Yo I Am Apparently Angry About Something

Hey ya’ll. I been busy you know I don’t got the kind of time these days because I went down to the old homestead, them southern states. I went down there for my dad’s birthday. And because I didn’t go down there for thanksgiving. And I didn’t sleep really on the nights that I went there and then came back. My dad took me to the train station in his work truck and he goes to work at 2:30 in the morning and I didn’t go to sleep until like 1:30 so I am trying to recover from that shit.

Yeah and he’s not supposed to have anyone in the truck so I had to crouch down in the feet compartment for half the time. I visited my friend in DC and he said man I never thought when I was thirty I would be awkward internet dating and hearing my friend talk about cowering in the feet compartment of his dad’s truck.

Yeah I visited him in DC since I got there at like six AM and he works at a coffee shop. My bus wasn’t until 9. I got on that bitch and went to sleep, but it was not good sleep of course.

And so I been trying to catch up ever since and been falling over myself sleep drunk. I can’t even do that shit anymore, skip sleep and all of that dumb shit. I been missing days writing, but I’m just going with it. And to be honest, fuck I’m happier that way. Just fuck writing let me drag my ass to work every day and slam down a shit ton of caffeine and fucking go man. Fuck it. Sling some hash and smile and suck a dick or two and get out late at night and drift in the rain like a god damned rally car. Fuck it, just going to be back here in the morning. Think I’ll leave my coat.

But yeah I mean one good thing I’m doing is advancing in my war against Les Miserables. I started reading it in August and it has been a fucking slog, let me tell you. I mean, there are lines, whole pages, whole chapters where the insight is intense and the language is awe inspiring.

But half of that shit is him translating a map of Paris into words and I’m like damn Vic let’s get back to that part with the whorechild and the convict. At least bring little Gavroche back, shit.

Yeah but I’m about seventy percent through that shit so my new goal is finish that shit before the end of the year. Remember my old goal? Yeah fuck that goal, shit. I’ll be lucky to finish the original goal.

You know how people are like, hey man, why don’t you give yourself permission to stop in the middle of books, you know? You’ve only got one life, man, why read something that doesn’t interest you? Because someone told you to read it? That’s lame, bro. Go ahead and give that shit up, and go find something that interests you more, because the world is full of options so why would you choose the boring one?

Hey well guess what fuck that shit, dude, you know why? Because fuck man, the world is a fucking ghetto that’s why. You know what man, fuck you. With your bullshit about that, give yourself permission shit. You know, I didn’t come in this bitch looking for permission, withholding permission, a detriment to my own happiness.

Mother fucker I don’t know…just where these bitches got off the bus and started giving other people permission to do shit. God damn it, the same sacks of shit that will take permission from these fucks are the ones that should’ve been given permission to jump from the top of Angel Falls and hum an old Albert Collins lick to themselves all the way down.

But yeah man, hey, fuck it. What do I know? If people giving you permission to be yourself, or to watch bad movies, or read bad books, or not educate yourself, or masturbate all day, or whatever the fuck it is that you can’t do yourself without feeling guilty about it, if people allowing you to do that makes you feel better, well then you’re fucking lying. You’re a piece of shit like everybody the fuck else, and you have permission to suck a dick.

Hey, look man, I don’t know, Victor Hugo probably likes you. And after all, you are made of star stuff. So…you’re pretty critical to the process around here. All I’m trying to tell you man is that just because some whore hound gives you permission to suck your own dick in Times Square, well that doesn’t mean that you are A #1 Awesome mother fucker because…you aren’t. Deal with it like a fucking human being, and read Les Miserables once in a while. You FUCK.

Right? Yeah. Well anyway. Man. Shit, I’m going to jerk off now and go to sleep to The Vampire Diaries.

Man I Wrote a Lot of Words In the Past

Good morning.

Wow I have been doing this shit for longer than I thought. Writing, I mean. I mean I always feel older than i am, almost always, but I just realized I’m 28 and I’ve been trying seriously to write a novel since I was 19, and that’s if you don’t count all those ones from grade school. And that one in high school. I got pretty far on that one from high school and it was horrible. And the funny thing about that, just thinking about it now, is that I had these really elaborate characters and I spent forty pages bringing them together and then stopped because what the hell were they going to do now? That’s weird, forgot that I even did that shit.

And similarly I forgot that I have been trying to have a successful blog since age 23.

Last night I was reading through my old documents folder looking for Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, which they used to have on Netflix but then they pulled it and I had to download it. Man I have a shit ton of documents. I have written a million beginnings of stories.

This morning I woke up in a god damned inferno. I turned the heater on last night to like 63 degrees (17 in celsius) and then I woke up this morning and that shit was blasting hot enough to overcome the magnetic repulsion of atomic nuclei.

I didn’t find Cosmos on my computer but I found episode 9 – The Lives of the Stars on youtube. Man that shit is outrageous.

Well, forty minutes here before I have to go to work. I don’t feel sad again, though suddenly I’m broker than I thought I would be. Got paid this morning and it was a lot, 900 dollars, which is about how much I made at the old bartending job, but it wasn’t enough to pay all the bills and still have a comfortable margin. But of course that’s a lot of bullshit, since I put a hundred of it in savings. I never used to save money but I’m old now. Ha, actually I’m ballin out of control compared to those days I was reading about last night. When I was 23, I quit my broke ass no money making job to become a novelist. Yeah seriously! Holy shit what a crazy ass. I didn’t write shit but a lot of angry beta blog rants about how mother fuckers better pay me if they wanted me to keep writing. Hoo! Shit.

Woo and what’s more I ain’t dying out of cancer or incapacitated by tooth pain or incarcerated for reasons beyond my control nor am I in (serious) danger of getting ass raped when I walk out the door this morning. Shit is just about going my way out here.

I know for a lot of ya’ll, the day is half or more over, but enjoy what’s left of it.

Rachmaninoff Again

Piano Concerto Number One in F Sharp Minor. How do you know if it’s any good or not? Just finished watching Annie Hall for the first time. I think we need some aesthetic guidelines to put this in a social perspective. What does he say? God damn this shit is rough.

Fuck it. I sat down and said to myself, “The only thing I’m going to do is work on this guy’s book project. I can either just sit here drinking this coffee, or I can work on the project, and nothing else. I can sit here for the next two hours and I’m not going to do anything else.” I said to myself. So now I’m here writing about how I just said that to myself.

Today is pretty much the greatest day of my life. I’ll never have another day like this one. I love it twice as much as yesterday, but only half as much as tomorrow.

I was going to start believing in God again, just for something to do. I listened to that song from Pocahontas, Sing With All the Colors of the Wind or whatever it’s called, you know what I’m talking about. I listened to it in a Zipcar driving through Bed-Stuy and I thought to myself, everything really does have a life, have a spirit, have a name. Then I got home and broke my brand new French Press. Poor bastard. I took the morning off to get over it.

But no, I mean it. We’ve got to clean up house around here. Got to get positive. Have some goals and get some religion. The only thing that bothers me about that is Carl Sagan. How did that son of a bitch walk around looking so happy all the time. Probably because he was on TV. He was probably a miserable bastard.

Shit, I’m still in my twenties. Fuck I thought I was leaving it all behind. It was just waiting for a keyboard to latch on to.

This coffee tastes good. The trees outside my window are pretty. They’ll all change and be dead soon. Ah fuck, why do I have to know that.

This coffee tastes good. The trees outside my window are pretty. This music is pretty, too. I am comfortable.

Goodnight then.

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.


Readability Index: Strangely Readable

Well. That story didn’t look as intense as I thought it would. For some reason while I was writing it I was getting really hyped up about the whole thing. I feel that I have failed to convey my outrage.

Nevertheless, I am breathing now. And I will forget the man who interrupted me, and remember the man who is my brother, who has a little girl and a wife, and likes to eat food while drinking grapefruit juice, and the man who is an amalgation of starstuff, as Carl Sagan would say, and the man who is a thousand worlds, as Neil Gaiman might say.

Yes. I am at one with the universe, which is myself, and therefore how could I ever be not that. If I could be at two with the universe. Or at odds.

But I am not either of those.

I am one and so are you. We are two. Who are one. With the interrupting man.

And my girlfriend, who keeps interrupting my thoughts while she makes muffins. It is 12:42 at night and we are about to eat some fresh muffins. Got to love that!

“Want to listen to French music?” she asks.

She. Is. Crazy.

And there is a shit ton of dishes to do.

And she is interrupting my thinking!


Nope, just going to breath(e) while the weird French music plays.

I love her. She is myself. And I am obsessed with her (myself).

I am obsessed. With myself.

And the muffins need more time.

Just going to breathe…breathe in the nature of the universe and breathe out the nature of God. Count the name of God aloud and…sink into the depths of love and brother feeling.

And sister feeling.

Sounds like a couple of things one might get in trouble for.

I am so calm and smooth like limestone from the Haut Cotes de Beaune. I am so smooth like worn limestone. I can feel Michelangelo shaping my left toe. And it is so cold that I am the cold and the hot and the candle on the table. I am the shirt that I am wearing. And more importantly, the shirt is me. And I am obsessed with this shirt.

Why I Don’t Participate in Religious Debates

Readability Index: Readable

Yesterday I read a Freshly Pressed blog post about Thought Catalogue…wait what the fuck was that blog called? I don’t know shit I’ll look afterwards. The post I read was a reaction by a gay Christian to an article about how Jesus was gay.

I was very interested to read the reaction, as were many other people, and was even inspired to write a pun for the first time in my life. But that’s not the point.

I respect the blogger for his well thought out opinion and engaging post. Ah what the fuck, it’s not like he’ll have time to read every blog post reacting to his blog post, so I might as well stop hoping not to upset him.

The point is I don’t know why a person who’s both gay and intelligent would want to be known as a Christian. I can respect what Jesus said at the Sermon on the Mount, but Christianity in general…as a cultural…thing…oh I mean institution, well I wouldn’t want to align myself with that at all, even if I did believe that Jesus was the son of himself and also the Holy Ghost.

But the point of this post is that I was thinking about it on the way to work, I thought, well shit, I’m going to ask that dude why he wants to, because he’s a smart dude and therefore probably has a legit reason to want to be identified with the Christian Church. I said hell yeah I’m going to ask that dude.

But then I thought shit no I’m not going to ask that dude! First of all he has a lot going on with all those comments he’s getting, he hasn’t got time to talk to me. No actually that’s last of all. First of all is that shit, even if I were to talk him out of being a Christian (not bloody likely) what good would that do him or me? I don’t have anything better to offer him.

Carl Sagan is the mother fucking man, that’s for sure. I watched his series Cosmos last summer and it was the shit on many levels of being the shit. He doesn’t believe in God, but he marvels at the universe and seems to be happy than a motherfucker doing that. Me I’m like shit son that shit is fucking awesome…but what the hell am I supposed to do now? Propogate the species so we can go out and conquer that shit next? Fuck I don’t know. I’m supposed to just sit there and be awed by that shit, and I do…but I can’t say that it’s an alternative to being sure that your purpose in life is to serve God…meaning that you have a firm belief that you’re supposed to be here.

So since I have nothing better to offer the guy (who I’m not linking to on purpose because I don’t want to debate him or his supporters for the reasons I’ve just outlined), I’m not going to say shit about his post and I’ll just wonder idly why he wants to be associated with the Christians.

It’s like Bokonon said about fake religion being better than no religion…can’t remember exactly what he said and for some reason I don’t have Cat’s Cradle in this office.