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Wednesday, July 14th, 2004

Time:4:47 pm.
I am in New Orleans where it's 105 degrees and imperative to wear shorts even at night. I can see why they call this the "Big Easy." It's so hot, all you really want to do is take it easy. The French Quarter is a huge grid of little streets packed in tightly with old rod-iron balconies above jazz clubs and daiquiri bars. Bourbon St. is a nonstop party. It was noon on Monday and people were drinking in the crowded streets to the Cajun and Zydeco beats flying out of every doorway. At night it was even madder, I can't even imagine the weekend. The air is so pungent. Everywhere you go, you run into a thick aroma of food, garbage or swamp. About 20 feet away from me is the massive Mississippi River, trafficked by riverboats, the master vein of an enormous system of rivers which it carries for miles to flush out of the delta and into the gulf.

When I leave, I plan to drive across the longest bridge in the world - the Lake Ponchartrain Causeway. 24 miles. I've wanted to do that since I was a kid.

Last night I thought I saw a bat whizzing around the light above my hostel doorway. Then I looked closer and saw that it was a flying cockroach.

Tuesday, June 8th, 2004

Subject:Front row seat for the Theater of Magnolia
Time:11:20 pm.
Mood: amused.
My neighbors are having a HUGE FIGHT and I can hear it all from my bedroom window.



The girl (I don't know her name) is fighting with her boyfriend (Dustin). She's screaming at him for being a drunk and how she doesn't have to put up with his shit because she put up with it for four years in her last relationship, I can suss that out for sure, but they keep straying off into tangents. I can't hear Dustin too well, but she keeps screaming, "I NEVER SAID THAT!!! WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING THAT?!" She even started crying once, then I heard things being slammed around and even a "IT'S OVER!" They're still screaming at each other as I'm typing this, it's a cacaphony of "Fuck!"

These kids sure are resilient. When Jenni and I fought I never let it last this long, I was down the street after five minutes. Do I REALLY miss serious relationships? I forgot about the fighting part. But in a really strange way, I miss that.

This is in fact the cute girl that I stalk from my bedroom window that lives in the apartment building next to mine. Maybe I can move in for the kill. I'll leave a box of chocolates on her doorstep with a note attached that says "Sorry about your drunken boyfriend, <3 the guy in Pacific Place #7." But she needs to find it first, the alternative wouldn't work out too well.

Also - earlier, across the street, there were two missionaries going door to door, and some guy drove by and threw a milkshake at them which splaterred all over one's feet.

My neighborhood rules today.
Comments: Read 12 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, May 10th, 2004

Time:1:46 am.
You're being chased around a fire by a pack of wild dogs. Your bare feet kick up dirt back toward the growling and snapping behind you. Someone throws you a pogo stick and you use it for a while. Now you're dodging rocks being thrown by punk rock gypsies, the fire is getting hotter and the dogs are getting more vicious and even though you know they're faking and will joyously lap your face if they ever catch you, you don't want them to catch you, you throw away that pogo stick and you want to keep running and digging that rut until you die. The rut gets bigger as you run faster until you're running on the sides of it like in a centrifuge, going so fast that you're sideways and the fire is singing your hair. You finally give up and jump in the flames, which pick you up and make you dance on top, up in the smoke, away with the flying embers. That's what it's like to see Gogol Bordello.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, May 3rd, 2004

Subject:(this will be rewritten)
Time:8:06 pm.
Let's organize all of our desires into neat little piles, then stomp them to dust, collect them and lay them out for miles across our yellow brick roads and forthcoming red carpets, until everything is a nice golden brown.

Or we could instead play a game, we'll shuffle everything until the stakes are the same. We'll play until we forget what for. Then we'll guess a winner, who will take the winnings and burn the whole lot on the floor.

Would we thirst for pain if we forgot about nerve? To whom does fascination first serve? Would we listen to the same music if we only just found our ears? We could find out by relieving the hounds that have been chasing us all these years,

and spoil them with bloody meat from animals fattened from the plants that were fertilized by all of those rich desires we once organized so arduously.
Comments: Read 4 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, April 12th, 2004

Time:1:09 am.
Mood: silly.



. . .Collapse )
Comments: Read 14 orAdd Your Own.

Thursday, April 8th, 2004

Subject:some notes to self / meditation explicated and revised
Time:1:12 am.
Projection of energy toward the constructive in lieu of the analytical will result in the fear to dissipate from the analytical while fueling the instinct in the constructive. Projection of energy toward the analytical in lieu of the constructive will result in the instinct to dissipate from the constructive while fueling the fear in the analytical. Hypothesis: utilizing the first of these projections more often than the second will result in a more fruitful and effective analysis, which should be used sparingly and carefully before the instinctual-constructive "rest," which is also ironically most awake. When too much analysis results in too much fear, analysis should not yet cease because analyizing the result of your original analysis is like adding two negative numbers together (- + - = +). A fresh analysis will itself cease after effectively assessing and destroying the overflowing one.

Therefore:

Experience is the food of thought, and not vice-versa.
Comments: Read 7 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, January 23rd, 2004

Time:8:09 pm.
virus
n. pl. vi·rus·es


  1. a. Any of various simple submicroscopic parasites of plants, animals, and bacteria that often cause disease and that consist essentially of a core of RNA or DNA surrounded by a protein coat. Unable to replicate without a host cell, viruses are typically not considered living organisms.

    b. A disease caused by a virus.


  2. Something that poisons one's soul or mind: the pernicious virus of racism.


  3. Computer Science. A computer virus.


  4. a. A cursed invisibility that causes me to wake up every morning drowning in a lake of slime and forcing me to get veritably drunk on DayQuil in order to muster up enough energy to try functioning without keeling over with a wretched hack on grimy, rain-soaked pavement under a ceaseless grey sky surrounded by the eyes of the healthy and simmering, to wake up later in a gutter in some back alley as a rat pisses on my head and I turn over and wheeze a little before crawling into the nearest dumpster to sleep, because the waking world does not show mercy and at least my slime is welcomed in there, until Emerald City Disposal whisks me away to a slimier place where I will relish in the oxymoron of tormenting in peace, and perhaps find a moldy donut.

    b. The supervillain moniker I shall adopt before I conquer Seattle; given the circumstance that the sickness does not relent and a determination sets in that I will spread my disease far and wide to make others as I am: The Virus.
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Thursday, October 16th, 2003

Time:12:47 pm.
Comments: Read 12 orAdd Your Own.

Wednesday, July 30th, 2003

Time:1:34 am.
How does one become sensitive to the line that separates percipience and paranoia, and should he categorize them both as the same when he feels less confident for the sake of ease of steady transition through his already flooded mental moors, thus ignoring them, which means more waiting, and how does one realign this opaque waiting with patient, light illusion when his paranoid fears have already made him rooted in the former, creating a longer, branched illusion of a dense, narrow mind, and should he consider any reverberations (direct or subtle) caused by poor outside judgment of the results of his handling of a constant, private tribulation, and if so, is his consideration that of percipience or paranoia, ad infinitum? Because I am often not really sure which of these two qualities I am feeling.

:(

Tuesday, July 8th, 2003

Time:6:39 pm.
I was writing a lot last night, so luckily my notepad was still right by the bed this morning when I woke up from this dream, which is loaded with vague and metaphorical references to my real life:




I am in Mexico, in a sandy desert. I am with a faceless friend. The feeling is that there is a war going on, or about to start, or the repercussions of which would reach us soon. There is an old house covered in graffiti, some of the walls are torn out, and people are squatting here. Some of them carry guns. There is a large barn, maybe two, off to the side. There is this guy named Enrique. I know his name because it is spelled out in 8-bit Nintendo-ish letters hovering over his head. He keeps jumping off the top of the barn, even though it is like 50 feet high. He is coaxing me to try it. I consider it heavily when he starts telling me not to have any fear, as if that were my trigger, as if breaking my leg is not nearly as horrible as the fear of breaking it.

-switch-


A few of us are in the kitchen, which is in the bottom right rear of this house. I'm opening cupboards, and I discover peanut butter. The guy I'm with, who has been squatting there, says he doesn't know what peanut butter is or why it is in his kitchen. I make him a sandwich and he loves it. He shoots his rifle into the air and says something like, "Viva la peanut butter!" My friend and I decide it's about time to go to sleep, so we go upstairs and find an empty room with a couple of nasty mattresses on the floor, covered in bugs and dust. I tell him, "Don't worry, these are just Mexican mattresses," which convinces him enough to lie down and go to sleep. I don't remember lying down.

-switch-


Tanks are rolling up into the yard. Everyone is excited, but I don't want their war.

-switch-


I'm in another house, a bunch of college kids live here. People are drinking beer, and a masked goat is roaming around. Someone tells me they were using it in a play, but it is not explained why they left the mask on the goat. I go upstairs and decide to take a bath in this huge tub that's almost like a small pool. All of the shampoo and soap is purple, which I think is gross, but someone tells me that they only believe in using purple soap for some holistic reason. When I get out, I find this goat, and I take off his mask. He starts talking to me, and I freak out and ask him how he learned to talk, and he says "I can't talk, you're just reading my mind." I ask him how I could do that, and he says, "Some things just can't be explained." So I go around reading the minds of a few people in the house, which is intense because they aren't at all thinking what I might have expected.
Comments: Read 4 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, June 27th, 2003

Subject:3.14159265358979323846264338327
Time:1:18 am.
It's a total circle. When direction fails, integrity takes over. When integrity fails, everthing gets numb. When numbness gets tired of itself, it forces direction.

HELLO

I'm Mike and I'm a thinkaholic.
Comments: Read 9 orAdd Your Own.

Wednesday, May 14th, 2003

Time:1:53 am.



C A L I F O R N I A - Part IVCollapse )
Comments: Read 10 orAdd Your Own.

Time:1:13 am.



C A L I F O R N I A - Part IIICollapse )
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Time:12:42 am.



C A L I F O R N I A - Part IICollapse )
Comments: Read 5 orAdd Your Own.

Tuesday, May 13th, 2003

Time:11:53 pm.



C A L I F O R N I A - Part ICollapse )
Comments: Read 4 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, November 4th, 2002

Subject:Punch Drunk Love
Time:1:42 am.
I figured out what I liked about that movie.

1.) Adam Sandler's character's troubled, chaotic mind and semi-confident speech patterns reminded me a lot of my little brother. And a little of myself..
2.) The way his pain was festering from years of being abused and belittled by his sisters was portrayed so real. It was frustrating to watch because I could feel it. And I could relate to the violent outbursts.
3.) I thought it was intensely beautiful, how when he finally found love, suddenly he was given an almost inhuman strength that no one realized he had. Everyone had previously been burying him underneath their own projections of him, to which he had grown painfully accustomed.

At first I thought, this is unconventional but very interesting. Now I'm thinking I'm going to buy the DVD when it comes out.

I think the pudding thing was based loosely on a true story. I don't remember when, or what company, but someone somewhere took advantage of a similar marketing mistake.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, July 26th, 2002

Time:6:44 pm.
This is such a cool band, and I'm going to see them on the 6th of August.

Toys That Kill
(formery known as F.Y.P.)





Listen:
Bullet From The Sky
Little Bit Stranger
Comments: Read 4 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, July 19th, 2002

Time:4:59 pm.
Junkman's Obbligato
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti


Let's go
Come on
Let's go
Empty out our pockets
and disappear.
Missing all our appointments
and turning up unshaven
years later
old cigarette papers
stuck to our pants
leaves in our hair.
Let us not
worry about the payments
anymore.
Let them come
and take it away
whatever it was
we were paying for.
And us with it.

Let us arise and go now
to where dogs do it
Over the Hill
where they keep the earthquakes
behind the city dumps
lost among the gasmains and garbage.
Let us see the City Dumps
for what they are.
My country tears of thee.
Let us disappear
in automobile graveyards
and reappear years later
picking rags and newspapers
drying our drawers
on garbage fires
patched on our ass.
Do not bother
to say goodbye
to anyone.
Your misses will not miss us.

Tuesday, July 9th, 2002

Subject:I'm back.
Time:11:01 am.
Mood: awake.
Finally.

After 2 days of stress I'm back in Seattle. I was supposed to get back Sunday night. We took Emmalee's car to the airport, and it barely made it there. We were stuck in a 45-minute traffic jam in Benton Harbor, and a 2-hour jam in Indiana. Then the car broke down twice in Indiana and once in Illinois. My theory was vapor lock. I hate that car. We got to the airport 15 minutes after my flight left, and there were no other flights to Seattle that day, so the lady at Northwest put me on a 6 o'clock flight to Minneapolis the next day, with a connection to Seattle at 9:13. I had to pay a hundred bucks as a penalty for missing my original flight, so that annoyed me. I stayed the night at Emmalee's dad's house in Seneca, IL. Seneca hasn't changed (Seneca is halfway between Morris and Ottawa, if Sarah#1 is reading). It's still a really small town in the cornfields. So, I got to see Bob Clark, my late father's best friend, for the first time in about 7 years. He's all gray now and has a nice new Harley, and he's retired from LaSalle. He's got a nice little house that perfect for him. He collects Coca-Cola paraphanelia, cars, old radios, and various other knick knacks. We had some chats about motorcycles and my dad. It was good to see him again. That night also gave me some time to wash clothes, so that was nice, coming back to Seattle and not having to do laundry. I left a shirt there, though.

The next day I woke up to a very annoying cockatiel whistling and going "Mr. Cheepers, Mr. Cheepers!!! Mr. Cheepers, Mr. Cheepers!!!!" It landed on my head a few times. I said, "Gee, could this bird's name possibly be Mr. Cheepers?" After examining the car, I put some 5w30 oil and coolant in it, and drove 65 with the heat on the whole way to O'Hare. The Stevenson Expressway in Chicago is really getting built up. I remember when it used to be just Camp World, and now Naperville/Bolingbrook is expanding like mad. Luckily, the car made it to the airport, and I said bye to Emmalee.

My flight wasn't supposed to leave until 6, and I got there at 1, so I asked if I could be booked on an earlier flight. The guy at the desk put me on one at 3 o'clock. Just my luck, it ended up being delayed until 7 pm. So they put me on a another flight at 5. So after spending a few bored hours in the terminal, I left for Minneapolis, and got there at about 6:30. Still 3 hours before my next flight left. They gave me a $5 meal voucher, so I bought a $4 hot dog and found out I couldn't get change back. The Minneapolis airport is nice, they do a good job at presenting a comfortable atmosphere for those of us who are forced to linger there. I walked around a bit, read some of Corey's LSR zines, some travel mags, slept, and found out my flight had been delayed until 10. After getting on that flight, I began to feel something in the air. I don't know what it was. There was some really negative energy going on, and it lasted until I got back to Seattle. A lot of it was coming from this really odd lady next to me. I didn't like that flight.

We had to circumnavigate a large cluster of thunderstorms in Montana, so we got to Seattle an hour behind schedule. It was around midnight Pacific time, 3 A.M. in South Haven. James was waiting for me, he had been at the airport for an hour and was about to complain until I told him I had been in airports/airplanes for 12 hours. I gave him 40 bucks for being nice enough to be my chauffeur to and from Sea-Tac.

I got back to my apartment and everything seems normal. 9 messages on my answering machine. Mostly from telemarketers asking for some guy named Jeff, and a few from Jenni. God, why won't you leave me alone.

I took today off work. My boss seemed kind of annoyed that I am taking off 2 days in a row, but I had no choice yesterday, and today I would have been falling asleep standing up. Fuck it, I need to take care of some things, relax, get my bearings.
Comments: Read 7 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, July 5th, 2002

Subject:Exact Dates
Time:1:25 pm.
Well, I just confirmed my U-Haul reservation.

I'm picking it up August 10th. Give four days of driving, and I will make it to Michigan around August 14th.

Now we have exact dates for anyone who wants to help drive one of my vehicles back.

I have
- One white 1999 GMC Sierra that is an automatic.
- One red 1991 Volkswagen Jetta that is a manual.
- One huge U-Haul truck reserved, automatic, that will be towing my Beetle, which I'm selling when I get back.
Comments: Add Your Own.

LiveJournal for Michael Brown.

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