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