Tag Archives: diary

Diary: Light Sleeper

28 May

Fucking morning, fucking mockingbirds, my stupid neighbors with their jug-band bass lines playing all thumpy and loud.  What are they listening to, these white people in their late 20’s or early 30’s who appear to have a college education.  Why does their music sound exactly like what would come out of as late model Dodge Ram pickup truck with spinners on the wheels and a cartoon of Calvin pissing on the logo of some Mexican soccer team on the tinted windows.

Why is their fucking dog barking his head off at something in the three spare minutes I have per day to sit at my desk and write. These – this is what is going to get me thrown in jail. Some animal making some noise at 7:30 in the morning.  I sit at my desk and eat shit all day, suffer indignity after indignity; I go out to parties and bars and people are pricks to me; I just suck it up.  People cut me off in traffic and I don’t flip them off in case they’re some kind of crazy gun-wielding Armenian whose roots in what I can only assume is a goat herding culture run very deep and thus he has to take action on this perceived slight to  honor by cutting me off again after I flip him off and waving a gun in my face.  Or God forbid he’s black.  So I just sit there and eat shit. Continue reading →

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Diary 11/20/11: Feelings

21 May

My grandmother died. I still haven’t cried about it, and now I don’t think I can.

Crying is not like cumming that way.  A weird thing to type after the death of one’s elderly grandmother, but true.  Crying is not like cumming.  If you are about to cum and you get interrupted, the next time you are faced with any sexual stimulation whatsoever you will blow the load of your life with such force that it’s almost painful. With crying, the thing hits you initially, tries to hit you, and then if you don’t cry right at that instant you aren’t crying at all.  The moment passes and it just goes away.

The same with joy.  You have about a minute to experience joy when something good happens, and if you don’t whoop and celebrate and all that shit, well, the thing that made you joyful just becomes another fact; it can be fit into a larger philosophical pattern and it becomes: I better not fuck it up. Or: this is just going to go away.  Or: in order to sustain this thing that gives me joy, I better not get too excited about it.  Especially with girls, if you meet a girl whom you like so much, you know– if you meet a girl that gets you excited enough to actually feel teenage hopefulness and excitement, that very feeling will make you fuck up.  It sucks that the state in which women are interested in you is basically apathy.  Because that means anhedonia.  If you need to not feel anything to get the people who would make you feel something interested in you, what is the fucking point. Continue reading →

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Diary 3/13/12: Nikol Has MRSA

19 May

So, Nikol now has MRSA.  This means “(Something) Resistant Staphylococcus (Something).” Which is the “superbug.”  The strain of ordinary bacteria that a TV news piece comes out on once every few months, that you can get in the gym, that eats away your flesh until you die and normal antibiotics can’t do anything about it.  This is the sort of thing that organic farming types are warning us will happen with all sorts of bacteria because we pump our livestock full of antibiotics constantly.  The germs, for whom a generation is about three minutes long, are going to out-evolve drugs so fast that we will have created virulent megagerms that we can’t kill.  Now we will again be vulnerable to bacterial infection, as we were through most of history and as we still are to viral infection.  If you have a virus, they can’t do shit for you.

Well, this feels like a wash to me.  1,000,000 BC-1920whateverthefuck, whenever penicillin was invented: no cure for germs.  1920’s-2012: cure for some germs.  2012- on: no cure for germs.  I mean, it was nice having that little vacation I guess but really, humanity survived eons without any protection from bacteria except our immune system; if it goes back to being that way it doesn’t seem like such a big deal.

Continue reading →

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Protected: Diary 2/17/10: One Drop

16 May

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Diary: Noise Pollution

11 May

Good morning.

Out in the park.  Naturally there is some kind of gas powered machine being used to loudly mow down brush. Every fucking day with this shit.  God fucking forbid they do it between the hours of nine and five on a weekday, when every productive member of society is somewhere else.  No, they MUST do it at 8AM, in my approximately 40 minutes of time to myself.

And if it’s not the city clearing brush that will force coyotes, rattlesnakes and scorpions into people’s yards to mangle their pets, it’s a guy working out of his home wood shop and running a whining, keening lathe that he hasn’t adequately lubed for his woodworking project, which, fine, good– it’s cool that he’s into woodworking.  That sounds like a fun rewarding hobby where you actually get tangible fruits for your labors, and must be a balm for the soul in this era of work for nothing.  Work to avoid getting yelled at.

But still. This guy is retired.  Between nine and five on a weekday he is jerking off and reading woodworking magazines, and then Saturday 8AM rolls around and it’s time to fire up rickety screechy lathes, routers, sanders and jigsaws.  It’s time to make a thousand foot radius around his garage sound like a pack of dinosaurs were undergoing sexual torture. Continue reading →

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Diary 2/27/11: Going to the Oscars

10 May

So: going to the Oscars.  Going alone.  It’s awesome that I’m going but it fucking sucks that I’m going alone.  At first, I was pissed that, you know, if I could have had a date, I would have been able to pull some incredibly high caliber of ass.  But then I would have had to keep the party going, get us into Vanity Fair, or Madonna’s house, or whateverthefuck. Now I can just come home. But still– this crazy spectacle, tons of famous people… I mean, I’m glad I get to see it, but it will suck to have no one to lean over next to and whisper to. Maybe I’ll sit next to Hailee Steinfeld’s mom or something.  Some woman from Kansas who doesn’t know anybody there either.
Continue reading →

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Diary: The Inner Life of the Exterminator Spraying Down My Storage Unit

7 May

Had to move my shit out of the storage unit this morning because there’s an exterminator spraying it down.

To be an exterminator, you must know about the creatures you exterminate.  You must study wasps, termites, carpenter ants, rats, etc.

You have to be an expert.  Because when you go to spread termite poison you have to know that the termite colony will have placed an egg chamber at a certain spot relative to a wall, a gestation chamber here, a feeding chamber there.  You have to know almost like E. O. Wilson knew the elegantly elaborate social gradations in termite society; the baroque architecture bored out of 2 x 4’s by these blind and delicate engineers.  How can you not see some poetry in it?  How, when you learn about ant societies; how like our own they are, but also how exotically alien– how can your soul not be somewhat captivated by these marvels of creation? Continue reading →

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Diary 2005: The Gym

1 May

I hate the gym. That fucking stairmaster, the endless agony– I’ll have moments when I’m on there, swerving all herky-jerky like a marionette– I space out, follow a thought or daydream along a whole complex sequence for what seems like several minutes, and then I look down and not one second has passed. I can grasp the infinitude of hell this way. The weights– rusty medieval torture devices, the bench press crushing the breath out of my chest, grinding me down into the sweaty staphylococcal pleather… and I never gain one ounce of strength. I’ve been benching 205 on a good day for over a year. Continue reading →

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Protected: Diary 11/15/10: Trying to Remember Girls I Have Boned Recently

29 Apr

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Diary: Angry at OkCupid Profiles

28 Apr

God dammit— why are all you girls so fucking boring. This is how old I am, this is where I’m from, this is what I do– I love my job!  I love my family and friends!  Go fuck your family and friends.  I hope your family and friends are all on a bus and it explodes in a fiery wreck.  I hope your job fires you and you are forced to suck dick under an underpass. You will wish your family and friends were there to help you out, but they will have died in a fiery wreck.

Just— you fucking chickenshits have to start showing a little actual personality.  Who fucking cares what people think of you— you’re on the goddamn internet. Nobody cares.

Or— let’s just… let’s just assume you love your family and friends.  From now on, let’s only make it a point to mention them if you do not love your family and friends.  Everybody loves their family and friends, even me.  Let’s just say something about your family if they beat and molested you; that’s the only thing that could possibly make them interesting. Even I love my family, although I would gladly trade them in for a family with a shitload of money, and my friends I end up fully replacing about every year and a half.

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