What makes me tick . . . huh . . . very good question my dear Rachel.

Could it be the desire to find a connection, knowing only that it has been done before?
Perhaps.
Could it be that there has to be a reason for something somewhere and quite possibly I'll find out tomorrow?
Perhaps.
Could it be seeing a sunset from the seat of a motorcycle listening to "Where the Streets Have No Name."
Perhaps.
Or it could be that for all the absurdity, all the times I mess up, lose it, lose someone, give up, stop working, stop giving chances, stop taking chances, start riding fast, stop going slow, stop sleeping, quit reading Thomas at the Pink, stop writing about my day, my year, my decisions, my, my, this person, that person, that one over there with her head in her hands, me over here, face in a notepad, on the cusp of something, figuring out what someone else knows, thinking about what you know, or I know, or what Woody Guthrie knew and tried to tell, what I know and am trying to tell, or trying to listen, trying to keep my mouth shut for once, or open my mouth for once, for being honest, for saying sorry, or thanks or let's have a drink, or let's live, now, here, not tomorrow, today, the moment is gone as soon as you think it, but the clock still goes on and the apathy is enviable, especially when you stand on the rocks at the marina on a hot August evening when the storm clouds frame the sun over the water, a raindrop hits my book and the next line reads "and the rain began to fall," and makes me think, yes, this is where I am at, that is why I'm here, and I will see that again, and I can show this, regardless if you see what I do, I can show you this, and you can say what time is it, and I can say, "God knows," this is all worth it.
Bob Dylan said the answer to everything can be found at the Grand Canyon at Sundown. I'm not sure because I haven't been, but I can go and I will, and I'll see what he saw. That is beauty. That you can, I can, and yet those who can't, never will. That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Or in my own words, it's that simple.

Perhaps.

tick

thanks Rachel.

"Get some sleep."

I probably hear that at least once a day from random people. Actually, one time I did get, "You look sad," from a girl at a bar, which made me laugh hysterically, because of course, I couldn't have been happier.

Sleep, in my eyes is overrated. But then again, my eyes are tired, so go figure. But here is my question: why are people so concerned about my sleeping habits? I know the gut reaction is, well they just simply care about you, but if that's the case, wouldn't it make more sense to work with someone on his lifestyle? I mean if a man is a Christian, do people, in all seriousness come up to him and say, you should really get some buddha in your life? Well sure, possibly, but the point is that I like staying up at night, so why is it that people who sleep a lot, need to force their habits upon me? I don't cal my friends up in the middle of the night and say, "GOD, you are missing SO much. You should wake up."

No, of course I don't. I do have an answer to why I stay up, writing the night away on existentially absurd Camus induced plays and chapters of a book about a misguided elf. Actually Dylan Thomas has the answer. He just says it so much better than I ever will. I'm no poet, I know it.

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

yeah, take THAT.

Incidentially, has any seen the movie Chelsea Walls?

eh . . . y'all are probably sleeping. I suppose it is that time of the month.

Okay, now that I got that out of the way . . .

I can't talk long for I have to finish a play tonight. The problem is that mine eyes are bigger than my stomach in the completely metaphorical sense. I want to make a statement about the state of humanity when all it really comes down to is a story about a man sitting on a park bench who is apparently about to get shot if he moves, and a man who wants him out of the seat because of a woman he is meeting there, who he's never seen before. It's a classic story . . . maybe. What will happen? Will the man get shot because he's going to move? Is he simply nuts? If he does get shot, what does that say about my theories that you are in total control of your own destiny? If he gets shot, that means that destiny will always override any idea of free will that you have. If he gets shot, it's a tragedy. It's also very accurate. In a way, if you never want to leave because if you do, you think that you might get shot, chances are, one day, someone will shoot you.

Perhaps it's all perspective. We are never victims, but everyone acts that way. Are you trapped? If you think you are, you probably are. If you don't think you are, get up and walk around. Freedom is a beautiful thing if only we could accept the absurdity of it.

Ok first order of business is this: does anyone know why my laptop monitor goes white everyonce in a while? It's a fucking annoying, I'll tell you that much.

I am human and dying everyday.

Now if you are a Christian, as am I (well okay, I think Jesus was the first socialist badass, therefore Christian? sure why not), you'd get excited about the eternal dive, or rather the eternal drive, no wait, the eternal . . . ride? Maybe. Let's go with that. Basically, it's not a bad thing.

The point is this, my elmwood strippers, I have just gotten glasses for the first time in my life. My body is decaying, but the beauty here is that when I want to go to Burger King instead of McDonalds, for a shake if you will, I can now read the signs clearly before I pull into Wendys. Thanks to my poor eyesight, I always have to settle for a damn frosty . . . but no more my friends. They can take that spoon and shove it.

And have you seen these billboard things? They actually have words on them! It's really sweet. You know the one's with those two guys with their heads popping up? Well apparently (it says, as I've just found out) they're lawyers! And they represent injured people in Buffalo!

Who knew?

So I got to thinking . . . a couple of you who do read my rants and diatribes might have once wondered, "Why stickboy?" Is that a euphemism for something else? Might be. Is it symbolic? Most likely, but maybe not. Is it the icon for the ostensible saboteur of the left wing? No, that, it is not. I have a different icon for that, HA! I jest. I'm really a nice guy actually, I just have opinions, alas.

Well okay, I'm here to sastify, as Clarence Carter says. This (below) is why. (disclaimer: the "stick it" is merely a play on words and in no way represents the thoughts and feelings of said journal writer in regards to his comrads. It's suposed to be funny in a dry sort of way.)



Well that clears it up, doesn't it?

As you were.

(incidentally, the weird looking guy to the right is my rendition of Puck, or Robin Goodfellow.)

I'm sorry but this is just funny. It's an article in the Times today, about all the protests. It makes fun of it at the end, after saying some decent things. You can tell that Alan Fueur didn't take the protests to seriously. I wonder what the rest of the world thinks. But yeah, okay, read this. It is pretty funny . . .again, this is at the end of the article. If you want the whole thing go to


"Even with the rallies planned well in advance, at least one protester got a little lost.

"In Washington, one person found out too late that there would be no protest in that city. A woman in a baseball cap and sunglasses stood in front of the White House with a sign reading, "U.S. Out. U.N. In."

"It's always nice to do a protest with other people," said the woman, Linda Wilscam, 43, of Vernon, Conn. "It feels lonely today, to be honest."

I think Nietzsche said something like, "Not that you lied to me, but that I no longer believe you, has shaken me"

That's love. Or rather that's finding a connection with someone. My version would be "Not that I'm alone, but that I wont find someone who gets what I am about, has shaken me." I'm not in a hurry or anything, and actually that's part of my problem. I hate to quote Bukowski, but like he said, "No one who ever wrote worth a damn ever wrote in peace." Or more appropriately, Flannery o'Connor, when her mother put nice curtains up in her writing room while she was gone one weekend, making the place beautiful, said, "Mother get rid of those curtains lest you ruin my prose!" I'm doomed to melancholy because there's so much more good material to write about.

I love being by myself (another part of the problem), but damn, you find someone who might be cool, and behold, the connection you have with each other is as strong as masking tape. I constantly find myself shaking my head, over hearing conversations at bars, and I don't know if it's envy or disgust. I'd love to talk about how someone looked sad yesterday in moment and then talk about a pimple on her forehead the next. I'm no deeper than the next person, but hanging around the next person, you could've fooled me.

So I'll resolve to find comfort in books until someone trips me up and makes me think. That would be great.

Nietzsche again: Danger in happiness. "Now everything redounds to my best, now I love every destiny - who feels like being my destiny?"

Now that's what I'm talking about.

I've always felt the need for a healthy amount of absurdity in my life, but as of now, I have to draw the line on certain aspects.

I am no stranger to protests and yet I can't help but walk through the crowd, as if I'm watching now, rather than participating. Of course you can argue that in being there, I am participating, but I need more. These days, standing on the left, I feel like a two-holiday catholic at a black baptist church in Savannah, Georgia.

The left frustrates me more that the right ever will. At least I know where the right stands and I commend them for their voluntary ignorance. Yet the left wing, as Ani sings, was broken long ago. Now we have Kerry, and he will save us. Hell he even calls a spade a spade, but next time senator, do it at a fucking press conference.

Yes I was at the protest this afternoon, getting drenched, and yes I do appreciate that I heard more people talk about my wet dog than the whatever in Iraq. (He's a cute guy, I've said this, and yet the irony is that he doesn't think he is! He suffers from the dog myth.) The rain was symbolic, sure, yet why weren't people on the grass up by the speakers? Was there not a permit? I did see a couple of you guys right up there, and I commend you. But here's what pissed me off: I actually heard a guy say, "Let's all spread out so that we look bigger!"

Why?

Is it all about deception across the board? Are people in Orchard Park, watching at 11 tonight going to say, "Oh my dear, look how many people are in Lafayette square! And they have so much elbow room . . . let's not vote for Bush honey."

Of course I am a culprit of the mundane as much as I consider myself a visionary. Did I speak up and yell like I did in Washington a while ago, face to face with riot cops in full gear, threatening us with nightsticks if we didn't shut up about the SOA? Not at all. What if I did yell? Would the reaction be, WOW he wants this war to stop! or WOW, he's a loud freak trying to get noticed! And yet, amongst freaks, one is no more bizarre than another. I miss New York.

This has always been my problem with the left and if anyone can shed light, I'll get out of the dark room of confusion. It's not enough to stand in the rain. It's not enough to hold a sign. NO ONE WILL BE SWAYED BY THAT. And yet I do know it's necessary, because after all, you fill Times Square will people holding signs, others will notice. Yet that is again, not enough. What do I propose? Satire, anger, and not conforming to what they say we should do i.e. stay off the grass, walk on the sidewalk, stop poking that officer with a wooden stick, etc.

Bush might win in November. Yeah okay, voting counts, but we need a back up plan. What will you do? Me? Can't go to Canada, I like New York way too much. BUT . . . I can be heard. That is if I ever get the gumption to actually not keep quiet anymore. We need a pissed off folk singer instead of Joni Mitchell singing "give peace a chance." It's cliche, and John Lennon would have written a new song by now if he could. No one listens to a priest unless one is about to die.

So that's it. Nothing will change until it gets bad. Half of me wants Bush elected again so people realize what's really going on. It's funny, when you're hungry, you look for food and that is all you do. Well we need a goddamn famine in this place.

As Tom Joad said, "Takes no nerve to do something, ain't nothing else you can do."

Does it need to get there people?

'fraid so

We need another Seattle, because that's what democracy looks like.