe I was wrong to do that. I don’t think so, I’m just feeling like I was wrong about everything. It’s funny how much I don’t know about American history. I don’t know much of anything about American history, and it’s not that much history to even learn.

I don’t mind working, I guess, I mean I hate it, but it pays and that’s cool. I think I’ve worked everyone’s expectations down that I’m coming home for Thanksgiving or for any reason really. I love my family and I have one of the most loving families…or at least verbally loving families, I think maybe their actions say otherwise. My family is all about drama and shit and talking behind each other’s backs and putting on a good face and also full of expectations. No one expects you to do well in a career, they just want you to do well in your spiritual life, AKA go to church, pray, and get raptured in the next few days. And then they also want you to do Amway. Then you’d be good.

Shit, I just wish we could all sit around and chill when we see each other. But you can’t relax because they need you to be someone you’re not. Ah but that’s fine, because most people do. Nobody wants to talk about death all the time. Unless there’s a heaven afterwards, in which case my family would be happy to talk about it. But I guess the fact that they are my family makes me expect them to love me unconditionally. So I guess we all have our expectations.

I just want to move to Siberia and they can all stay here. It sucks because I want to see them but at the same time I never want to see them again. My grandmother is close to the end of her life and she never expected anybody to do anything but their “lessons”, which is what she called homework. She doesn’t think you’re a bad person as long as you’re not a bad person, whereas most of my family thinks you’re a bad person if you’re not Jesus Christ, and not just the real Jesus Christ but the rich one who hates gays and abortions.

Anyway, only three hundred words to go now. Ah, fuck, this sucks shit I feel like I’m cleaning a stubborn bathroom. How can I add something to your life today? I don’t know. What to I want to make you feel? Who are you? What emotion do I want to communicate? Boredom… I heard this song by The Doors on Other Voices. The guy was like, “I’m nervous I’m bored I’m stoned I’m ugly something something.” That was a good song. I bet he didn’t know what the hell to write about at that point.

Damn if I could just cut down some god damn trees around here. Even cleaning something doesn’t feel as productive as the idea of cutting down trees does. Like I could clean the apartment more and that does make me feel better about my life but that shit is just temporary. You clean something and then the next day you wake up and that shit is not clean any more, and then you start to believe that every day is a new day and you are just as wretched as you were the one before. You never make any progress. Like Chuck Klosterman said, every night things come together and I understand the world, and then morning comes and I don’t understand shit, and that’s why I hate mornings.

I like mornings, pretty much, sometimes, if I’m feeling good…alright so I liked one morning one time it was pretty good. Or the mornings of my childhood or the ones when I was in France the first time, but those are in my memory and probably didn’t happen at all like I remember and I probably hated them at the time. I guess the only thing to do is to trick yourself into thinking you were having a good time yesterday.

Well, there you go. Sorry about that, I guess, unless you liked it. I enjoyed it minimally. But I will try to remember that it was fun.

Columbus Day in New Amsterdam

Man I am about to get right up out of this chair and make some coffee. It’s going to be the shit.

Like, what I’m saying, I’m going to get up, like physically, alright? Can you grasp that?

I mean I am literally seconds away from moving out of this chair, alright?

No, I don’t think you understand. You’re not quite getting it.

That’s alright though, because in, like, five seconds I think…five seconds probably my ass is going to be up out of this chair. I’m going to be turning right the fuck around and going into the kitchen and I’m going to make coffee.

See I already know that Sister left the coffee beans right next to the record player. I don’t know why in fuck she did that, because the coffee beans clearly are not musical. You can’t even eat coffee beans while listening to records. Coffee beans have no acoustic qualities.

I’m going to grab that nasty ass can of Trader Joe’s fair trade bullshit whole bean coffee beans and I’m going to pop that lid and be like, hell yeah, I did my part for the liberation of Equaraguistan today.

Then I’m going to grind that shit up in a burr grinder, mother fucker. Do you know what the fuck that shit is even going to do to those coffee beans? It’s going to fuck them shits up like it was Columbus Day in New Amsterdam.

Then I’m going to take that shit and put it in a filter, a paper filter made by a company that had the audacity to name themselves “If You Care.” Mother fucker, I don’t care! That’s why I use paper coffee filters, bitch! I cut down trees in this mother fucker and I make myself a delicious drink. Fuck you, you band aid ass mother fuckers.

And then I’m going to heat up some water by doing absolutely nothing. I’m literally going to stand there and watch water heat up. Like I’m fucking Merlin up in here. Mother fuckers ain’t even going to be able to handle that shit. It’s just going to be like aodsifjapidshfpwerpoafie asdf fuck it’s hot in here! Damn! That’s what the water’s going to say.

Then I’m going to pour that shit right over the fucked up coffee. I mean that coffee is so fucked up, it can’t even remember it was a plant. It can’t even remember it was in a non-recyclable can processed by We Could Give a Shit, But We Don’t, Incorporated…PS Fair Trade.

And then after all that shit I’m just going to straight chef that coffee up. I’m going to add some fucked up pale gold sugar from some fucked up nation and some old cream that I have nothing even to say about it. And I’m going to stir that shit…I mean I am going to stir that shit beyond all fucking reason. There’s going to be no reason to stir, is what I’m trying to tell you. By the time I’m done stirring it may well be mother fucking Christmas.

And then I’m going to have made coffee, bitches.

I still don’t think you understand.

I really am. I’m going to make that shit, god damn it.

No for real, I’m about to get up. Seriously, ya’ll, just wait, this shit is happening.

Right…in a minute.

God in the Shower

I feel good today. I came home and drank a beer and didn’t get that weird heartburn I sometimes do and then I went outside at one in the morning to listen to Rich Homie Quan and sit on the street corner with my back up against a saggy chain link fence. Few things make me feel more alive. Besides showering. Showering is, as I’ve said before, the biggest luxury the human race has ever known. Even poor people can act like gods.

What the Hell I’m Bored

I’m lying in bed with the computer on my penis and I think this shit is killing my chances of reproducing. That’s fine with me but I don’t want to go through the headache of hearing wife crying quietly in the middle of the night because she’ll never be a mother. And that only after boring and expensive treatments at the fertility clinic and strategically timed, pleasureless sex. Woo shit maybe I should move this bitch. Ah fuck it, I’ll hope for the best. Maybe I’ll be dead by then anyway.

You ever heard that Flash and the Pan Song, Waiting for a Train? That song is hot. I heard it when I watched Rock N Rolla back when I thought Guy Ritchie was the King of Everything. Hell yeah I love those movies. But I watched Rock N Rolla like ten times in a row and then I was like shit I’m tired of this. Anyway the song is in there. I thought it was Bob Dylan at first.

Well, damn, if you got this far now we’re both bored. Shit I am bored after all. I’m sleepy as a bitch now. Last night I didn’t get to go to sleep when wife got home. She felt like staying up drinking and of course I couldn’t refused. Made pasta and even watched TV. Then this morning I went to work.

Work is great. My new place is easy, pretty much stress free. And I’m going to have normal amounts of time off, which I’ve not had for a year as I spent the first part of this year working two jobs as often as possible in order to pay for my two months abroad.

So with all this time off, well, there are things I’m supposed to be doing. New book editing project for one thing and helping old people use the internet and things like that. Shit I should be doing those things now. I just keep putting them off, probably because they are boring. But instead of saying no to working on them I promise to work on them. And instead of just trading standard boredom for the kind of boredom I would be experiencing while working on those projects, the kind of boredom that would clear my conscience, I say fuck it, and just stay bored and don’t do anything. So then I’m bored and guilty.

God damn this shit is boring.

Woo damn I could fall asleep at any second here. Any second could just pass right the hell out. Wife is working on her essay. Then we are going out to eat noodles or Thai food or Mexican, but we’ll never decide which without a battery of tests, AKA reading stupid reviews on Yelp. It’s a great way to convince yourself not to go somewhere.

That shit will be boring, too. Fuck everywhere you look it’s boredom cowering in the corners, boredom folding your laundry, boredom sitting on the floor in front of your refrigerator tracing lines in a pile of broken glass.

Even drinking is boring. Talking is boring, writing is boring, breathing also boring…walking even more boring.

I’m actually in a good-ish mood but I have to piss but I don’t want to get up. We had to push the bed against the wall on my side to create more room in the bedroom. For what I don’t know because we still haven’t got any furniture. I think I can feel the radiation dripping inside of my scrotum. Boredom paralysis. Fear. Boredom. Nothing. Keeping your neck up with your core muscles. Going to the gym is boring. Don’t even go any more. We moved away and I didn’t know I had signed a year long agreement to pay the stupid fee. Of course I did, why wouldn’t I. Bills are boring.

I actually kind of like bills and numbers. Shit the music went out. Three times as boring as before. Music is the only reason to live anyway.

Nah, fuck, the only reason to live is to hang out with people and talk about how bored you were the other day. While listening to music and drinking, preferably. Driving is fun, too, the right kind of driving of course. Playing sports is generally fun. Watching TV, not boring. Sleeping. Fuck sleeping. Last night I had a dream I was sort of homeless. This guy offered to let me stay in his house and I was like dude leave me alone I’m only sort of homeless. And I was walking around the mall and I left my bookbag somewhere and they locked it in there with those garage door style gates they have.

Hoo damn I am going to fall asleep now for sure. It’s only 7. We still have to eat. Fuck it, no good way to end this post. Still bored.

Charity Case

God damn I am hungry. They are in the kitchen, cooking, and outside they are cooking, too. And the dad just got home and caught me trying to take his propane tank to the gas station to get it filled. I knew I’d put it in the wrong place in the car so I just kind of stood there, waiting for him to get annoyed and tell me where to put it. It didn’t take long, just about one second after I gave up waiting for him to say something and put it in the trunk.

At the gas station they asked me why I parked so far from the propane tank filling station. I didn’t know where the damn thing was, I said, and they laughed at me. They knew it couldn’t be true, because it was one of their propane tanks. They knew it well. They remembered the ID number. They knew I wasn’t the type to steal an empty tank of propane. They were some smart cookies.

Anyway, they laughed at me like the rest. And then it was over. I was talking to a guy cutting my hair and he said that he used to work in the city but everything changed after 9/11. He was a Russian Jew with dark skin and dark hair. And he laughed at me, too, but that didn’t have anything to do with propane. Instead he was laughing because I was a goddamn fool, and I tried to charge the haircut.

But I went to the gas station with my in-laws money. And I got the receipt and now they are cooking in the kitchen and I am going to fall asleep on this damn couch smelling like fried food.

Damn Near Forgot How to Create a New Post

Good christ what a year. I’m tempted to leave it at that. I know why I used to write so much, it’s the font on here. What the hell is this anyway. It’s beautiful.

Well, bitches, I got fired. Now I’m living in New York. I’m moving to Bedford-Stuyvesant in a couple of weeks. Yes that’s the kind of guy I am. Time to eat donuts and carry a baby around on my back.

I watch House, MD now. We all do down here. When you’re down here, you’ll watch, too. It’s hot as a bitch in this room. I haven’t done dishes in weeks. Not real dishes. Not the kind that sit there staring at you while you dread leaving for work. I haven’t dreaded leaving for work because I dread being at home. If you haven’t guessed at this point, I’m living with the in-laws.

Well that about reveals my identity for anyone who knows me. Fuck it. It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, and a motherfucker is too damn old and tired to keep secrets so vigilantly.

I feel like I’m at least thirty. I’m only 28. I don’t understand it. Every year I feel two years older, so it feels like I get a year younger every birthday.

I never thought I’d watch a doctor show. I remember my parents used to watch Chicago Hope and E.R.

I couldn’t finish this post last night before I had to watch more TV so now it’s morning. I’m going for a run. I work out now.

Just Need 8 People to Look at This, Thanks

Ah sheeit tonight had a good night, and now about to go to bed and in six hours or so I will get up and go my ass to Cape Cod. GF and I are going there for just a couple days to chill and celebrate her graduating from culinary school. If the weather is nice, I’ve got a ring and I’m going to propose. Pretty nervous about doing that. I feel like I should do some hot air balloon count of Monte Cristo type shit but I’m just not really that kind of guy and despite all girls being into the big romantic gesture even though they say they’re not, well I guess maybe she’s really not, or anyway I just don’t want it to get cheesy, especially since we’ve been together for seven years. Anyway she really liked Jim and Pam from the office and how he proposed at the gas station in the rain, so maybe something weird will happen like that.

But anyway I didn’t start on here to talk about that. Truthfully I got on here to post something so that I would get a reasonable amount of views today and finish out the stat week strong. If I can get at least eight views today I can finish with an average of ten views this week, and that will make me feel more like a real success in life, or some bullshit, I really don’t understand how I put so much stock into getting ten views when a real blog gets a million or whatever, and when really what is a view, and why is that shit like an endorphin creator. But there you have it, I just wanted to post something so people will look at so I will have a ten view per day average for the week.

I have always liked numbers in a weird way, like stats and how many times I’ve played a song in my iTunes database. I don’t know.

Anyway at the bar tonight it was pretty fucking crazy, but me and my partner handled that shit and made some good money. The worst thing is that I made more this week than I ever have in a week, but I made less last week than I have in a long time, so my two week paycheck will look about even and not reflect that I had a kick ass week.

Oh well, fuck it. I need to watch The Cosmos again, or just plain Cosmos, whatever that Carl Sagan shit is. That’s some real shit. But anyway have a nice couple of days without me.

Some Shit About Calories

I’m beginning to think I weigh too little. I get hungry at work all the time and my blood sugar is crazy, like I’ll start shaking and shit, and anyway I can’t eat shit for twelve hours straight while running around making drinks, so maybe that kind of shit would happen to anyone in that situation. But I used to weigh about 165 and I have been under 160 for months now and I never really thought about it. I’ve been trying to find a way to consume calories at work like with meal replacement drinks or something but it’s all expensive and so far ineffective. I just bought a bunch of Clif bars and some Naked juices so we’ll see how today goes.

Yesterday I bought a grapefruit and made palomas, a cocktail that’s basically a margarita with grapefruit juice. Today it’s back to work after two days off. GF went to work super early and I didn’t go back to sleep. Just read some of The Brothers Karamazov which I randomly had next to my bed and then got up and ate some toast. I’ll probably eat three more breakfasts before I leave and then maybe stop at McDonald’s for more breakfast and see how that feels. It can’t feel much worse than usual so fuck it.

A Door

I had a dream about a door. It was locked so I broke through with my foot. Then I fell into a room that was populated by other doors, but they weren’t attached to walls. They advanced on me and I knew it was war. I broke one door. Than another and another. Finally one door opened to me. I knew it was a trap so I broke that door, too. I busted the frame and the whole room came down. The ceiling killed the other doors, everything turned to firewood. I laid down on the ground to avoid being crushed along with the doors. But their broken remains kept the ceiling far enough away from the floor to allow me to live in that space for as long as I could. And since I wasn’t hungry I guess I lived forever.