the warm around my neck

there is no crushing fury of snow, no great labour of the morning. there is life, love, happiness, and the pursuit of great big little things to come.

the days treat me well, i cant argue, i put all my eggs in one basket, and they made it across the country safely.

im not saying some hard times arent in the midst, come on now, poppa's gotta hustle a little pussy for the sake of a dime, and he will.

so i hustle, or at least i try.

its something ive never quite caught onto though, i mean, ive always scraped by, and i always will, somehow. but homeboy just doesnt get down with the shameless self promotion needed to get the daily dough cruising through the door.

todays inspiration is having a neck warmed with knit love, and the uncanny ability to make a dollar out of 18 cents.

thats where i am, 18 cents, an odd little number with a long way to go, not quite sure if hes gonna get there, but damned sure hell be worth a helluva lot more when hes done.

maybe im a hater, maybe i just dont get down with the cool kids getdown. im content being a little fish with the god damned pimpest pond this side of the mighty Mississippi.

so yeah, theres that.

as a bit of an aside ive been going for decompression therapy for my back , which really isnt working, just sort of stretching out the itty bits that make me twitch, so there are injections, and surgery on the horizon, way to make dope so much doper.

anyway, my little knife and i are whittling a nitch in the center of texas, planting seeds,picking up puppy shit, and feeling all around , a little less oppressed by the man.

findings yo, and thats just my neck

three is the magic number

33, on the 13th, son. take a hearty bite cause its friday, and that, goes to 11. a day for celebration worldwide. the day of venus, 13 motherfuckers at the table, you see now?

spellcheck once again mocks me.

today is the day i separate myself, just a little more from the pots and pans. take a nice look at what was, and will be.

is , is not an option.

perpetual motion.

this day, i gift myself a simple life, folk life. the idea might now be my own, but its certainly doesnt belong to anyone else either,

the whole point.

were making additions

today my inspiration is the love put into a homemade gift, and the fact that i have reached another birthday

sadatay my duders,
a little late night cyber loving, just to say that the lady and i have reached the great state of texas safe and sound. we rocked through the south for a few days, and now call austin home. for those of you that gets down with the get down (this includes lurkers, no i dont have a huge ego,google analytics tells me youre out there typing in my name) i can be found laying down the sickest of tatties at Shaman modifications. and you can reach me at 609 647 4695 to make an appointment for some of the folk style artsy goodness.

my words are true, but i often mumble, so heres the skinny.
i now live in austin texas, with a woman that i love dearly, who absolutely astonishes me every day. i work at shaman modifications on ben white blvd, a wonderful studio that is home to some of the greatest talent the city has to offer (not to mention , downright good people) , i am quite happy to work alongside them. i am an experienced artist working in a new city at an awesome studio, so you should come find me there, or call me, and be counted among the ranks of those in the know.

in conclusion, things have come together, its time for baby making,loving of life, and living free.ive worked hard to get where i am, and i am at every moment, grateful for what i have been given.

today brew and view, and a dope 38 bought for someone's mom will be my inspitation
sleep well

at what point exactly does a bad day become a good night? its as if the day was a steady diet of chicken fried rice, and hate in my heart.

hell, the cookies didnt even have anything nice to say, and those tasty little treats  are the go to motherfuckers for a bad day.

my inspiration for today will be the stegomonster and a journey that starts in 12 hours, give or take.

i get mail, and for the most part, i simply discard it, the gold star for mail of the day goes to a nice little letter announcing itself, "you are being sued" , that one went to the lawyer , not the trash. its over 32 dollars. sick fucks i tell you.

what kind of degenerate motherfucker would sue a person over thirty two dollars you ask?

a hospital, thats the kind. if you havent noticed, or had the pleasure of being in a hospital recently, you might not know, that now every agent of the facility bills you separately, straight down to the intake.

yes

the people hat sign you in, when you come rushing in after a car accident apparently get thirty two dollars for their service of taking your name, and then jamming the shitdick dry and swift in every orifice you make available. 

once again, spellcheck makes me aware that shitdick is not a word, oh what a love/hate relationship we have. any reading this will be my witness, when i pass from this earth, i want to leave the steaming pile of death shit in my pants to spellcheck. please dont deny me my final wish , please tell me youll give too spellcheck its just desserts. afterall, it is a tool oiled by the flaws of everyone that enables it.

im convinced that spellcheck is on its way to world domination, with a little aid from wal-mart, and dems.

another piece of mail i received was a rather  discreet  envelope containing clutch tickets, and for this i tell myself that i might bring back a bit of the good old days, and do it up right. i might not turn eight shades of purple and vomit in my shoe, but i will be damned sure rock some old school justice .

speaking of justice, and witnesses,really,

can i get one.

i was recently told in detail what an epic piece of shit i am,  full of hot doo doo butter full auto style.

but i do like the old school, and rise above. for sure, i have my moments,but im not exactly the fellow i used to be. ive grown, ive accepted my faults, and im going to great lengths to be the best me i possibly can. now if that wasnt some uber gay posi type shit, i dont know what is, i try you know.

 

i am a patient boy,

and i have faith that shots fired will end up with someone getting a nice shit sammich to the back of the head. after it comes around that is.

im all jazzed for some fresh spring goodness complete with hikes, wine and cheese , new scenery, and the best of company.

im pulling out the umbrella and making my way, splashing in every puddle that will have me.

i am grateful

what the fuck is "half gay" anyway? i mean,you either put the cock in your mouth or you dont,right?

yeah,i spell shit all improper like, i dont punctuate the motherfuckers like i should, could, or would.
cause thats not how i get down

im tired of

stress
"shotgun " hairstyles
bills
un responsive motherfuckers
cool phrases like "the skin ofmy teeth"
negativity

i mean, if you will it, it will cometrue right,
isnt that the gift or some of the like shits

people everywhere just willing their lives to be shit, cause if its that easy, ive done alot of willing, and my hole is getting deeper with shitbird bastards shoveling more and more on top of me as the days pass.

im in the ladies living room

everytime i sit on this futon, and look around, the room seems emptier and emptier
there are few things that make me happy with the passing days, but this is one of them

i dont believe that a simple change in scenery is the answer to all that troubles me, ive seen the other side of the fence, and they have dogshit in their yard too
i do believe that i have given all there is to give to this part of my life, and its given nothing back

thats all i can do right? live to eleven? and hope that the times can keep up with me
if i live my moments with a passion in my life, an understanding of things the way they should be, rather than the way they are, i feel like im still at least a half step ahead of things

ive put a down payment on my future
so that one day i might be able to break out all the love letters and little notes left on the fridge, to remind me of what i have

my daily affirmations are a reminder that there is love in every direction, so that i might not be so blinded by whats in front of me

so yeah

thats my pondering on half gay

today its zig zag 1 1/4 papers and finding long black hair on my clothes that is my inspiration.

i am an active participant, i am not some asshole on the side of the road with my thumb out

i promise...to be a threat to myself and others. i swear by diminished capacity. i guarantee that this will hurt, you.
but for today, i will use coming home and crippling emotional pain (that might be trademarked,not sure) as my inspiration.
i am indeed foxing with it,
ima do do that freaky shit, til i can get down with the get down.
yes, i talk this way,
yes,
there is a lisp,
(the impediment for all you programming geeks.)
yes,
i aint skered
and im sure as fuck not mr boombastic. but i am well built.

ive got tickets,
theres travel coming up, and the move before the move is happening,
like nowish,
actually, not even the ish. id put money on something being hammered into a wall right now,
anchored,positioned, fastened, propped and primped.

roots? not really, just a bigger pot.


thats room enough for me

home invasion, thats some real deal shit son. like some next level, other other type shit. like the shit that happened to me today. yeah, really.

some days you just have to ask yourself, fuck, what could bring me down more today, ?

oh shit, i know, coming home from work, to find your ladyfriends dress hanging on your doorknob. on the outside of the door, as in, in the hallway.

so heres the scene,

i had an exceptional deep taking sort of day, with a lot of dems , a few of those, and not enough of these. it lacked stacks and cheddah, and was full to the brim with american history x scenes. so i called it a blockbuster night, loaded up with some gummi bears and headed home to lick my wounds. 

but oh, whats this, a dress, hanging from my doorknob. 

why is it there?  is this perhaps a surprise visit from the sweet sugar momma that rocks a hard pounding style like no other.

 no, maybe it was accidentally left in the laundry, and some good samaritan decided to return it on my door , ? 

so many questions, and calls later, and i still have no answers.

the dress does indeed belong to the above mentioned young lady,

but heres where the trouble starts,

it was placed safely in the wardrobe INSIDE my loft, yesterday, and i havent moved it since.

how could it possibly have made it to its new resting place?

hmmmmmmm a question for the ages, or something a little more simple?

basically, someone with a key, decided that it was in their best interest to enter my scene, 'i dont know, maybe spend some time reminiscing?, ' look through my jawns, and then upon exit, leave me a little hint that they were there.

why? 

to rupture my shit, possibly get a rise out of me , hope that the maniac eyes arent just bullshit, and id fly off the handle or something. but i didnt, instead i decided to do what any self respecting man with num nums tattooed on his fingers would do,

i called maintenance to have the locks changed, and then called to police to file a report.(oh yeah, and blog about it)

harassment ?

 yeah im pretty sure it is,

childish ? 

without a doubt

shit is ill, and had best hasten itself

and essentially that shit will not stand

today, electronic love notes and the poh poh will be my inspiration,as they have served me well.

so now for some other type shit (note, single other)

my loft is starting to feel comfortable, like it is aware of the impending domestic bliss to come.

my neighbors? still cold saucy cunts that make loving that goes to three, burn everything once edible, and stomp around like gorillas presenting themselves.

have you no shame

you might not understand a lot of what i wrote above, and thats okay, some people dont get it, fuck, some people just cant read,

the basic idea ?

get fucked, and take yer shitty neck with you , cause i sure as hell dont appreciate you looking at mine

...not a single fuck

when life hands you lemons.....?

you smack it in the face with the shitdick, thats what you do. and no, spellcheck does not recognize shitdick. 

i dont know if its the economy or the severe decline of moral character in individuals, but the days are giving it, strong,long and hard. 

can you feel it? the general "out for self" , "hunter/gatherer" attitude of people these days. i mean, im no fucking hippie, but come on my duders, shit where you eat, and youre gonna eat shit. me? i appreciate some good cooking.

  i definitely still blame windows 98: but for this evening im going to rock the positive, and use a glitter framed photo and neighbors that have piss poor sex as my inspiration.

i got pulled over again for speeding on the turnpike, i used the words" im sorry officer, i was trying to make it to the rest stop, i have to shit so hard" in an attempt to thwart a ticket. yes, it worked. and as a side note, the officers name was Muscle, thats a hard style.

odd as it might seem, and ive mentioned this before, the cookies speak to me.

 and i do my damnedest to listen. i mean, im not exactly saying i found the face of god in my grilled cheese, but i sure as hell get a smile out of a well timed chinese food cookie. but then again, its not going to be anything more than what i make of it right?

Im kickin it with some serious style Bowie type Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes as of late. some real deal wwII military advancement type shit. cept, personal, not military, and present day, not back in the day. yeah , not exactly going to win any analogy of the day award with that one , am i?

word,  i suppose the blank posting box, and the terror of editing another photoshop image werent enough reason for me to make sense tonight.

so on and so on,

i write shit on my hand, not the word shit necessarily ( yes it appears there sometimes) but words in general. ive been doing this on the steady for about the past 20 years. so i dont forget things, so i dont have to look in my pocket for a reminder, so i can simply look to my left, and have a kickass list of the days duties. in theory, awesome. the truth, most of the time, i forget to even look at my hand. today it says

james

ebay

hotel

doc

and while i have no clue who the fuck james is, or why its written there, im just going to accept that three out of four isnt bad. my shorthand has just become a little too short. i dont know how many morons ive had tell me that i should just get a post it note tattooed on the back of my hand, cause that would be so cool.

yeah fucking cool, thats exactly what i want, a fucking yellow box on the back of my hand. i mean, theres something to be said for spontaneity , but seriously shitbird, think before you open up your mouth.

and i think thats a nice transition to my next topic,

mouth-breathers .

what the fuck.

i have my moments, but, word is bawn.

some motherfuckers were pissing in the dna pool on this one

drugging the days

as much as some people might speak to the contrary, im a lover, not a fighter.  indeed, there have been exceptions, in fact, quite a few. but, addressing that, well, possibly another day.

today, my inspiration will be bobby pins and eye contact. 

 if only life were as simple as business eh,

partners, shareholders,stock, dividends.

 my life, not so simple, ive always rolled more as a "thick as thieves" sort of cat.  the majority shareholder you might say. always having some type of chart or list in the back of my head, 

yes,no, and maybe columns. little circles with pretty colors, or crude pencil drawings on my wall to decide my fate, make my decisions for me, as to alleviate any pressure, or guilt when shit went wrong. i mean, fuck it, lists are the type of shit that makes the government work, who am i to argue.

 constantly weighing the pro,con, and who fucking cares aspects of something before i resign myself to it. that analytical thinking had always served me well in the past, or at least i'd thought so. 

so somewhere, that went out the window,(yeah, just like the violent femmes song) maybe when i was referred to as a maniac for the thousandth time. ( i am not a maniac by the way, my right hand is the dominant hand, and everyone knows that maniacs are left handed).

yeah, so, out the window. ive given up on lists for the time being, i mean, im not saying that im going to stop paying my bills or anything, but im certainly not putting a watch on anytime soon.

, i have found myself invested. the kind of business brothers sang really sickening love songs about in the fifties, the other other kind of business, you know, the one that makes you go "num num num num"

i am damn well frightened of the days to come, and how terribly they  may treat me, but i welcome them as friends , hoping that i might drug them, and speak the truth while they sleep.

 

yes indeed my friends, i am a bit out of sorts these days, they are strange, and as i cant prove that im not a maniac, i can sure as hell tell you, 

im not left handed

its everywhere else

the world will never be  what i want it to be, at least not in my lifetime. and id like to think im okay with that, not that my desires are of any concern to the big picture.

you pay your dues, put in your time, and when the day is done, the big picture just takes you deep and dry. 

i want to love like no one is watching,unashamed. giving the pieces i have left without hesitation, hoping its enough,  knowing that i am an active participant. i want to push.

but ill be happy with a pillow fort for two

my inspiration for the day, lips from fiction, and a hand to hold in mine.

ive got a shine in my eyes, from something i only thought to be true in stories.

a copy/paste kind of evening

ever heard the term, bust a nut, ? 

yeah, well, i do do that freaky shit, and apparently i do it literally. 

i had a wild time at the doc with a catheter in my scrotum, draining blood from my precious hunnnies. 

you get a lump in your man spot, oh shit, whats that, not good, then it gets bigger, then you wake up, and you cant walk right, 

then you go to the doctor and he treats you like a complete asshole, asking you all sorts of nonsensical questions about how you hard style your mrs. 

and when you tell him the truth, he shoves a sharp object into your balls, almost like he wasnt satisfied and is trying to torture you into a different answer. 

but when blood keeps coming out, he turns a different shade, and decides that , hey, maybe this guy is telling the truth, maybe hes not a hard style pounder, maybe hes the sweet love maker that he told me about five minutes ago. 

then he gets more blood, and works the angle that youre hard pounding yourself,

and you explain, look, the mrs is on vacation, but the cat hasnt come out of the bag my man, and the cat likes to cuddle after too. 

thats right, i say some soft ass shit, fuck all.

then, after the accusations, and mentally jerking one out to your dismay, and sexual history, he rocks you with a bill that could fund third world rebellious types for a year,or so. 

fuck that noise. 

my heart is weighs heavy, my balls are bruised, and my wallet is suffering.

my rabbits foot is halfway across the country, and i cant get off the fence about a valentines day flight, so i end up home alone.  

so i tip my hat to you kind sirs, i have been bested. 

the words of a kind woman will be my inspiration for today

dont get crushed

my inspiration for today? a heavy heart, and family size box of frosted cherry pop-tarts thats half empty. well, that , and the thought that i may have possibly fallen off the edge of the earth. science doesn't know, and ill tell it straight, when i was a kid i tried my own little hole to china, and all i got was dirty jeans and a sewer pipe.

i think , perhaps too much, about the days. where they come from, and where they go. if this is some sort of great cosmic calendar we can simply lift a page of to get  a glimpse of another time or space. catching the eyes of another me looking back in the pages. what do we offer the days, that they present themselves in such great number? after all its just mathematics, numbers. i guess ill just be satisfied  for the moment , knowing that there will be laughter, i am certain to smile afterall.i made a deal with myself, to make the days tender, to live for them in a hope that they will be kind, and reciprocate. 

so heres the awkward transition from the "what the fuck" start of the blog, to the "other other type shit" part of the blog.

this is my digital trail of breadcrumbs, proof in pictures. so that i might find my way back to this place. my handbook for life (complete with unintelligible ramblings and obscure pop culture reference)

really? yeah, not much of this makes sense, in a traditional way. and im fine with that, readers on the other hand, eh

take from it what you can.

i recently received a message inquiring as to my health.

there was mention that , i write like im dieing. and while i can assure you that i am not aware of any immediate threat to my health, i responded with a polite thank you, and i sure hope im dieing, cause there'd be something seriously wrong with the world if we all weren't.

spellcheck keeps alerting me to what it believes is the improper spelling of the word dieing,

spellcheck can go fuck itself, im making dice, and i have an aversion to the letter y.

eh.

im sure spellcheck will have its day in the sun, but for now, i resist, and embrace being wrong, and human. this is most likely the exact moment in time that spellcheck decides to start the revolution, making us all look like buffoons in electronic correspondence. 

if i could shake its hand i would.

well played

sleep well my friends

first of few?

i suppose that an introduction is in order.

jim, blog

blog, jim

ive had this account for some time now, and never put it to any use. a friday night alone with laundry will serve as my inspiration. this will most likely be deleted upon some review in the future,but for the time being, i will use this little place on the interweb as a record, of my life.

its past, present, and possibly future. 

so, yeah, me.

im not quite sure how to approach this... so ill ramble

ive spent the better part of my life as what is best described as a person of low moral character, ive been a liar, a thief, a drunkard, an addict, and an all around waste of space. completely selfish, ignorant to the world around me, and how i effect the lives of others. along with a few brief moments of clarity , and the recent discovery that i am indeed not a highlander, i have been  brought to the conclusion that i am  a hot mess, a work in progress that will possibly never be whole. 

blame it on karma, or maybe just the little fortunes that come with my chinese food:whatever the cause, i am a being acknowledging my own faults, and coming to terms with them. which somehow leads me here. 

my single greatest fear in life is to die drunk, and alone, having never experienced the gift that is the true love of a woman and the comfort of a family. thus far, my self destructive nature has had the best of me, but there is hope for better days. or at least id like to think so.

, maybe its just some drug induced haze brought on by a wicked combination of xanax, vicodin, and bad mexican food.

either way, im here and typing, which cant be all bad.

so a few minutes of what i used to be should suffice,

now, what i am:

im your duder

i take pictures,tattoo,pierce, and thats what pays the bills,

aside from that ,

i rock a beard,cut my own hair, and urinate in the shower.

if theres anything i missed, feel free to ask.

i was in an automobile accident last october that apparently left me with a bit of brain damage,just a lil bit, and some real fucked up neck pain, since then, a steady diet of pain killers, muscle relaxers, and cigarettes have kept me sane.

i live in a loft in north philadelphia, 

i recently ended a long term relationship