Alright there people, check out this little dabble of ketchup:

tonight, if you're bored, or feel at all like being alienated, or doing some alienation, head on over to that Coffee & place just south of Spot (the place wherein I will start my caffeine high, writing and ultimately getting frustrated with everything).

Myself along with a very witty and sardonic freind of mine who is now in the process of picking a new name for herself, will go at 8 or so'ish and attempt to deliver lines of poetry in a dignified manner, in a dignified way. You all should stop by because it's a Wednesday.

I will say this - absurdness will be covered along with the ever famous poem by yours truthfully, Turtles in an Aquarium.
After that well . . . a decent bit o'debauchery.

That is all.

Alas.

-ticksayoybay

I'm sick to shit of people justifying why they do things to me when all they're looking for is a goddamn pat on the back.

"Yes I know it's tough . . . I'm so sorry" I say when I really mean
"Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up and get it done"

You won't change until you need to. I'm not going to rub you shoulders while you bet that hand. I'm busy enough with my shitty cards.

It ain't me babe, nah, nah, nah . . .

Hell I ain't even drunk.

"Never assume the one who seeks to comfort you lives untroubled." -Bell Hooks

Yeah this shit goes for me too.

Matthew, brother, no need to be drunk to write.

It was a mere suggestion to get more, I don't know, open writing, if you will. Not that, of course, people don't openly write, but, I don't know, I just look forward to people teetering on the edge of absurdity. It's fun for me.

I've always loved that though. For me it's like hearing "Take the A-Train" while you're standing in the middle of Grand Central.

A bit of a lets-try-this-out.

Anyone of you nocturnal creatures want to go and graba cup of coffee and a cheesecake at around 3 or 4am? Pano's, Towne . . . I ask because i of course will be up doing work and to think that I have somewhere to go at 4am will keep my ass from falling asleep.

It'll be fun. Oh and I have to get up at 7 too, so that's a shitty excuse.

I'll tell you what though, if I were in Julie's shoes, which I will most likely be in pretty soon, I'd get my ass off this site too. It's not letting them win, but giving them less ammo.

I see where you're going Paul and others but seriously, you've got to cover your bases, that's all.

If they start to look into my existential rants, and see something in them, which lets face it, they most likely do already, but then sure, I'm out. Leave no recognizable marks.

Hell I might just let my dog talk.

Lucky huh . . .

What's her ass smell like?

-Billy

So I get home from a not so grueling day towing cars to find my favorite 80's cd fucking destroyed? What the shit?

My dog is looking at me like, brother, you brought this upon yourself. What a dick. But, I have it saved and will make another one with the title track being, Run, Run Away.

Such anger in this dog.

So Paul I would have loved to chill with you guys last night and today/night, but I alas I could not. And I had to work today so . . . If they had the festival on Wednesday, I'd be set.

I'm heading to Coffee and (pornos) (hey if they don't finish the phrase, I will) for a meeting of the minds. Physics baby. Physics.

Hi,

Yeah look I don't have much time because I don't know when the fucker's coming back. See, he does this. He leaves to go, who the hell knows where, but always forgets something like sunglasses which by the way scares the shit out of me because I'm like usually getting off on a pillow, or about to destroy a shoe (I don't know why I do these things, it just happens).

Oh, I should . . . um yeah, look, I finally figured out how to get on this thing. By the way, this is Billy, brian's eh-hem, stickboy's (whatever that fucking means) dog. I'm bored out of my tiny mind, so I'm going to be jumping on here everynow and then to give a dog's perspective since you humans are doing such a fantastic job with the world. (See he leaves NPR on for me when he disappears because I think he hates me, and . . . give me a minute . . . okay, well I probably know more about society than all of you put together. I'm not bragging, but have you ever listened to NPR for 12 hours straight while I'm, I mean you're, trapped in the goddamn kitchen? Yeah, well, welcome to my life.)

Oh shite, he's coming back up, I's got to go.

talk later,

-Billy

hey, should I start my own journal so he doesn't know or something? I mean he's usually rambling around the house about potential energy, high on whiskey thinking he's all deep. Bullshit I say.
Anyway, Paul, I think I met you a couple of times, I think I need to start a dlog. Get that? Funny shit. Not a blog, a dlog. HA. I'm going to lick my nuts.

Oh, well that's fucking great. Forgot about that little shit of a detail. Yeah, look at that, don't have them anymore. No nuts for the Billster . . . it's dog's life right. What an asshole.

That's it. His favorite 80's cd will now be elliminated.

man who says writing is not primarily cathartic? I feel great now.

mike, mk, jill, nice to see y'all.

After doing my usual stint at Spot writing this thing, I walked outside because I was afeared, caused by something I think I saw.
Yet what I witnessed was true and real and I had to rub my eyes because I couldn't believe someone would have the gall.

Like I do occasionally, I road my bike (motorcycle) to Spot and parked it beside the other bikes. I went in, wrote shit, and then to my horror I saw a volvo station wagon parked within inches of my bike.

fucking inches people.

I stood there, helmet in hand eyeing the car. I then eyed those on the patio who in turned eyed me back. Talking ceased momentarily and after some banal converstion about the size of my engine on my SV, I turned to the patio and said, "Is this anyone's car?"
One lady looked at me, and I asked her directly. "Is this your car."
She said no.

I then took it a step further because I am more apt to do that these days and parking within inches of a motorcycle is like the watching the scene in which Old Yeller is about to die, over and over.

"Just so you know," I said. "Never park this close to a motorcycle." People agreed. I then added, "It's taking much effort on my part not to take my helmet and place a huge scrape along this hood." I then realized and said to the crowd, "I should go."

I was pissed. Why does that bring on so much anger? Because it's another example of people disrespecting a person's space. The irony is that on the other side of the car, there was five feet of clearance.

A word to the wise - people who ride motorcycles are not rational when it comes to themselves, or their bikes being threatened. A biker once told me that a lady once cut him off and thought nothing of it. At the next intersection, he got off his bike, and put he his boot through her headlights and then rode off, not saying a word.

When I was hit by a car, and he drove away, I ran after the kid and caught him. That's another story, but it was a situation in which I had to decide to not grab him and pull him out of the car as compared to him doing it on his own volition. It would have been jail time and very messy. Point is, when your life is threatened, you become something else.

And when you park too close to my bike, I get upset.