Friday, July 02, 2004

It turned into a big day without much effort on my part.

I got up, did the post office and grocery store thing. I also went to get new envelopes for my business. You know I ship like every other day and I go through envelopes quickly. So, today I found, being in a part of the country that the mythical Ecotopia comprised, that the big nasty chain office supply store up here sells 100% recycled paper envelopes for about twenty cents more than the regular manila envelopes that I usually get. The package also claimed "40% less post-consumer waste." But it didn't say 40% less than what. I bought it with the realization that I might be getting screwed by advertising that preys on my social conscience. I've resolved to do research and figure out if the envelopes really are any better for the environment than the ones I bought before. Then, if my hypothesis proves right (which it might not. They might be legit,) I'm going to find some that really are good and buy those instead. I'll run a green business in spite of America's best efforts.
Hey, that's a pretty good line. I bet I could build a poem around that line.
Oh, I forget the detail that my insomnia has come back. The kind where I wake up too early and then can't get back to sleep. So I came home with the envelopes and fell into a fitful heat sleep on my bed. It's a humid heat.
When I got up I noticed that I hadn't seen or heard my nieces since this morning. I found that they, and Pat and Andi, were gone. They didn't come back around dinner. My date to the cemetary cancelled on me, so I decided to make myself dinner and take myself to a movie.
But first I drove out to Butte College (yeah, I know. I think that too. I think of dirty jokes every time I see the sign for that school) in hopes of getting a class schedual for fall. I think I mentioned before that I'm going to take a class in the fall. It's about a twenty minute drive, a "Haley's Comet" and a "Lizards" if you're listening to a Phish concert (By gad if this post is any indication I'm a half step from sitting in a tree to confound loggers), through farm lands all yellow from the summer heat. Once on the 99 I remembered what weekend this is, but when I got on the road to Butte College I was completely alone. And I parked in a completely deserted parking lot realizing that there might be a problem with my plan. I walked around the campus and realized I was the only human on that large plot of land. I was secure enough in this to walk around and play "Paul After The Apocalypse" for a while, but not quite secure enough to get naked.
I came home and found my first quarter since starting Prometheus Rising. It was in my yard, which really freaked me out.
I went to see Super Size Me. You should all do what I did and go see Super Size Me. I expected it to be funny and to preach to the choir to me about multi-national corporations. Which it did. But it's one of the best documentaries I've ever seen. I'm going to gush over it, but I highly recommend it. In fact, I think it might be more valuable than that other big documentary out in theaters right now by virtue that the audience for Super Size Me, with the funny premise of a man eating McDonald's food three times a day for a month, will draw in people who might not already agree with it. It might educate. I know this because a family sat in front of me with a boy who was probably around 10 and a girl who was probably 6 or 7. At the intermission (being the bizzaro art theater in town they have a short intermission even in movies that are a little over an hour) the mom turned to the boy and said, "Now do you understand why a little better?"
She didn't have to explain why what to me. She didn't let those kids eat fast food and she was indoctrinating them with propaganda. Go Mom!
So, go see this film and drag some normals along with you who eat crap.
And don't look away at the gross part, you wuss!

There's one other thing I've got to comment on. I got a call while my veggie pot pie was cooking from my Mom. She just called to tell me that Brando died. He was one of those people like Poe or John Calvin. One of those people that most people go about their day not realizing how different their world would be if that person hadn't existed. Being a culture that leans heavily on their entertainment (which I capitalize on by the way) I feel comfortable saying that. In fact when I went to the theater there was a vintage poster for Bedtime Story, so Brando was making goo goo eyes at the back of my head throughout the movie.
I've said some remarks before about how he stopped caring about the art at the end. Maybe he did. But I don't think that discounts anything he did in his earlier career.
Truman Capote's piece on Brando is a gorgeous piece of writing.
I cried at Truman Capote's grave.
I don't tell girls I like that usually.
I guess that's all I have to say because I've stopped talking about Brando now.

Except that I hope he went like Vito.

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Thursday, July 01, 2004

Here's the little sociopath. Soon we'll be together again for a few weeks. Posted by Hello
And if I wasn't so interested in the picture, I would have noticed that I meant "blister" and not "bliter." Sorry.

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Not much new to report. One of those days where my overzeal in work yesterday yielded a surplus of time today. I walked down to Chico State to ask about their course schedual, which they told me was posted online. The walk, ill advisedly performed in flip-flops, gave rise to a great bliter right where that plastic bar goes between your toes.
Tomorrow I've got orders, groceries, and more books to order for in person clients. The Ninth Gate thing is really working out for me. This time I'm using my profit from it to in turn buy myself a big batch of books for my personal collection. I've got my eyes on a Caitlin Kiernan, a Christopher Hyatt, and to finally order that biography of Kerry Thornley that I've been drooling over for months. Then I might have found somebody to go to the Centerville cemetary with tomorrow. Also I might go see "Supersize Me" which plays at our little art theater here in town that's about as big as the two rooms I live in.

Oh, and tonight I saw a big black cat in our backyard. He let me get about twenty feet away before his flight kicked in. Reminded me of how soon I get to see my dear Boingo down in Orange County. I have to say that I'm really looking forward to the day when I live with Boingo again. I don't have a good picture of me, but I do have a good picture of Boingo. So I'm going to post it. Right now.

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Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Maybe I should have said a Kathy Acker anti-heroine.

Actually, maybe I shouldn't have said that at all. Maybe I should have said like Betty Blue or Ani Difranco or something more like that. But I was trying to do a literature theme.

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I think too much. I over think things. I was writing an entry along the lines of what I've been writing on. I was tarrying on dating again.
It should have gone like this:
-What I'm looking for is a girl with the fierce independance of a Kathy Acker heroine, the compassion, patience and generosity of an Allen Ginsberg interview, the commitment to keeping life and love fresh and new of a Jerzy Grotowski workshop, the hairstyle of Neil Gaiman's Delerium, and be all of that and totally monogamous with me. An adventurous spirit with simular but not identical tastes and a reality tunnel (or a willingness for many reality tunnels to be changed like funny hats) that functions in conjunction with my own. And a great pair of legs would be great too.
But the posting was coming out like this:
-How polarized the world is, my past dating mistakes, their shortcomings and mine and on and on and on.
Then my Mom called me and I gave her a quick run down of what's been on my mind. As I was talking I realized that it was unnessicary for me to continue to dredge up "who I am" in order to restore peace and growth inside my brain. I get it now and any more would be that self indulgence I'd worried about at the beginning. Now it's time to move into the next stage.

Or, rather, now it's time to figure out what the next stage will be.

Anyway, I'm glad I got that out and into Universe.
Other than that I'm doing just fine. I'm thinking about joining a health club. Pat's in fact so that we can exercise on the days that I can drag my sorry ass out of bed (which is pretty much how exercising with Pat goes now that I'm not a member of the club. I couldn't work out today though because I gave blood yesterday and they told me not to exercise for a day.) Then, also, once a week I can go swimming, have a massage, and sit in a sauna for a while. That seems like a great idea.

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Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Oh, and Sedge suggests that the reason I'm not getting more comments is that they want you to be a Blogger member when you leave a comment. He's got a blog, so he can do it. I would give a suggestion on how you without blogs could leave comments, but I have no idea how to do that and kind of don't really care. I'm now content to resume my illusion that thousands read this blog daily. Thanks again, Sedge.

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So, where I was going last night with whipping out my past, goes back to my first week up here. Pat and I went to lunch with a guy that I don't like very much, which isn't important to the story. During the lunch I told Pat that I thought I was having integrity issues in Orange County.
I told Rob, my buddy in New York, that over the phone today and he struggled with the term for a while. Integrity is something that, in these post-modern times, tends to be a concern of right wing politicians and right wing religious followers. I am neither and in fact hold many opposite viewpoints and lifestyle choices from those groups (But I'ma get into who I am with politics and religion soon enough.) Most contemporary intellectuals seem to agree that we all have masks that we put on and take off as needed. It's important to realize when we're doing it but they would say that we all do it.
My lesson is this and it seems to be one that Universe feels it needs to keep teaching me over and over and this also ties into what I was saying last night about being too funny for the goths I hung out with and so on. When I came up here, I had a desire to become more sedate, more decent, more peaceful. I wanted to revisit who I might have become had I not succumbed to so much peer pressure in my teen years. But the longer I stayed up here, in fact quite recently, I've learned that only being around church people, dressing in a way that would make any mother okay with me taking her daughter out, and looking at relativism as a blight on our conciousness, well that just isn't me. I'm hard wired, in fact imprinted to be a freak. The more I pretend to be something else, the more that fact comes out. That's part of why I was talking about getting the monkey tattooed on my hand. Then there'd be few ways to hide.
So you see that figuring out who I am has become an urgent issue for me. Also that I did, in complete awareness, flee some of my problems geographically rather than deal with them internally. But the reason I did that, and it's working out in my favor, was to focus on what exactly those problems are.
And there's the rub. There's my eternal problem of being on the edges. I'm way too religious for my irreverant friends and far too strange for the orthodox. I walk the line. Or at least now I'm beginning to see that that seems to be my lot. I'm still working out the details.

I imagine I'll blather on like this for a few more days, reach a point of satisfaction and then let it drop and go back to talking about chocolate lakes and talking butterflies and blue haired girls with monkey tattoos. So stick around.

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I got a photo thingie for the blog. But I don't have hardly any good pictures of myself. Here's what I'd look like if I were in a Japanese cartoon though. I was too giggly and flitty after making it to remember what webpage it was on. I found it through a blog called "My Lesbian Life" though.  Posted by Hello
A quick strange internet coincidence I dug up on a completely unrelated web search. I happened on a page that talked about the Mercy Brown Bag Program for senior citizens in Berkeley and Albany. What caught my eye was that Mercy Brown was the famous last North American vampire in Rhode Island in the 1880's or so.
The Brown family was dying of consumption. Mercy died just after her mother and before her brother Edwin. Mr. Brown was frantic and decided that Mercy must have been a vampire who was coming back and taking the life from Edwin. So they dug up Mercy, cut out her heart, burned it on a nearby rock and fed the ashes to Edwin. Edwin died a couple of months later.
In refreshing my memory of the details of this story I found an interesting comment by Dr. Michael Bell saying that real vampires are corpses that "eat" the ignorance, fears and guilt of a town until they dig up the corpse and make it the scapegoat by desecrating the corpse. In essense killing that particular fear, guilt and ignorance in the town.
The thing that makes me bring up the whole story is wondering what a Mercy Brown Bag would be that one would give senior citizens? Would it be a bag of the ashes from somebody's heart or a bag full of tuberculosis?

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Monday, June 28, 2004

And you'll all let me know if I'm thinking too much or being self-indulgent, right? All of you who read the blog and leave comments? Right?

You see, this is why I'm writing like this now. I'm Tom Hanks in that awful movie and I don't have a volleyball. This blog is my volleyball.

It's not really a blog. It's more of an online journal.

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I think the thing that's both caused many problems and helped solve them, or at least get me through them, is my sense of humor. I hung out with the goths when I was in high school. I was too hip for the nerds to have anything to do with me. Too dark for the theater people. Too twisted for the stoners because I'd really screw with them in ways they didn't like being screwed with. I remember one of the theater people (I won't out him by naming him, but he's grown up into one of the greatest living American poets) called me one day and told me that he was having an acid party that went horribly sour. He asked me to come over.
I'd bought Spiderman "webshooters" which sprayed silly string from your wrists like Spiderman (which is funny because a couple years later I was selling Spiderman acid, some of the most powerful acid I'd ever taken.) I also had my briefcase with me. I knocked on his door and as soon as he opened it I sprayed him with silly string. Then I walked in and went right to the stereo. I picked one of his parent's cds and put on Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler" at full volume. Then I opened my briefcase which, as it did in those days, contained a quart of Wild Turkey and I got to drinking. After many drinks I insisted he turn on the jacuzzi. He could barely remember his name but somehow he turned it on. I got in in my boxers with a jigger of whiskey and a cigarette. I stayed in for about forty-five minutes and suddenly became quite ill. I rolled out of the jacuzzi and flopped on the ground where I couldn't move. I just laid there sweating and listening to my heart trying to get out of my chest.
This is why drug people wouldn't hang out with me.
The goths I hung out with were two girls. My best friend Ben had a crush on one and I had a crush on the other. The one Ben had a crush on one day asked us if we were gay. We didn't know it at the time but she was planning on dating one of us if we weren't gay. I stammered, having not even kissed a girl at the point, and Ben spoke up and said he thought he might like both. So she decided that I was gay and Ben was her new boyfriend. Ben turned out to be gay, which dating her made him realize. I turned out to be ungay, which it took me years to figure out.
I experimented and, as I tell girls I date, I might be more certain I'm not gay than any guy they've dated before because I've tried it. Still, I wish I would have dated the other goth girl instead of learning that lesson. She was hot and I often wonder if I'd dated her if her and my life wouldn't have turned out as royally screwed up as they have.
I soured the goth girls thing for myself too though because of my sense of humor. I used to make one of my exes mix tapes of like Tom Waits or Oingo Boingo. That kind of thing. She was one of those tres goth girls who if it wasn't gothy she wouldn't have anything to do with. So I had to mess with her, right? And I knew that she was always playing her music really loud so that her ethereal music would be blasting out onto her street in Huntington Beach. But one day I picked up some Johnny Cash and David Allan Coe and I just snuck a few of their songs onto a mix tape. She broke up with me soon after. But I still smile when I think about "If That Ain't Country I'll Kiss Your Ass" pouring out of her window.
I miss sex and I'm getting dangerously close to that point of having gone too long without it. You know if you go a few months it's okay but if you go for many months some psychic wave goes out and it's like you get reviginized. People don't want to sleep with you if you've gone too long without it.
Another thing I don't think I'd like about Chuck Palahniuk's works, not that I'm a homophobe, is that his characters are so focused. There's one where the whole thing is a narrative on a crashing airplane and the character has the clarity to recount his whole story?!!? I remember an accident I was in where the same guy from the acid party was driving. The moment before went like this:
"You know, Paul, I hear that Peter Lorre was actually a really nice guy."
In an emergency, I'd never have the presence of mind to tell my story.
I probably also wouldn't like that Palahniuk steals his ideas from Philip K Dick. But I repeat myself.
They say that men think about sex some huge amount like 80% of the time. I don't think I do although I think about it a lot (ask any of my exes. They know I thought about it even more than I suggested it.) I think that about 80% of the time I think about earwigs, how long my toenails are, bits of songs, the shape of my snail's mouth and so on. Things that really don't mean anything and are just rabbit trails of the brain. That's most of my thought. Sex might be like 10%, which includes things like hoping I meet the perfect woman today or pretending that I'm holding somebody as I'm falling asleep. 5% is things like "I'm hungry" or "I need to pee." 4.98% is things like "I hope I don't see a squirrel get run over by a car" or "I wonder if God's grief from the Fall, Noah's time, and the crucifixion made Him imbalanced and, being outside of time, that's why Universe and all of us are so crazy." .02% is important things like remembering to call to get my old car insurance cancelled or taking the garbage out so it doesn't pile up for another week. The latter is what I tend to forget and what I should forget the least.

I hope you don't mind. I don't usually talk about sex in public. None of the Mathers' do. But I'm working on looking at who I am and how I got where I am right now, so I might be revisting my past in the next few days like that. If you don't like the navelgazing, you might want to spend a few days away. I'm doing it because I need to work some things out and I'm not just here to entertain your sorry ass. Plus all of this might work into a new monologue that I'm thinking about writing.

So there you go.

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One of those mornings where you wake up and realize that in a few hours you're going to be sticking to things. Actually, it was one of those mornings where you wake up and realize you didn't get much sleep and that's because you were sweating when you laid down and here you were still sweating as you woke up. Not that I'm complaining. I like a good, oppressively hot day. It reminds me of my limitations.

On that note, I had a few things trigger other things in my head lately. It started when I was alone house sitting last week and very lonely. Realizing I didn't know anybody up here. Then when they came back there was the possibility of not even living here much longer. Then, last night Pat was teaching at the church and I went to listen. They didn't have a greeter at the door and, for some reason, they asked me to be the greeter. I agreed but I was really uncomfortable. Pat said I looked like I was ready to hit somebody at any time if the occasion called for it. I was the church bouncer.
Then I came home and watched My Dinner With Andre, a film that always calls me on the bullshit I've got in my life at any given time. And I realized how armored I've been. I haven't been relating to anybody out of lack of trust. Not just up here but for a really long time. I know I did that for two years after Amy broke up with me in my early twenties. Now here I am in my late twenties, a year after Nissa broke up with me, and I'm doing the same thing without any alcohol this time.
So, I went to sleep sweaty with this on my mind. This morning I went to the post office and I usually hit the co-op right after the post office on Mondays. But today I'm going to get my car insurance changed to up here. So I didn't have time after the post office to shop for food, bring it home and put it all away. I only had time to run home and type this. But I found that it really bothered me. I kept thinking about quickly going over the to co-op and I almost did. I realized I was in trouble and everything I'd thought about myself last night was true because it was really bothering me that my routine was going away for the morning.
So, I'm re-reading Robert Anton Wilson's Prometheus Rising. I'm going to find ways to break up my many patterns. Writing with the left hand and so forth. I guess the lack of trust of anybody left over from Nissa and the want for protection in a new place just wrapped me tight in insulation. But don't worry. I've diagnosed the problem now and it's one I've treated before.

When I'm better I should start doing workshops. I could get rich!

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Sunday, June 27, 2004

Sedge used to come to my drum circles down at Bolsa Chica beach. That was fun. I hope he doesn't mind my link, but he's got a pretty groovy blog over at
That is to say in case he's not the only one reading this.

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1) I was walking home yesterday and an old lady, who I've seen mowing her lawn in 100 degree heat before, called me to her yard. She had a tree loaded full of apricots so that the limbs were fit to crack off under the weight. And she, probably ill-advisedly, was telling passers by that she lived alone and couldn't eat all of them alone. So I helped her by picking and taking a half a paper grocery bag full of apricots.
She didn't want any money either but she did want to talk for a long time. That was fine by me because I learned a lot about Chapmantown and I had nothing better to do. She's 88 years old and has lived in that house for 76 of those years. Her father built that house and used to own this whole neighborhood, which he bought for a thousand dollars. Used to be one big almond orchard this was.
She said that some people came by and offered her $250,000 for her house recently. But they don't want to house, they want the land because she's right on 20th street and they want to tear all of the houses out and put in cheap, ugly, whoreish strip mall stores. That's what they did over on Mangrove.
Two houses down from her is George's Scrap Metal. It's where everyone takes anything large and metal that they need to get rid of. It's where we took the pool when we tore it out. One day someone came by and dropped off some metal that included, hidden in the metal, a bomb. When George threw it in the incinerator, it exploded, took off a good deal of George's arm and an eye. George stays at home now and they take pictures of everyone who drops off metal. But I guess that the unchecked progress in Chico isn't just evil from a socio-economic standpoint, but also in a very tangible homicidal standpoint as well. Reminds me of how someone burned the Jesus Center down twice in hopes of getting the homeless out of Chico. We know this because the second time they caught the guy, who was a neighbor merchant and who said he did it in hopes of getting the homeless out of Chico.

2) Nicki Jaine wrote to me. I wrote her a nice note about how great her album is and how I tell everyone to buy it. She wrote me back. I don't write this to brag because according to the comments nobody reads this blog anyway. But if somebody should happen to read this some day, once again you should order Nicki Jaine's album ( The other news is that she's not coming out to California for a tour yet, but it may happen in the near future.

3) Yesterday evening I was going to clean the fish tank when Abigail asked if I'd play with her. I called her in to watch me clean the fish tank and she was suitably entertained by that. Then I remembered that I needed to water the backyard especially by the garden. It's been hot and it's turning really brown back there just in time for the forth of July fireworks to land on it. But I had a brilliant plan. I went and turned on the hose and handed it to Abi. Presto, I'm playing and working at the same time. She loved watering the yard even though she went mad with power at one point and chased me down and soaked me. She also made a huge lake where we dug up the septic tank last month. Being dirt there it became a great muddy lake. Abi told me that she was Willy Wonka.

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