The Blurred Line Between Reality and Dreams.

I've always had jobs where my coworkers don't hate things nearly as much as they should and most seem to be overly enthusiastic about their situation, completely content with nothing changing and constantly tricking themselves into believing that they're living the "American Dream."

Every once in a while someone gets it in their head to confront me with the statement, "You don't like working here do you?" Just like that, posed as a question so that they don't feel like they're being outright dicks about their comment, but of course they KNOW that I HATE my job; there's no doubt about that lingering in their minds. Mostly I just glare back at them once they pose this "question" and after a short period of time just staring I say, "What's to like about it?" Posed as a question that I know they can't answer without sounding like a crazy person. Then I'm one step further away from this confrontational fellow employee who I know that I wouldn't even recognize while scanning the obituaries ten years from now.

After that moment, life just keeps moving while I apathetically work a pointless job so that I can apathetically pay my bills on time to avoid dealing with those apathetic IRS agents who might visit one day if I cared enough to quit these crappy jobs.

However, then it hits me: my main job these days is teaching mentally and physically disabled children and I actually seem to get a sense of fulfillment our of it. The only thing that I hate here are about 60% of the people that I work with. The teachers and/or support staff who are obsessed with gossip because they apparently never left high school, the janitors who either are nowhere to be found when a kid is puking or bleeding all over the hallway, the janitors who act like a god because they're terrible people and can't get hired anywhere else as an ex-con, but mostly I hate the teachers who are so jealous of the parents that they can't stop talking about having kids and then when they finally do, they don't stop bitching about how all they do with their lives now is taking are of children day and night. It makes me feel like I'm stuck in a vicious cycle of morons who should have thought harder about where their life was heading before they hoped on a one-way train that doesn't stop until they die.

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Classical music is beautiful in an unfair sort of way. As if it's saying "Hey! Look at me! Look how fucking perfect I am contrasting your shit-tastic life!" Of course it yells it just like that too because classical music is beautiful and in your face as much as it can be, because it's classical music and being perfect gives it that right.

I'd like to go to bars sometime and pretend to be another person.

What upsets me most about people is their willingness to become completely stupid and delusional when it comes to dating and relationships. They use it as an excuse to turn nothingness into a truly epic situation; giving themselves the ability to use words like "love" and "loss" in relation to someone they never truly cared about in that way and probably never should have. This need for melodrama turns such insignificant episodes into epic failures and the true meaning soon becomes lost in the rubble along with whatever mutual friendship could have existed.

Whoever said "there's no time like the present" was a fucking genius. I hate wasting time on anything that's obviously going nowhere. Make that final decision now and get it all over with; just move on. You're never given enough time to be able to justify wasting any of it.

Ever notice how all parents are the same? The only difference generally being the level of violence used to rear their children.

Gandhi spoke to me in a dream once, he said "I'm a prick and no one should listen to anything that I've ever said." What wise words.

This nation will be destroyed not by a large economic crisis, but by the generations of heavily medicated, codependent, sheltered, miscreants that we're producing. We are the first generation on a long road to the collapse of this superpower and I kinda look forward to the outcome.

I realized today that I learned my first legal term from a Tim Allen movie.

Sadly, I cannot recite the alphabet without singing.

I've recently discovered that it's not at all my fault that people are so mentally unstable that those who tell the truth are regarded as assholes because they upset some lame equilibrium that society has set up.

Is it strange that suicide doesn't bother me? It's not that I'm cold hearted, I just have a great deal of experience with these situations and am rarely thrown off by such news. Also, I can't say that I dislike the idea of someone committing suicide because saying that it upsets me would be saying that I dislike a person's freedom to do with themselves as they wish and that completely goes against my belief system.

Apathy is one word for what's wrong with me and while it's a fun word, I don't believe that it's completely accurate in any sense. I care greatly for those close to me, education, politics, and science pretty much dominate my mind completely, I have a specific set of goals in mind, and I know exactly where I want to be in tens years time. So what is the correct word to describe me?

Nihilism is starting to look up...at least in my life. Just doing anything these days is really worth it. What it is doesn't so much matter, because when the Universe in which you dwell is rapidly expanding and whose rate of expansion is ever increasing, what do you really have to care about? Everything that exists is alive in a sense and therefore everything will die (or at least decay). Earth will turn to ice, the Milky Way galaxy (or more specifically the Milkomeda galaxy after we merge with Andromeda in about 3 billion years) will evaporate, and our universe will tear itself to shreds. With all that in mind, how can anyone be bothered to consider the notion of right and wrong? The only things that are "right" are life and death. Everything in between is insignificant to a ridiculous degree.

The time it takes for a galaxy to evaporate is upwards of 100 quintillion years. Even one billion years is but a whisper in existence. The Universe never takes notice of a single human life or even the lives of our whole species. Planets can't even generate energy; why should it ever bother to look in our direction? Try to wrap your head around that concept and then see if you can ever look at your life the same way again.

Now this isn't me saying to give up. I just recommend that you make yourself happy. Don't spend so much time worrying and dwelling on success or failure; just find what it is (or for you romantics: Who) and stick with it for as long as you can. Then try not to think about all the bullshit that our descendants will have to go through if they manage to survive 100 trillion years to see the last of the stars in our galaxy die off.

You know what it is that makes me happy? This right here...this makes me happy: existing, thinking, contemplating the mysteries of the Universe (which aren't so much mysterious anymore), photography (most traditional art really; I just don't "get" modern art), MOST of my friends and family, music (as well as the dancing and singing that goes along with it), poetry (so I'm a sucker for words, what of it?), driving randomly around the country, late night conversations, and showing people things that they never saw before.

These are all things that make me extremely happy and I'll never again make the mistake of letting one slip away, because happiness is far too precious a commodity these days.

So please, think about what makes you happy...now, hold on to those thoughts and don't let go.

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Side note on the power of music:

I think that Elton John's "Your Song" was the first piece of music that really hit me the hardest as a child. It taught me about just how powerful music can be; about how emotions and words can become so much more powerful when joined by instruments during communication. Of course, immediately after hearing "Your Song," I heard "Pull My Strings" by the Dead Kennedys and "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails and learned some very different lessons about the power of music.

Music can be about all sorts of things and it all has so many different meanings to different people.

Love: "I've gotta big big big big heart beat, yeah. I think you are the sweetest thing. I wear a coat of feelings and they are loud. I've been having good days. Think we are the right age, to start out own peculiar ways." - Animal Collective (Purple Bottle)
Lust: "You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you, you let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you." - N.I.N. (Closer)
Politics: "Well, I try my best to be just like I am, but everybody wants you to be just like them. They sing while you slave and I just get bored. I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more." - Bob Dylan (Maggie's Farm)
Good, Wholesome Fun: "Just you and me eating fudge banana swirl. Just you and me, we'll travel round the world. Just you and me punk rock girl." - The Dead Milkmen (Punk Rock Girl)
Awesome, Dirty Fun: "I screamed "Kill Whitey!" at the top of my lungs, at the cops in their cars and the men in their suits. No, I won't take your hand and marry the State." - Against Me! (Baby, I'm an Anarchist!)
Everyday Life Troubles: "Mardi Gras came and went, all my money has been spent. How 'm I gonna pay the rent sitting on my ass? Who mistook the steak for chicken? Whom I gonna stick my dick in?" - Moldy Peaches (Steak for Chicken)
Money: "I wanna be a tool, don't need no soul. Wanna make big money, playing rock and roll." - Dead Kennedys (Pull My Strings)

To me, music first and foremost means "Life," because I don't think I'd even be alive if it wasn't for Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" and all the other songs the house band at the bar my parents met at used to play back in 1980.

"It's hard to be patient...when we've all grown up in a society that's based off of instant gratification."

That quote is quite a difficult truth to fight against and something that I've been attempting to do all year now...and will now ramble about in the coming paragraphs.

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As time goes by, I've noticed that I really need to change the way that I go about treating others. I'm growing and becoming far more self-aware. Not only have I noticed past mistakes and been working to make sure that they are no longer duplicated in the future, but I feel that I must make up for my past mistakes by making amends with those that I treated poorly. After-all, I do not believe that I can claim to change without showing through my actions that this is actually happening. Words are nothing if not backed up by evidence. It's not exactly that I believe in a clearly defined right or wrong to my actions, but I do know that I did not treat people with enough respect or kindness. In fact, I think I treated the most important people the worst. Doesn't make too much sense to most I'm sure, but I understand why I did it. Again, I don't believe that these actions were right or wrong, but they were not how I wish that I would have acted; these things that I did were quite foolish and selfish. When I was making them, I was a foolish and selfish person. Right now, I am no longer either...well, perhaps I am still a little foolish.

I feel that growing up is a whole lot more difficult than society may have led us all to believe (perhaps we should blame TV). It's not just about getting a job and becoming self sufficient. It's not about starting a family, finding your significant other, or becoming successful (I've known people who have accomplished all of these things and I wouldn't consider all of them to be grown up yet). These are all quick fixes followed by slight feelings of accomplishment in yourself that will eventually dissipate over time, leaving you with a still empty hole. I think that growing up may be best accomplished through failure: the more mistakes you make, the more you learn, the quicker you grow. However, that learning part is completely up to you. Will you pay attention to the mistakes that you've been making and choose to learn from them or will you keep repeating them while hoping to gain another outcome to the situation? Even worse: will you choose to believe that you've been making the correct decision and choose to be stuck on the first step the entire time...making mistakes over and over again while thinking that none of the fault lies in your decision making process? This was my decision for a long time. Luckily I came across a huge mistake...well, a few actually, but the good thing was that they were all fairly large enough to where I could not ignore them. Lucky me, right? Answer: Yes. They helped to lead to an awakening of sorts. Now I'm reaping the benefits of sacrifice and patience...which are currently none other than a clear conscience which only recently developed...the actual conscience I mean; it wasn't really there before. I guess you can say that I also developed a clearer understanding of the future and what needs to be done. I no longer hold onto some insane notion that things will fall into place if they are "meant-to-be." Nothing is "meant-to-be." Everything takes effort. In fact, you can make incorrect decisions into the "meant-to-be" decision if you so choose. Anything can become the "meant-to-be" outcome if you work hard enough to trick yourself by ignoring certain facts. The hardest part of making the correct decisions is taking the time to analyze each and every aspect to make sure that you're not missing anything. I realize that it's hard to be patient with such a time consuming process when we've all grown up in a society that's based off of instant gratification, but sometimes the best things really are worth waiting for.

Think about that last part for a second. How often are you willing to wait in a line for something that you actually need? How often do you find yourself wishing that others would speed up to accommodate you? Why didn't whatever random event that you just attended start on time? Why couldn't the people running it have been more considerate to you? Where is the person that you will be spending the rest of your life with? Why aren't they here now? Why aren't they ready for you now? Few people are willing to wait for others or to take the time to make necessary things work. That even pertains to love...few people are willing to wait for someone incredibly special. Everyone loves getting high off of those initial honeymoon feelings that they feel during dating and expect that they should feel that way all the time. People jump from one person to the next for some very simple reasons sometimes: attractiveness, a slightly similar interest in whatever. Friendships turn to dating as the result of loneliness. Eventually the honeymoon dies away when one person begins to long for something more. Another jump is made...and then another. Are these people actually looking in the right direction? Do they even know what they're looking for anymore? Is it anything other than a cure for loneliness? Does love even exist anymore? Did it ever?

I'd like to think that the answer to that last part is "yes," but I notice often that people are destroying any sort of notion of real love. I notice that the word is thrown around too often without any real thought about its meaning. That might not be everyone's fault though...maybe again the TV and media are to blame (though this could be far too easy of an explanation). I feel that real love is being glossed over by fake love...I feel that we're losing our sense of it. With that said, I should make the note that I've never been in love nor am I sure that I would notice it when it came along. Even if I did, I'm willing to bet that I'd question my feelings so much that I'd convince myself that I really did not feel the love for this person and that it must be a hallucination...a fake love like those that I alluded to earlier. Maybe, sorta, kinda I could have been falling in love...until I came to that realization and then I'd destroy any notion that it was the truth. I'd make the world's worst song writer. No one wants to hear about a "maybe, sorta, kinda love that I had for you but ignored because it must not be the truth." What a confusing, mixed up song that would be. It's a good thing that no one would ever publish those words.

When asked the question "do you think that you've ever been in love and have just ignored it like you mentioned might occur?" I find that I can honestly answer "no." Love, in my opinion takes a long time to develop. True love that is. I don't believe that I've ever dated anyone long enough to have developed such love or to even be positive that I was not lying to myself.

Over time I've come to think that perhaps I'm sabotaging myself. Perhaps I'm thinking about it too much to ever be able to feel it. I hold it up on such a high pedestal that when it finally comes along, I'd analyze it and if I found one mistake it in, I'd discard it. "Oh, she's not quite into the same sport teams, well, that doesn't make us compatible for love." "She doesn't like the same condiments, that must mean that we're not in love." My understanding of love is finding that someone who is so into the same things and has such a similar personality that nothing would ever go wrong between those two people (See? Pedestal.)...but perhaps I'm incorrect about this. On the other hand, just because I have a whole lot of fun with a person does not mean that they're compatible as my other half. Here I'd be so attracted to them and having so much fun that I forget that they are nothing more than a friend. I used to do that quite a bit in dating. I can't say that I've ever dated more than one or two women that were ever anything more than a friend. It just took me too long to realize those facts and I continued dating these friends up to that point and when that point came, I'd notice they were falling for me and I was left with no more than feelings of friendship and lust for their body. Those moments created problems. My actions after those moments created even more. This realization is part of why I'm making steps to rectifying things with these people.

These days when posed with such questions, I sit myself down and think everything over. "Sure she's really attractive. Sure we have a lot of fun together and have some interesting things in common. I bet that we could successfully date for a while with some effort and I bet the sex would be really good too...but should we be more than friends? What reasons do I have for being with her? Why wouldn't I choose someone else? What have I learned in my past about putting myself in these types of situations?" Those sort of things are important to consider. Sure this thought process has left me quite lonely lately and sure I feel some crazy sexual urges these days like I've never felt before because I used to be getting it every week, but it's not all for nothing. I have my reasons and I'm completely confident at this point that I'm making the correct decisions.

It's funny, the women (not specifying how many or which ones; could be one person, could be all 15 that I've dated in the past 5 years) that I cared for the most were not the ones that I was the most physically attracted to. They were not the "hottest" and the sex was not the best technically...and yet, they were and it was. Does that make any sense? The times were the most fun even if not as perfect as the last or even as easy. Perhaps I'm not making sense. I myself am still having trouble understanding why that is. Why the least perfect is the most perfect. Why the least safe decision was the safest. I've taken a lot of time to think about this and most of it defies explanation; defies logic. Perhaps that's my fault; I rely too much on logic and while the situation contained much logical reason as to why it was occurring, there were those moments when it did not exist at all that caused me to become horribly confused. Maybe it's this reliance on logic that is hampering my ability to find love. When I fight against the illogical, perhaps I am fighting against any sort of notion of love that is coming up. Perhaps love is just that: illogical.

It is actually a fact that I am consciously fighting against finding serious commitment and love. I still have issues stemming from my first serious relationship. Abandonment issues, issues with becoming vulnerable and then being betrayed all within a short period of time (five months to be exact). I close myself off as tightly as possible. I've become more and more monotone as the years have gone on. Passion does not often factor into my relationships anymore because passion leads to vulnerability and vulnerability ultimately leads to being hurt...at least in my mind. The decision that I made long ago is that I'd rather never love than to be hurt again (not that I ever loved in the first place). This inevitably causes problems for me as well as those that I accidentally let into close proximity to me.

I'm currently fighting these past decisions regarding relationships and women and working to change things around. I've done quite a bit of work on it and made a great deal of progress but I cannot honestly say that I have fully fixed things. I still have a ways to go and who knows when I'll be done or even what necessary steps are still ahead of me. I do know what I want though and I do know how to get it...mostly. At least I finally know what I want...that means quite a bit to me. It allows me to be able to take more steps forward. It helps to give me something to be patient for and I find solace in having evidence of my changes. They are occurring, I can see them, and they would hold up under rigorous testing. This makes me happy. Valid evidence that can be tested in a controlled, scientific environment always makes me happy.

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Side note: I need to stop having run-ins with electricity and power saws. Negative run-ins that is. 70% of the time nothing bad happens...but that other 30% is damn annoying.

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Side note #2: Billy Dee Williams is the man.

...and it has renewed its jihad on me with a vengeance ever since the month of December started.

So you say that you've never heard of this syndrome before, well then, let me describe it for you.

Imagine that you're riding in a car with a friend. You two are just talking, laughing, having a grand ole time and generally carrying on without worry. For a second you turn your head to stare down the car that just cut your friend off and when you look back at your buddy, he's magically a mile away; he's still siting in the driver's seat, but now both he and the seat look so tiny off in the distance. The world around you has slowed as well. The cars are all proceeding in slow motion and even your friends tiny lips off in the distance seem to be projecting words at a slower pace. Yet, everything that you do is now sped up...almost like you've just been injected with a massive amount of cocaine. This is the point where you bring your hands up to rub your eyes as if they've been playing tricks on you and now you begin to notice that your hands are shrinking and your fingers are getting skinnier and more frail. Obviously you're horrified; who wouldn't be while watching their hands disappear and their world turn upside down. You shake your head a bit, close your eyes, and when you open them a minute later everything is back to normal and your friend never even noticed how stretched out the car became or that your movements probably should have looked like a blur to him because you we moving so quickly. No, everything is back to normal and the only one who will ever know what happened just then is you.

Another scenario: You're in your basement playing video games when your head begins to feel a bit floaty and you feel the cold steel of what feels like someone with a butter knife cracking open your skull. You hear thumping on the stairs and when you look over, you see your dog coming down for a visit...only this time he looks the size of a rabbit and he's sort of hopping along like one as well. Maybe you've been playing games for too long you think, so you get up to grab a drink of water and within half a second, you're already up the stairs and in the bathroom gulping down water. You feel like the superhero Flash. You never ran, but for some reason you walk at the speed of light now; the world around you blowing by as you break the laws of nature. When you leave the bathroom, you notice that the hallway is spinning; not spinning like a top, but spinning like a fun house hallway...from right to left. You get dizzy and all of a sudden feel your feet sinking into the ground. You try hard to keep your balance, try not to pay attention to the quick sand forming around you, but as soon as you look down, you fall. You black out for a few seconds and when you open your eyes, the world is back to normal and you head back downstairs to turn off your video games because you know this particular one triggered your hallucinations.

So this is what I live with. It doesn't happen to often these days, but when I was growing up (from around 5 to 18) it would happen a minimum of once a month. Then it slowed to once a year and the excruciating migraine that I described in the second scenario when away altogether. Lately though, they've been back; sometimes mild and sometimes extreme like the other day when I had one last all day long.

Sometimes it can be quite fun. I don't do drugs and probably never will, but luckily with AIWS I get a chance to experience things similar to what people on LSD normally do. And if I'm listening to my punk rock music, it always turns into weird, melodic lullabies that give a feeling of being in a demented children's story. That's never too bad of a time when it happens.

However, there are some completely negative drawbacks. To say the least, what I go through is quite scary from time to time. I lived in fear of myself as a child because that's just what happens when you spend so many nights sitting in a giant white tube in a hospital having your brain scanned and over and over again the doctors say that they have no idea what's wrong with you. Luckily at those times you don't understand the meaning of the words "schizophrenic" or "epilepsy." Though again, luckily that's also not what's wrong with you. All the while, random hallucinations pop up out of extreme moments of agony and I start spending significant portions of my childhood curled up in a ball in a corner crying. Eventually my parents come across a neurologist who has heard of what he refers to as Lewis Carroll Migraines (named for the author of "Alice in Wonderland" who also suffered from the same syndrome). He starts describing to my parents and I episodes that are nearly identical to mine. While he describes them, my father realizes that he has the exact same thing and that he suffered silently through his childhood with it, never telling anyone. This is when we learn that AIWS is hereditary

My hallucinations always seems to be triggered in ways similar to what you'd expect from an epilepsy sufferer. I've dealt with it for so long that I can actually pinpoint which light or sound it was that threw my world into such a confused state. As such, the Water Temple in the Legend of Zelda games has always held a special significance to me. Not only was Zelda my favorite of games as a kid (I'm referring to many different editions, not just Ocarina of Time which is arguably the best and is the main aggressor in this situation), but Zelda eventually became the bane of my childhood existence whenever I tried to progress past the Water Temple. It was the music combined with the way Link's world transformed when he dove underwater to fight his way through the temple. Sucked to never be able to finish your favorite game and more so to even develop a fear of it.

Another negative thing was never being able to tell people about it. You can imagine the fear of having people think that you're crazy (I'm sure some who will read this actually are thinking it). I just learned the other day that I never even told my best friend about it. For nearly 18 years of our time together, he had no idea what I'd been going through. The majority of my family also doesn't know; not that their knowledge of such things would matter anyway...it doesn't serve to help anyone.

I can't really say what this means to me. It's a huge part of who I am and not a day goes by when I don't wonder if my hands are going to shrink or the world around me is going to change to make me feel like I'm Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

Songs from two of my favorite bands to listen to right there. I figured that I could have worked up an elaborate sentence including song titles from all of the bands that I've been listening to this week, but really, I'm way too lazy for that. Writing is fun for me...fuck the work.

Oh nihilism...I used to do nihilism back in the day. Ironically enough, I didn't care much for it.

You know, I'm quite proud of the majority of my actions these days (mostly with how I conduct myself and progress...while sober...a fact which led to an interesting conversation with my distraught uncle). I guess that's my main sin these days then. My others: Lust and Envy. I'm fighting Lust because I feel like doing so and Envy...well, everyone envies others in some way. I'd like to meet someone who claims to not be subject to any of the original seven deadly sins. Personally I'm a big fan of all of them...except Wrath. It could just be my upbringing or whatever zen-like experience I had to overcome my anger problems, but I see very little reason to get hot-headed these days. So I feel bad for those experiencing Wrath. I don't recall it ever being enjoyable.

I've learned recently that apparently three men in England have murdered their wives or significant others for changing their Facebook relationship status to single. Ri-fucking-diculous. I really hate what the Internet has done to relationships. I'm not saying that I'm immune to its effects (wish I was 100%), but it seems that every relationship (or even just dating experience) that I enter into, I have to explain to the other person why I refuse to put my relationship status up on Facebook. Perhaps this will change one day, but mine has been absent for 4 years and will possibly remain that way for another 4. Unless I come up with some joke that I think is hilarious.

I'm amazed at how well I can deal with people's bullshit and the drama that seems to be injected into my life recently. I guess I've dealt with so many crazies in my past that I'm prepared for anything. Shit, after what I put up with those people, I can deal with just about anything in a calm, collected demeanor. Definitely wasn't like that a year ago and worse even earlier on. I remember snapping at people, being told that I was "scary" when mad, I remember the holes that I put in walls, and I remember breaking up with people for small infractions like being upset that I didn't call them for a few days. Like I said, must have been some sort of zen experience. Whatever it is, I'm not arguing with it.

I look very fondly on my past; even the parts where I was a huge asshole. After all, my past has shaped who I am now and I happen to like who I am.

"I'm so swanky that I want to jump my own bones."

I have made leaps and bounds into nerdier territory. It's fantastic. I didn't think that I could get any worse, but I'm pretty sure that I have.

You know, my annual Super Bowl ritual with my father does not usually end in me getting my ass kicked. This year it almost did. Perhaps he shouldn't have backed a loser. Ha! Sucks to be you dad!

I hate the notion of the helpless damsel who always requires someone else's assistance and pretty much just sits there and takes any punishment dished out at her. Lame. Helpless, co-dependent women are so not my type. How are they any person's type? Do some people really get off on being the white knight type guy? I mean, I'll come to any friend's aid if they need it, but taking care of someone 24/7? No way. If you can't go a few days without hearing my voice and then start questioning everything in the whole wide world, you're a psycho. Shit, I guess I would act the same way to such things that I did in the past...though the difference now is that I wouldn't flip out with anger. I'd tell them calmly: "You're a psycho." Apparently I'll always be a bit of an asshole. I blame the Willinghams.

Copyright infringement on an artist's photography sucks. I speak as someone who used to steal without thinking twice about it and rarely pays for music...but really, my main problem is that people just don't ask me if they can use my work. Ask...I'll say yes. Unless you're doing something perverted with it or destroying everything that I put into the image. Nothing annoys me more than someone altering my work without talking to me about it first.

Jason introducing me to his new girlfriend: "Yeah, this is the guy who didn't really care about anyone or their feelings."

So yeah, I've hurt a whole lot of people in the past. Do I regret it? Hmm, not really. Can't say that I feel the slightest bit bad about it. Is it possible that I'm an even bigger dick for not experiencing regret? I don't know; I don't think so at least. I'd like to think that I meant to do everything that I did and had good reason for doing so. That's not always the truth, I do not mean half the shit that I do when I'm incredibly, incredibly drunk (I don't get there often) and I probably mean zero percent of the shit that I do or say after drinking whiskey. Jury's still out on that one. Hard to draw a conclusion from shit that you don't remember. But no, I don't regret breaking so many hearts. I went about trying to let people off easily at various points of my past, but still, people took it the wrong way. I tried to let people break things off with me so that they felt in control, but when I didn't chase them, they flipped the fuck out. Regardless of what I do, I will probably always be breaking someone's heart. Just part of life.

What I do regret, when my plans go awry. Like those times when I've been arrested or fined by the police. Nine out of ten times I saw it coming and had the ability to change the course of events...but I fucked up and got myself in trouble. I don't so much regret getting in trouble, I just regret not doing my best to avoid it. However, I should compare those situations to all those times in which I got away clean with other such acts. I'm sure they outweigh my failures...otherwise I wouldn't even try anymore.

In everyday conversation, the ellipsis seems to have become my best friend.

There it is, the future, right in front of me...so close that I can grasp it and yet I'm not allowed; not yet. I feel as if I'm stuck behind a velvet rope, waiting for the bouncer to take it down. So here I wait, building myself up as best I can in preparation for when I can finally cross that line.

Normal people are only "normal" because they don't do shit and don't take risks. They're "perfect" is actually perfect. Who the fuck wants to be that type of "perfect?" Not me. I'll take my little slice of insanity and craziness and cherish it forever.

Life requires taking risks if you plan on having any fun.

You should always be open minded to a situation, especially if even half of its aspects seem to make you happy. Had I not done that, I never would have started drinking, street racing, exploring abandoned buildings, B&E, and other such awesome/stupid activities.

The Pac-Man on my camera delights me.

"For someone like you to criticize me is really the height of hypocrisy."

Apparently buying a round of 9 beers for your friends at a bar on dollar PBR night makes you a high roller in the eyes of the bartender ("9 BEERS! DAMN!" says the bartender)...or maybe he was just wondering how I was going to get them all back to my group. Well, that's why I have friends.

So I'm still failing to understand why people are getting married around my age. Perhaps I'm just not like the majority (which would do nothing but make me happy as a squirrel on a pile of nuts), but I just can't see getting married before age 30...at least. And then kids? Fuck, maybe after 35. Both events just seem to serve to destroy any chance of a person having a future that they'd enjoy. I'm not going to sacrifice my possibilities because I have children; I'll probably just end up taking it out on them and my significant other in the future. So why people start a family so early I have no clue. I should start asking them. Right now I figure it either has something to do with religion or a fear of loneliness.

Also, I'm not a believer in things like "love at first sight." I understand falling in love quickly, but at first sight? Nah. It's just another one of those things that I wish people wouldn't interpret so literally...the strict definition is ridiculous...kinda like all religions.

I have a new Russian doctor who seems cool but wears turtlenecks. Seriously? You're inside all day...wear something cooler that doesn't look like it's choking the shit out of you. I feel like I'm being choked just by staring at it. Then they make a person's neck look freakishly long; I'm talking Chelsea Clinton long. Coincidentally she wears turtlenecks too...bitch.

I don't know how I became a surf punk. I don't surf, I don't live by a beach, and I'm currently surrounded by fields of deep snow. Yet here I am, listening to surf punk like I have been since I first learned how to operate a stereo.

My life is just full of ridiculous events and I couldn't be happier about it.

Respect.

That's the name of the game.


This place, it never felt like home. It only felt as if every other place I'd been was just farther from being a home. Though there was one place that I was comfortable...one place in which my anxiety and longing of things beyond my grasp disappeared. Since then, I've longed to find a place similar...and it's definitely no where near here.

"Baby, it's really growin', you made me happy every single day.

But now I've got to go away."



"Leave you when the summer comes a-rollin.'"

I often look towards music for inspiration in times when perhaps I'm experiencing a creative block. Music from my childhood always seems to do the trick. Though it's funny that the music from my childhood is the same as the music from my parents' childhood. That's what I get for being born to hippies.

Have you ever felt a need to be part of something extremely special?

A clone or doppelganger of Edie Sedgwick haunts my dreams and thoughts.

I see a couple on a park bench in love, holding hands...they are dying...or have already died.

I once posed the question "Do you think someone would get upset if you started digging their grave while they were still alive?" Then recently, during my trips to a graveyard, I came to the realization that such things already exist. However, most of these people I'm sure bought the plots and headstones for themselves; they already paid for the inscriptions and know exactly where they'll be once their heart gives out. However, now I have a different question to pose: "Have these people given up?" They've come to accept their mortality, but I can't tell if that's giving up or not.

"I'm lost without them. I'm honored to have been 'Dad.'" reads the grave of Donald Willingham...who is still among the living.
"My greatest reward in life was just to be 'Mom.'" reads the grave of Rita...also among the living.

I feel everyone around me giving up. On one thing or another, I see people everywhere throwing so much away. I'm not sure the individual causes: fear, depression, hate, anger, a loss of that loving feeling...a loss of that internal drive that humans need to keep going. Everything is just getting thrown right out the door.

Something changes in a person once they leave college...or just get to that certain age (for those that don't attend college...but maybe I'm wrong, maybe they don't get this at all). I can't fully explain this phenomena unless you've felt it. Needs change, wants change, thoughts, ideas...everything. A year ago I couldn't understand this. A year ago I was quite scared at the thought...I even ran away from things that had been experiencing such a change...ran away from someone who knew. I can't say now if that was a bad choice or not...I just didn't understand. Perhaps that's just part of the process: figuring it out for yourself. Point is, I don't blame year ago Chris; he still had 365 days of growing to deal with.

The only thing that I can recall that felt similar was when I made the decision to stop being associated with people dying, so I stopped an extra curricular activity. But then I was sacrificing for something...I don't know what I'm sacrificing now...if anything.

So word has been traveling through my family that my Uncle Bill is on the verge of death again. No word about whether or not this second heart attack actually killed him like the first one did, but not we're all sure he'll die soon since he'll be living the next few years on the whim of a pacemaker. I figure we'll find out when he's died (and finally can't be revived) sometime at least a year after the actual event of his death. I still don't know why he likes to hide from the family so badly.

"Then don't ask...just let me offer."

This is what I hear when I shoot down any notion of asking for help. So, for the first time in my life, I consciously let someone help me. Let me tell you, it does not feel good either. I received no burden off of my back, I made no sigh of relief...I am burdened more now. This is what happens...this is how I was raised: Willinghams don't ask for help, Willinghams don't impose on anyone else. No matter what the situation, I can't tell you how shitty it makes me feel to have anyone do anything for me. Well, unless you count doctors, but those fuckers are getting paid so I feel no shame.

The amount of gray hair on top of my head has doubled since the beginning of the year. It's slightly ridiculous how fast my hair turns from black to silver.

The events surrounding the past three weeks involving three people who have been in my life for various stages and time periods has only served to cause me to question reality...even more so than I ever did during those years in which I studied the works of Rene Descartes.

I've picked my career...now we'll see how it suits me for these next two years.

I'm not sure exactly what sparks change...but I know it when I feel it.

You know, it's not that I hate cows, but I really like steak (and veal is pretty damn good too...especially in an asparagus sauce) and I feel that for some reason, I can't like steak and cows at the same time.

The only blind man that I've ever seen crossing the street was not using the designated "Blind Person X-ing" crosswalk. I wonder if he knew. Then I thought, what seeing person decides where the blind people cross?

I have very vivid dreams these days. They cause me to jolt awake somewhere around 7am every morning no matter what time I fall asleep.

You know, there's no reason to ever talk about anything if you don't plan on following through with what you say.

I have scars in all the right places and I've deserved all of them...well, I'm not too sure about the one, but at least it will serve as a good reminder for the next few years and like all the rest, it has a good story.

You know, I've always had trouble understanding those couples that will forsake the whole world of people around them just to be able to spend every waking moment with each other. I mean, I understand wanting to see someone or maybe seeing them quite often if something that will draw you apart soon is coming up, but all the time? All the time while kicking everyone else out of your life? That...that I do not understand. Friends are too important a part of life to get rid of any of them. If they stick by you and you turn them away for someone else, then you are betraying them. What happens the next time you need them? What if they don't show up? Whose fault is it? Most likely your own.

Then there's this whole loss of freedom and individuality that I see happening in couples that scares me. I've been seeing that since I was born and I never liked the thought of it. I don't want to be stuck with one person for the rest of my life...just seeing them and no one else; that's not happiness to me.

I like my music how I like my life: bluesy, psychedelic, chaotic, and fun.

I live in a world where only people with silly hats are cool, everyone has a true love, and squirrels are elected pope.

Above my desk I hang reminders of things to never put myself or my family through...ever. These are various sins and warnings. To the untrained eye...to everyone else who doesn't ask what they are, at first glance one would think that these are happy memories but they are not. They are just life lessons.

I've missed my opportunity to go dancing through the fields.

As much as people will try to convince you otherwise, life is nothing but a game. A game without 1-ups, magical mushrooms, fire flowers, or evil-turtle fighting Italian plumbers. There will however be plenty of you running around chasing coins and pretty princesses in pink dresses.

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So college ends. Now what? Well, now I've got quite a bit of time to myself to think about life. To think about jobs. To think about where I want to be anywhere between now and five years from now. Time to reevaluate plans that I had. The ones that I've been holding onto for years, the ones that I never had much hope about, the ones that I put on hold for others, and ones that I've picked up recently. I'm giving them all thought and more than that, I'm doing what I do best: planning. First in my head, second on paper (or digitally on a computer...it's all the same these days), and third...well, I'm not quite to the third step yet, the third step is action.

Fear is no longer a driving force in my life. I figure it's too short...I figure I'll do something too stupid to correct if I keep up this whole being afraid crap. I'm not saying that this single act of recognition of a problem and my subsequent attempt to right things is going to cause all the missing pieces to fall into place or fix my life completely, but I am working towards this notion of perfection. I mean, what do you really have in life if not a drive to better who you are? I don't know about you, but I'm not going to reserve myself to sitting here doing nothing with my time. I'm not going to be in this same exact spot ten years from now. Hell, I can't even stand to be like this tomorrow morning, but that right there is just me being anxious...lacking patience which is something that I also need to work on.

Look at me; I'm full of flaws. It's not that bothersome though...I can deal with problems; I've been dealing with my own my whole life...with no help from others. That right there, also my fault. I chose, instead of trusting others, to work through everything that eats at me in quiet reflection. I can't say for sure whether or not sharing with someone would have helped...I still don't trust others enough to tell them. I don't even trust my parents or any family member with this information. There is only one person who has been told any extent of it and it's likely to remain that way for a while. But maybe I'm making too big of a deal about this. Maybe I should just suck it up and confess these dark things. Maybe I should just reach out to others. Talking about doing it is so much easier than actually going through with it. I must confess, telling it to even one person was difficult enough...quite painful actually (a few of my problems were conflicting with the very act of confessing). Then there's the whole Willingham solidarity with their ideas of standing on one's own...of hiding one's problems from the world. Everyone likes to put on this nice, happy face for strangers and outsiders...hell, I do it as well. But you don't really know, you don't get to feeling when we're standing there in front of you, smiling. You'll never have a clue. Perhaps one day you'll see it...when one of us snaps. Let me tell you something, that right there is not a pretty sight. It's happened to me twice in the past 5 years. Twice have I broken down. Twice have I dropped my guard. The surprise on the faces and in the voices of my friends are enough to bring my guard right back up...but for whose sake? For mine? For yours? Did I cover it up in an attempt to stop embarrassing myself or did I do it so that you would no longer feel uncomfortable? Or perhaps I did it so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable around me anymore which in a sense is more a selfish act for myself.

I wonder if when anyone reads this, they ask themselves, "Isn't he confessing to secrets right now?" How hard is it to confess to this? Not hard at all. I am flawed and that is the truth. I am deceptive and secretive. Though you may learn that, you still do not know my secrets. Right now I'm just hoping that someone gets a better idea of when I'm hiding my true self. If it's harder to hide my true self, then my goal of being more open and honest will be accomplished at a quicker pace. Telling others about this is no less a selfish act than keeping my guard up and my true emotions hidden is.

So there you have it...Chris' new found honesty. Will it work out for him? Only those who can tell the future are in a position to answer such a thing. Will you ever learn these dark secrets of which Chris speaks? I wouldn't get my hopes up if I was you. I can think of one way in which you'd find out...but right now I'm going to just go ahead and bet against you. So now you can stop going around hoping that I'd become less mysterious one day.

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Now I've got to think to myself. Should I live for myself or continue living for those people that I've sacrificed so much for? Does moving on now ruin all the progress that I made in the past? Does moving on mean that the things that I used to do and say mean nothing now?

I've never been a big fan of waste. That thought that I did anything for any period of time and it became a waste is just not a great feeling. Logically, I think, I could have done so many more constructive things with my time. Contrasting that, the worst feeling that I can feel is not wasting enough time on something. When I think about an experience that has passed me by, an opportunity that I have squandered, I begin to...mourn. That's the best way in which I can describe it. Nothing bothers me about not being able to change the course of an event, but everything bothers me about my lack of an attempt to correct a situation when I had ample opportunity to do so.

This time of year always makes me miss playing sports. Also, I think I regret never playing football. I'm sure with the speed that I used to have, I could have done just fine as a running back. I used to think I'd be a decent wide receiver, but my eyes are far too shitty for that.

I seriously regret not buying that Che Guevara flag when I came across it in Italy. The possibility of being temporarily detained by US customs would have been worth it. I'm sure getting out of that situation would have been just as easy as lying on the questionnaire that we received on our way back into the US.

Double wielding makes me feel like a cowboy.

Americans are far too concerned with time and schedules.

"I tapped her on the shoulder
And said, 'Do you have a beau?'
She looked at me and smiled...
And said she did not know."

So the world is going to shit. We have the Cuban Missile Crisis Volume 2.0 heating up, but we should just refer to this one as the "Hugo Chavez goes crazy and masturbates to pictures of himself holding Russian weapons" crisis. Then to take our mind off of that we have a reincarnation of the Six-Day War that is now however being started by Israel, is lasting longer, and may even begin to involve more nations opposing Israel.

"Your beard gets in the way of things."

Modesty has destroyed our ability to be comfortable around one another. I tend to think that it may be sin number 8.

I have an ethical issue with Alcoholics Anonymous. I want to spike the punch at their meetings and tell them that they are all in control of their own lives, that they need to surrender themselves to no one, and that addiction is something that you can control on your own if you apply yourself enough.

There's nothing righteous about killing a world full of plants in defense of the animal kingdom. It's discrimination no matter how you folks decide to look at it.

"I just wish that this wasn't a horrible time to meet someone that's more than just a charming diversion."

My favorite conversations with my mother are the ones that end with the words "shut up before I smack you" coming from her lips.

Naturally, I hate the word love. More so for the confusing signals that are associated with it in my life. Mostly I hear it during desperate situations, from family members when anyone seems to be worried about something, and occasionally used during the parting words escaping a friend's mouth. It's one of those words that mean a lot of different things to different people. I guess I'm just another one of those people with my own definition that others have a hard time matching...or understanding.

I think that porn writers are far more creative than they are given credit for.

Man, I haven't written poetry in quite some time.

"I love the little circles that you run.
Around the trees,
In and out of bushes,
Through fields of swaying grass.
I can't get my mind off those eyes.

Your skirt blows in the wind
As you whisper curses upon my heart.
My soul is a playing field
And I can't help but love the feeling
Of you running up and down,
Trampling every blade of grass."

I think the title should be "A Dreamer's Lament."

This poem may have been my favorite from back in the day; it is called "Thrust" and was obviously about the nature of my sex life. A little amateur now that I look back on it, but hilarious still. Here it is:

"Hump Me
Hump Me
Whip Me
Whip Me
Beat Me
Beat Me
Ride Me
Ride Me
Take Me
Take Me
Erase
My
Memory"

Hell, can that even be called a poem?

"You say you'll never fall, as you step over that wall. Nothing is changing as you pick up the pieces from the last time. The world has stopped spinning and yet you keep on floating by as if nothing happened; refusing to recognize the obvious. You say you'll never fall...but you're already tripping forward.

Keep on trying because it's what you're good at: running away from your problems and never looking back. Watch yourself...otherwise you're really going to get hurt one day."

Running away is something that I've always been good at.

I should have gone red and black a long time ago.

When my appetite returns, I'm sure that I'll be a whole lot more excited about my day to day activities.

I wonder if it's possible to have shaggy hair and not look homeless? Hmm, I guess we'll find out soon...I may have to sacrifice my beard for such an appearance.

I've only ever voluntarily danced with one person. Now that I think about it...that's kinda lame. I mean, I dance all the time by myself, but not with others? And sure as hell not with others in public...well, I did, just not voluntarily...except for that previously mentioned time. But yeah, perhaps I should ask someone to dance with me when it's just the two of us. Don't know why I never thought of that.

I know what my first tattoo is going to be now. I know that I've probably stated this before and I even have a finished version of the old one, but at the moment, it just doesn't seem right. Something about it is off and considering how important that one is, I need to put it off until I feel better about it.

I remember a time when I used to be horribly clumsy. Now it seems like years since I've tripped. Oddly enough, I now walk with my head higher than ever. Funny how that works out.

Forget about all the risks of romance and start focusing on the rewards.

I've turned down sex far too many times this year already. Something about changing and growing up. Or maybe that's not it. Maybe it's for these reasons that could possibly cause me to want to kick myself later. Regardless, I've decided to try something new: facing fears, standing instead of running, and you could even say that I'm trying to correct my karma (for those of you that believe in that sort of thing).

I miss my photographic memory. I'm not sure what to blame anymore: old age or alcohol.

I never cared much for the American Dream.

"And if I lent my arm to you,
Would you hold me and embrace me?"

No matter what you do, life is going to be complicated, but you have a responsibility to try and work at it...at least for those who care for you.

The exit door is not made of gold.

This is one of my favorite poems...no, scratch that, it is my favorite. Perhaps that's just because of how I originally heard it and now every time that I read it, I imagine it being read with such sorrow and passion and it never fails to give me goosebumps.

Right now, it fits my mood.

"Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast intombed,
And last of all thy greedy self consumed,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss,
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood;
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine
About the supreme throne
Of Him, t' whose happy-making sight alone
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,
Then, all this earthly grossness quit,
Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time."

As anyone may guess, I disagree with Milton's notion of an afterlife. He was a hardcore protestant, but lived in England during the 1600s so he can't be blamed for anything other than following the crowd...and quite possibly his own heart; I can't fault any individual for such a deed.

So while I disagree with the notion of the "supreme throne" and the "heav'nly-guided soul," I do agree with the sweet serenity of triumphing over time.

My name is Christopher John Willingham. I share my middle name with my Grandfather Carl John Saliba and my first name is mine because my parents liked the sound of it; though the first suggestion by my father was "Sue." It's because he's a Johnny Cash fan.

I'm monotone, slightly (or potentially completely) vain, devoid of most emotions most of the time, loud, condescending, and manipulative.

I'm completely fine with shutting my emotions off from others, but my family never gets to experience them. I fear that will be a hard thing for me to change; even when I made a conscious decision to lose a lot of my independence to help them out more...I still just can't show them.

I repeat myself often because I fear that people don't hear me...or worse: don't understand me.

I like penguins and squirrels and I wish to clone an army of both.

I hold grudges. I do not like people treating those that I care like shit...I do not accept apologies easily and I don't see the inherent good in everyone.

I don't like lies and at times can be overly inquisitive.

For years I've been suppressing an anger problem that plagued the majority of my life as well as the walls of my parents' house. I've been successful for a while now.

I come off as the jealous or possessive type sometimes. I don't know why, because in my mind I'm the opposite and I greatly enjoy my time alone when I'm with someone...but perhaps I'm wrong...perhaps I'm ignoring the truth.

I like my music loud and not just because I have a bad left ear.

The only form of communication that I enjoy is talking face to face, but when things start getting horribly serious, I stumble and lose my footing; I worry far too much about making a fool of myself. My thoughts come much clearer when my fingers mediate.

I do a damn good job at holding back my tears which has been harder and harder to do since I lost my cousins. I'll go ahead and go out on a limb here and say that tears are being held at bay right now for certain thoughts fill my mind and I'm having trouble hiding it.

I finally understand the concept of heartbreak which would have seemed unlikely to me a few months ago. To me, love has always been stupid and silly though I will admit that I longed for it. I had a hard time finding it but for the few moments in which I experienced it...it was fantastic. I did not expect this sensation that I'm feeling now either.

I like puppies and kittens. I enjoy the company of family and friends, especially when they are being enjoyable.

I hate cars and everyone who drives them while they are driving them.

I think that guns would be awesome if it wasn't for their part in killing people. The same goes for the Hitler mustache.

Soul searching isn't quite turning out the way that I'd hoped. All I want now is a job (no specifics) and the only place that I want one is not here. I'm done with St. Louis and for the first time in my life, I'm ready to leave it behind for good...no going back.

Over the past few months I've been thinking a lot about teaching at inner city schools. I've always known that there's a need for people to teach in them, but I never really considered it until now. You'd think that St. Louis would be the best place for this...but fuck St. Louis...I want out.

I've gone back to my art now. I think I'll leave my aspirations of being a doctor or a politician behind. All I have now is my art and teaching and I like it that way. Education and photography has always been primary, everything else took a back seat. Who knows if either will get me anywhere but I'm perfectly fine with being broke for the rest of my life. At least I'm good at saving money...or at least I'm far better than I used to be.

I like walks on beaches and picnics...as cliche as that sounds.

I rather enjoy my nights. They are at their greatest for me when I'm enjoying the other things that I love simultaneously: puppies, kittens, art, reading, movies, walks on a beach, picnics, driving, exploring somewhere that no one else ventures to, and/or sitting on a rooftop alone while contemplating my life.

I enjoy cuddling.

I have a soft spot for things that I should not have a soft spot for.

I'm optimistic to a fault and mostly realize that everything will not work out as I wish...but I try anyway because I feel that most things deserve my effort.

One of these days someone will hate me enough to want to kill me...and I won't blame them...nor will I try to stop them.

I'm OCD and I can't even tell my best friends to what extent my problems go.

I won't photograph just anyone because I'm incredibly picky. Though I think that I may have lied to a few of you when I took your picture.

I'd be willing to sacrifice anything for a certain type of happiness.

I love a lot of people...but that's not the love that I wish for. You see, I have a way of using words in place of actual feelings that mean nothing close to what the word is used for.

I didn't think that I was ever capable of actually loving someone. Okay, maybe not optimistic to a fault, because obviously this thought is not a happy one and it's always been with me.

Well, all I can say is that I'm not always right and I'll never be pompous enough to believe that ever again.

Fuck me...what have I become?

I'm once again making my way through all the family "celebrations" of the current holiday season. Family get-togethers have been holding somber tones for over four years now. They're not so much celebrations though as they are wakes for those who are gone. Everyone seems to be mentioned. There are the obvious and most recent deaths of my cousin Angie, her two baby boys, and her brother and sister (my double first cousins) Amy and Brett who were run over by a dump truck while sitting still in morning traffic while eagerly awaiting a day at Six Flags (they were only half a mile from the entrance). It's still unsure if Angie and Amy (due to coroner's report) were alive as the fire raged and the thought occasionally pops up in some one's head.

There's grandma Willingham who was lucky enough to die in her sleep of old age before the cancer took her. Her husband (my grandfather) who was awesome enough to steal her from her high school sweetheart husband while he was in Europe fighting Nazis. He died of a heart attack when my father was 12.

The grandpa Saliba (who all refer to as Carl who was originally born as Kahlil or something similarly spelled) who was pissing blood for months before seeking treatment for the prostate cancer that would cause him to be frail and broken and claim his life 4 and a half years later (shortly before my fourth Christmas) because he was tired of doctors repeatedly sticking their fingers up his butt.

Then there's his father who died at middle age; the men in my family don't live too long (on both sides)...in case you hadn't already guessed.

My mother always raves about her uncle Nicky who at 23 (right after his release from the Navy) died in the ditch in front of his mother's house as she slept.

There's my uncle Bill (my father's older brother) who died a few years back and was later, miraculously, brought back to life and who only mentioned it in passing a few years later because he never sees us because his wife hates us.

And lastly there's my surviving grandmother's replacement husband who we all wish will die soon because he's always despised us, but it's cool because he's a prick anyway.

This was an especially nice Christmas though; the family dug up some old home videos. I saw Carl kicking my uncle Don's ass in a game of pool and spoiling me like he's famous for; which included letting me pee in the swimming pool which he'd kill anyone else for doing. There were videos of Amy and I playing together (and me not sharing but then cuddling on the couch with her later). Angie teaching me something and unsuccessfully attempting cartwheels uphill. Videos showing my Aunt Jan's emerging homosexuality which has been a hot topic in the family for 20 plus years. There were tapes showing both of my grandmothers feeding me and me never being able to take my eyes off of them. My father wearing his famous hideous t-shirts, flipping burgers, and smoking cigs. My brothers playing baseball and beating each other up. My great uncle Chuck telling dirty jokes and trying to look like a badass when he noticed that he was on camera. My great grandmother Saliba enticing me away from my mother with candy and then this video came with the information that her marriage to my great grandfather was arranged...crazy Lebanese folk.

But yeah...it's been an interesting holiday season. It tends to remind me of the song "Life is Shit" by the Dead Milkmen. It goes a little something like this:

"Life takes from us the things we love
And it robs us of the special ones
And it puts them high where we can't climb
And we only miss them all the time

And we sing:
Life is shit, life is shit
The world is shit, the world is shit
This is life as I know it. (x5)"

These family gatherings are still better than those from 5 years ago when no one spoke to each other, but certainly not better than those from 10 years ago when my grandmother Willingham was still alive...when the kids were still alive and everyone loved each other...when the youngest member of the family wasn't approaching 23. I miss it.

So earlier I came across a billboard proclaiming "It's okay to say Merry Christmas" with the quote attributed to Jesus. I'm assuming Jesus as in Jesus Christ, not Jesus as in the guy who re-shingled my roof after a big hail storm a few years back.

This coming after I spent a few minutes following behind a fully decked out, "patriotic" (I use quotes because I don't think the whole hating governmental opposition thing actually fits well with the original definition of Patriot) pick-up truck with a license plate that read "Sep-11."

Bah Humbug.

Note to self, new idea for a quote on a giant, annoying ass billboard: "It's okay to be a douche-bag, you're a good, God fearing Christian (non-Catholic) American." -GOD

or

"It's perfectly fine to feel like the whole nation is out to take down your dominant religion simply because some people would like to include others in the celebration." -Allah, Yahweh, Yeshua or any other name that you'd like to give to a "Lord" that you believe agrees with you on everything.

Fuck.

Scrooge and I would have been buds.

*A rough draft short story about my experience with jail food*

October 1st, 2008 is a day that will go down in infamy as the day that I learn the quality of chefs that St. Louis County jail employs.

Spydr, Eskimo, and I all met up at the Greyhound Station in downtown St. Louis around 2pm. After a bit of a drive and tossing back and forth ideas of what to do, we decided that perhaps a nice stroll through a park was a perfect idea on such a wonderful day. The park that we chose had it all: rolling hills, a lake, a forest, and a cliff overlooking the Mississippi River. We arrive around 3pm.

Other than Spydr threatening to throw me into the lake for contemplating fishing, it was a pretty normal day which I guess you could say is odd for people like us...or at least, for the people that others perceive us to be.

After wandering around in the woods for a while (about 30 minutes tops from when we entered the park), we come out to meet some cops, coincidentally also wandering around in the woods. Cop #1, St. Louis County Police Officer Hill badge #1025 wasted no time in putting handcuffs on Spydr and I with Cop #2 (we'll just refer to him as "the nice one") slowly following suit and handcuffing Eskimo. Officer Hill tells us that we shouldn't have been spreading "bad karma" around. I respond with a confused "What? I'm not really sure what you're talking about sir." He responds by yelling at Spydr over and over again the question "WHAT COLOR IS BUSCH STADIUM?!" Being from out of town and not a baseball fan, Spydr could care less and really doesn't know. This infuriates Officer Hill who begins yelling at me upon learning that I was the one in possession of the vehicle "HOW'D YOU GET HERE?!" He doesn't really take time to listen to my answer of "I drove" because he just keeps yelling the question while occasionally spewing curses.

This all occurs as we are being marched in a single-file line to his police car and again yelled at, this time if any of us steps slightly to the side causing the line to curve. Apparently straight lines are very important to Officer Hill; Officer Hill is an asshole. So our only hope is that Officer # 2 has some say over what happens to us; no chance...both are young and Officer Hill has obviously taken full charge.

Soon I'm feeling the palm of Officer Hill's hand shoving me into the back seat of his car proclaiming that I'm the skinniest therefore I'll be better suited for the middle. Officer Hill is a poor judge of size; I'm the smallest, sure, but not the skinniest...my vegan friends can take that honor.

So, we sit and sit and sit while watching the Officers speak with a newly arrived superior officer it appears and I notice that police cars are pretty sound proof because I can't hear shit and they're standing right in front of us.

Eventually Officer Hill reenters the car and begins to drive...perhaps we're going back to the car...nope, there goes the parking lot. "Where are we going?" asks Eskimo. "Jail," Hill responds.

So fuck. That's nice. Did I mention the Miranda rights that we were read? Did I mention that we were allowed the presence of a lawyer during this process? Did I mention that we were asked what we were doing in the park? No? I didn't? Oh, well that's probably because we weren't.

We arrive at a St. Louis County substation and are booked and housed temporarily in segregated small 6x10 rooms. Apparently we harassed an elderly couple or more specifically "threatened an elderly couple and escaped to Ameren UE property illegally." This is what the police report that we receive later (much later) informs us of...not what Officer Hill tells us. Officer Hill says that we're just being processed on a disturbing the peace ordinance. "You'll be out by midnight," he says, "that fat bitch won't come down here to identify you so the charges will just be dropped." I don't even remember a fat woman in the park.

What Officer Hill doesn't tell us is that this "private police force" (as he refers to himself) is putting a 24 hour hold on us and that he's personally attempting to charge us with felony trespassing. Now the funny thing about this is that when we all are made to review our police reports and provide our signature, they all read "disturbing the peace" and nothing like "rape you in the ass for trespassing on private property." Basically, after we've signed his report, he changes it...props to Officer Hill for being a prick. This isn't even the end of our problems as we also have to put all of our property (that includes glasses that we use to see and jackets that we use to keep warm) into special sealed property bags. We also sign those so that everyone can see that the bag hasn't been opened. Can you see the potential problem that's about to arise? Basically, after placing our stuff in the bags, sealing them, and receiving the signatures, Officer Hill digs out the cameras of both Spydr and Eskimo. We come to find later that he's submitted them as "evidence" and yet there's no paperwork to lead anyone to where this "evidence" might be because Officer Hill failed to fill it out. Oh Officer Hill, you sneaky bastard. At least we had a nice police captain later sign a statement for us in favor of our plight claiming that what happened shouldn't have been done by Officer Hill. Officer Hill's main failing that led to the captain's support was that all the missing "evidence" was marked on the list of items contained in the property bags.

Back to the holding cells at the substation. It soon comes to light that we are being held because Spydr and Eskimo are both from out of town and October 2nd is the Palin/Biden debate in St. Louis. "Shit," I think, "Eskimo is from Alaska." The police keep talking about how every protester in the nation is in St. Louis right now and Officer Hill keeps asking us if we are part of the Environment Liberation Front. Apparently the answers of "no" from Spydr and Eskimo and my answer of "who?" are not good enough for Officer Hill. He's looking for an answer of "yes." For those of you who don't know, the Environmental Liberation Front is a "terrorist" organization that likes to bomb power plants. There was a power plant by the park that we were in and therefore, by Officer Hill's logic, we must have been terrorists. The fact that our possessions are limited to one wallet, two cell phones, one set of keys, and two cameras doesn't seem to dissuade Officer Hill from accusing us of attempting to harm the Ameren UE power plant. So there it is, the Patriot Act is holding us against our will for as long as they're allowed to while trying to drum up support against us from Ameren UE, who to our knowledge still don't think we were trying anything.

So at the substation, Spydr and I get to spend some quality time in our cozy 6x10 cell with a small window in the big heavy door that faces partially the corner of a wall and the exit of the room that the cells are in. Occasionally we can see movement from the station's officers but mostly the sights in here are boring. Eskimo is next door with a woman who's been charged with assault. We yell back and forth under the door to see how she's doing. Most of the conversation consists of me unsuccessfully asking if I can refer to her as "Eskimo." She doesn't like to respond so I just assume that the answer is "yes." We begin telling stories in-between dancing sessions designed to give the cops something to view...and something to keep ourselves sane if not just an attempt to enjoy our situation. Eventually we overhear that a man they've been waiting for has arrived and now all of us are quickly shoved into a van that will be headed to St. Louis County headquarters in Clayton. We enter the fan to meet our new friend who will be referred to as "Dreds." We quickly notice that he's slightly shirtless (just wearing a jacket) and what's this? It turns out that Dreds isn't too happy either. Turns out that it's Dreds' 1 year old girls birthday and he just beat a man's head in with a car door...but that's not what he's pissed about, he's in the back of a police van and why should that make him happy. He's a little calm at first; not too emotionally upset on the surface, but then he starts to flail around. A little at first, but soon more violently. Fuck. He's not happy. This is uncomfortable. We try to ignore him by unsuccessfully attempting to converse with Eskimo on the other side of the glass in the van.

So blah blah blah, we're sitting in a van, blah blah blah, the sun's starting to go down and blah blah blah, magically we're at the headquarters. My how time flies. If only that was the case once we got there. While here, waiting around forever (3 hours to be exact before we get processed and sent to the next holding cell) we meet some interesting folk. There's Tax (who I call this because I'm fucking unoriginal and he drives a taxi) who's been booked when the officers found a significant amount of heroin on him. Mr. Tax has a horrible pulled back mohawk pony-tail like object and doesn't like to button his shirt; he's not a pretty sight so I ignore his crazy ass as much as possible.

Sitting beside me in line is Terrell who got picked up at his halfway house for not paying his traffic tickets. Terrell tries to sell me some pot...then when I turn him down he offers me coke instead, then he contemplates robbing Spydr when we get out. Hmm, how nice of a man. Tax tells me that I need to have my "boy's back."

Next up is Jay, who finds it funny that I respond with a "no thank you" when offered coke and I find it funny that they've taken away his belt, the only thing holding up his pants that are 5 sizes too big.

There's Jose and Rosalie, the Latino couple hauled in together on a traffic ticket. Rosalie's wrists are cut to shit from the handcuffs, but she can only worry about her baby daughter at home being taken care of by their other young daughter. During our conversations the couple mentions that the police told them to go back to Mexico. Sometime later, they disappear while the rest of us are hauled into cells for early morning (break of fucking dawn) cleaning. We never hear their names called or see them go up to the security desk so who knows their fate.

The most mysterious man in the room is the one with the broken arm. He was there before we arrived and there when we left. He sits alone, silently staring into space...motionless, never moving from his spot unless called into the food line. He never speaks nor takes notice of those around him. We constantly wonder what his story is and why they've chucked the man with the broken arm into jail.

Lastly is our favorite person: Jason. Now Jason is high but we're just not sure on what; maybe acid or mushrooms. He repeatedly plays with his ball of cold fusion...that only he can see. Apparently at some point he begins making eyes at Dreds who proceeds to take offense and threatens to kick his ass repeatedly to which both cops in the room (from the plastic lawn chairs in the corner) warn Dreds against violent actions. Dreds eventually pisses them off enough to take away his food and phone privileges when we enter the big holding cell in the basement...but the police forget and don't enforce this punishment. Without Dreds to threaten his small scale nuclear experimentation, he continues holding the ball of cold fusion. Soon the police become more creeped out than they're comfortable with and one leaves his lawn chair to whisper some unspeakable threat into Jason's ear. This is enough to make Jason stop whispering weird incantations at his ball and cause him to straighten up and refuse to speak, but his hands still remain outstretched, grasping what only his imagination can see.

When placed in the large holding cell, we get to experience a Jason that plays with and talks to his food while sporting contorted facial expressions. He also makes sure that we see him talking to his food, saying something in our direction and then pointing at his bologna sandwich.

Jason doesn't sleep. Sure he lays down a lot but mostly he lays there shaking, holding his hands up by his head, smiling and giggling to himself.

In time we decide to talk to Jason (because we've been in that bright, cold room for about 18 hours and have exhausted all forms of entertainment already at our disposal). He argues that he's not high. Eskimo and I discuss the potential psychological issues that he may suffer from. She argues that he has multiple personality disorder (or more accurately: dissociative identity disorder) with her evidence being that his voice changes when he talks to his food and giggles while laying on the broken benches along with his contorted facial expressions appearing at these points. My argument is that either A) He's a good actor, or B) He's schizophrenic; my evidence for the latter being that he seems to fully believe in his ball of cold fusion enough to not want to let go of it no matter how afraid he appears to be of the police officer who threatened him.

So after we meet all these people, get inspected by a nurse, and deal with the quartermaster who makes sure that all our belongings have followed after us, we are escorted into a little room (smaller than our cell from earlier) that separates us from the entrance hallway and the big holding cell where we'll be spending the rest of our time. Spydr and Eskimo get to go ahead of me but I have to wait a long time for the shift change to take effect...about 30 minutes to an hour and then another 30 minutes in limbo. Then I'm released into the large holding cell and given the rules. "Don't cross the red line or we'll shoot" blah blah blah "no more than 10 minutes on the phone at a time" blah blah blah "some phones are broken; deal with it." The room is large, white and oddly shaped slightly resembling a triangle. It's decorated with bright florescent lights that never dim and refuse us sleep. The area of arranged benches resembles an airport waiting room (sadly our baggage has been lost and our flight has been grounded for the day). However, the seats are made of white broken strips of plastic wraped around PVC pipes. These broken benches have bathrooms on one side, 3 local phones and one long distance phone on two sides, a drinking fountain on another, and are completely surrounded by red tape on the concrete floor except for in the back where the tape meets a metal barricade separating us from the smaller holding cells where you are sent as punishment...or for good behavior if you want to sleep. Yes, that reality makes no sense to me either. In the front of the room is a large security desk where the guards perform who the fuck knows what. Sometimes they take our pictures or fingerprint us which alleviate the pain of finding something else to do.. Above us are three TVs all tuned to different channels (mostly showing pro-police programs...who would've guessed). Looking at them is a pain (being that the ceiling is high up). Not that it matters because the sound is off and I can't read the captions because they confiscated my glasses.

Like I said, sleeping here is right out because of the lights or the drug dealers or the schizos or whatever, it's just uncomfortable to be around these people (unless you're Spydr with his clean ass conscience). The chairs hurt no matter how you sit in them and even finding a place to lay is nearly impossible being there we're there with about 40 others. You can't lay on the ground because you get yelled at. You can't tuck your legs under you because you get yelled at ("SIR! GET YOUR FEET OFF THAT CHAIR! Would you sit like that at home?!" "Yes ma'am, it's my house why the hell shouldn't I be able to?"). AND I CAN'T GET ANY DAMN SLEEP!

Fuck.

So eventually dinner comes. Served in luxurious brown papers bags are two half frozen bologna sandwiches on white bread. Bologna cemented to the bread makes it impossible for my vegan friends to eat. Being a creature with little conscience, I've been graced with more food than the other prisoners. Soon I regret my decision to eat at all and throw away my remaining sandwiches instead of giving them to the beggars that I've come to greatly despise. I don't eat for the next two meals. I just stare at my food. Deal with my hunger. And listen to Eskimo savor her memories of the food that she once ate and hopes to again devour once we escape. This is around the point when my sanity starts slipping and I wonder how much longer I'll be held if I accidentally kill Eskimo to stop her from making me hungrier. I begin contemplating crossing the red line and doing a little dance while I run circles around the room screaming "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!!!" and most likely while laughing manically because what's a good psychotic breakdown without laughter?

For a while, I contemplate getting myself thrown in "the hole" so that I can get some damn sleep, but it's at this point that I realize that any more isolation will cause a far large part of myself to disappear than already has since I entered this forsaken hell-hole. I calm down slightly and begin passing the time by calling to talk to my father. I inform him (since I refuse to talk to my menopausal mother) of what has happened after I listen to their messages from my voicemail that tell of how their worried that they haven't heard from me in a few days (two days is nothing out of the ordinary but not answering my phone for three days usually worries them). Soon my brother the lawyer is informed to which he responds with the legal advice of "tell them to fuck themselves" which doesn't help get me out any sooner. I listen through my voicemail to my girlfriend attempting to get me released since I can't call her (not even to express my appreciation) being that the working phones are local calls only and she grew up too far out of the city.

I lose the urge to get up and use the phone after a time and reserve myself to staring at the clock. You know, time ticks by a lot faster when you're going crazy. I think, if this was really an airport, I could be playing my DS or reading a book. I'd give my left arm for a USA Today. I pray to a god that I don't believe in to drop me a newspaper...you know, from the sky. Then it dawns on me...shit, I'm not outside. There's probably a USA Today sitting on the roof of the St. Louis County Police Headquarters. How the hell do I get to the roof from here? *Sigh* Oh well, shit happens right? At least I've given the pigeons up there something new to glimpse.

So what now? Well, we talk. We talk politics, food choices, swap stories, discuss how we hate Officer Hill Badge number 1025 and how he gives the already sucky St. Louis County Police force a bad name.

Eventually our names are called. It's been just over 25 hours. I'm first, then Spydr, then Eskimo. The contents of our property bags are not as they have been labeled. Somehow I get out of any charges. To which I am in disbelief. Eskimo and Spydr aren't so lucky. Federal trespassing is a bullshit charge when you arrest someone in a public park. Hopefully it all blows over and Officer Hill gets fired. Fuckers. This was unpleasant. Why couldn't we have been served hummus and pita bread?

It's been a while since I've written so pardon the long read.

Sometimes I stop and wonder if I'm dreaming. If all that I experience is some left over wish of the slowly dying brain of a comatose man lying in a hospital bed suffering from one of the many accidents that should have killed him. Maybe it was that cliff that I almost fell off that one time...maybe I did fall and I'm just pretending that I was lucky.

Do you realize that your body doubles as an antenna? Your skeleton can be used to boost radio signals. Having trouble with your automatic door unlocker? Stick the remote to your chin and try again. You should all know this by now anyway...no different than when you get too close to a TV antenna and the picture goes out.

I wandered past a funeral home about a month ago with the greatest sign out front: "A will is a dead giveaway."

All dressed up, no where to go. Stain on your shoes. No where to go.

Whenever my knuckles bleed, I think of the last fight that I was in and how the concrete won.

I never again want to experience the sensation of a plane touching down right wheel first, then left.

In a house full of women, you will only find whitening toothpaste.

Your tea garden isn't that sacred.

You're an orgasm addict...and you've always had it.

If you could put a gun in a shot glass, she'd shoot her face off.

"Do you think it's weird that my mood ring is always black?"
"I think it's weird that you wear a mood ring Chris."

My summer job has started to become quite routine.
9am - Recess
10am - Lunch
11am - Get ass kicked by random 4 year old.

I pity the whites of your eyes.

I guess I'll always be a NOCO boy at heart, no matter where I go.

In my dreams, the idle kingdoms three.

I want to set your cities on fire just to watch you come crawling out.

In 100 years, no one will remember anyway.

My hands are be-speckled red.

I should take up spray-painting.

"Pro-choice is no choice for the unborn." I doubt the person who placed that sticker on their bumper would be accepting when that unborn baby grows up and decides that there are things far worse than death and makes the decision to die.

I must say, I was happier than a duck in a bread forest when I learned that salt wasn't bad for you anymore.

Yes "anymore" just like how cigarettes are bad for you now but weren't in the 40s.

I support, hell I'll even fight for your right to be apathetic, ignorant, and purposefully uninformed, but I'll be sure to inform you that you're neglecting your duties as a human being.

My new favorite signs are the "variable speeds on 270" signs. Of course there are variable speeds on 270...every time I push my foot towards the floor they change.

I've decided that an Atheist society could be made to be a perfect, crime-free Utopia. Most Atheists that I know are afraid of death and why shouldn't they be when there's no place for them to go once they die. So it's obvious that an Atheist would like to avoid death or incarceration at all costs because they wouldn't want to waste what precious little time that they have left on this planet. These things are usually top of their list of important things to accomplish. And don't worry about these morals that everyone thinks that Atheists lack, parents give their kids morals, not anything else. So long as parents do their jobs, humans will have morals.

Anyone else notice that Missourians are quite stubborn folk?

This summer I discovered that I am man enough to ride a Barbie scooter...and it was a lot of fun.

If you started to dig a grave for someone prematurely, do you think that they would get pissed?

I've got nothing to give.
I've got nothing to say.
I don't work for the pain.
I don't work for the lies.
And I don't need a reason.

"Adapt to Heaven and enjoy ease; oppose it and toil in vain. None can deduct from the reckoning or force what is fated." -Luo Guanzhong

There's something special about standing four stories up on a roof downtown overlooking Union Station, the Purina building and my favorite abandoned mental hospital...and then accidentally brushing dirty water off onto cars below.

True patriots would be communists.

I want to eat USDA Grade B meat and then throw my head back to shout a war-cry as blood drips from my mouth and my fist shakes in the air. Oh what a glorious experience that would be...right before I died.

I bet that Lucifer is a very nice old man. Saying his please and thank yous...killing you with kindness.

"Every time congress meets, we lose another right." -A random man that I struck up a conversation with.

Couples make me...happy? Shit...when did that happen?

Chris wishes that he was an old-time radio star.
Chris hates utter instability.
Chris fears carny justice.
Chris wishes that it was next year.

Would you like to go dancing? Wandering through fields, skipping through the grass, waltzing past trees.

Half of what I say would be meaningless to anyone but you. Half of what I say means a lot to me. Half of what I say is what got us where we are today.

I never saw the clouds till you opened my eyes.

Your heart is damaged and I'd love to be the one to tape it back together; to stop the love from leaking out.

You are S-U-P-E-R F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C-A-L.

How much is a moment worth to you?
How often can you have conversations that span forever?
How comfortable are you talking about something that no one else seems to care about?

It's hard to hate a creature without any shred of vanity or selfishness...it's easy to hate the ones that do.

"It's the fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder." -The Beatles

Human beings are the only animals that lie. Lies to Deceive. Lies to Benefit. Lies to Protect.

Moments pass by us with speed and fluidity. What to do? Shall I do my best to put all my cards on the table and say everything in my head or should I just sit back and relax?

At what point does the screaming cease?

E + M = M

Science tells the majority of us in the Western Hemisphere that we are African Americans.
My point? I hate the term African American.

How many children do you know that actually believe that they will grow up? Who actually understand?

You're not an astronaut and yet you still reach for the stars. Lack of preparation will kill you. You'll die with a smile on your face.

What I want is to one day be able to show my children the movie "I, Robot" to help explain to them how corporations took over the world.

I'm reminded of a time when I was on the wrong side of a police sting.
I'm reminded of a time sitting on asphalt thinking that cops should use those fuzzy sex handcuffs.
I'm reminded of a time starring down the snout of a vicious police dog only to have him brush on by me paying no heed.
I'm reminded of all the running, the close calls, the escapes, the jubilation.
I look back on my teen years with a smile and wonder how I survived long enough to make it here.

"Chris, the scope of your world is so large. You just take it upon yourself to learn everything about it and that's wonderful."
This may have been the nicest thing that I've heard in a while.

The touch of flesh,
Dissolves the darkness of sleep.
A fire burns between our bodies.
Caress.
Burn.
Flames last through the night,
Extinguished by dawn.
Embrace.
Burn.

--------------------------------

An unconscious mind.
A breath that took an age to swallow.

You're only given one shot.
Waste not.

Rip out my tongue.
Cut off my ears.
Bite off my nose.
Leave my eyes and fingers.
Nothing matters more,
Than my tools of communication.

---------------------------------

Beat.
Use.
Spank.
Rape.
Love.

Leave the emotion.

---------------------------------

My eyes bleed as I welcome you to paradise.
You tell me to take it easy.
I try to take it easy,
For you...no one else.

Relax, you'll say,
Don't think about it.
It could have been worse.
It should have been worse.
It will never get worse.

So much to say, so little time, so few ears listening, so few eyes reading, so few brains working.

In a world where everyone has gone mad, I've done nothing but hop on the bandwagon...then off...then right back on again.

I'd rather live in a world of my own.

On the rain soaked highway that is life, music is the beam of light breaching the storm clouds in the distance.

I have a confession to make: I am unlike any other. I'm not like who I used to be. The person three months ago, the person last month...they are gone; I am not them. I am not who I will be next month. I'm not who I will be next week. I'm forever changing; always different...always something else.

You'll only ever see what is allowed. A new face, a new persona; born as the sun rises, matured by water, fed on social interaction, dead as the night falls.

How much do you think you know?
How much do you really know?
Is any of it the truth?

The first commandment should have been: "Thou shall ask questions."

You'll never hear apologies for the chaos of the mind. They'll never be offered. Its beauty is embraced.

And you are all welcome on the ride.

"If we must die, let it not be like hogs,
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot...
Like men we'll face the murderous cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!" -Claude McKay

* = facts.

Everything else IS A LIE! AAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA. Fuck I'm tired.

* Hitler was an animal loving vegetarian who never killed a single person in his life. But he WAS a bad artist and that is enough reason to hate him.

"You know me, telling the truth is my specialty." Which is followed by laughter from all around.
Jokingly I say that we should title this day "the Lies That Come From Chris' Mouth."

It is a hard-knock life; good call Annie.

* I wish that I came from a broken home. I'd probably be able to write amazing song lyrics.

Who is "Pete" and why should we do anything for his "sake?"

I think that I shall get myself a cross necklace. I've got all the required equipment: money and a neck.

I'm not going to pretend that I'm a great person. I'm just going to pretend that I don't know why I'm the way that I am.

"Do you like the Abraham Lincoln look?" says Curt.
"Not especially; I just don't like mustaches."
"I just don't like shaving."

Does anyone else think that blasting Vanilla Ice while driving through the hood is a bad idea? BECAUSE I DON'T!

I want to love you lover.

* Eyes and lips are my two favorite parts of a person's body.

"There's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky."

"I realized that you're amazing."

"If you didn't care what happened to me,
And I didn't care for you,
We would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain,
Occasionally glancing up through the rain,
Wondering which of the buggers to blame
And watching for pigs on the wing."

It's strange, prostate cancer doesn't scare me anymore.

I've found the perfect way to keep a president from being assassinated. Get a really horrible vice-president that one wouldn't dare let run the country. Then no one will want to kill the president. Oh wait, the Bush administration already figured that one out. DAMN, I was beaten to the punch.

I have this urge to watch "Fievel Goes West."

One morning I pass this man, a morning jogger. He's holding a tennis racket, a broken tennis racket and he's banging his hand on the cat-gut strings like he's playing a tambourine.

I don't understand people with roller coaster obsessions. You go and scare the crap out of yourself, possibly bordering on pissing your pants, then you say "wow, that was fun; lets go do it again!" Weirdos.

* "You're just too cuddly."

* The brain is constantly looking for relationships. It needs cause and effects and is overly talented at finding them...even better at making them out of thin air.

"No offense, but I don't know how women can be all about you when you are such an asshole to them all the time."
"I really don't get it either Sammy; maybe it's my wit and perfect sense of timing."

"I just don't know what to do; keep falling in and out of love with you."

I want to get my palm read. But not because I want to know my future; I just want a hand massage.

If I had lived in the early 1900s, I totally would have been a Ragtime musician.

I really want to travel to Russia one day, but I'm worried about running into those Nashi fucks. I don't want to be dragged into one of their crazy sex camps and raped to death.

* But those Russians are such beautiful people. They have these amazing, large, round eyes; they are just so dominating.

"There are some people who are clearly morally bankrupt." -Mike Hulsizer Psych professor extraordinaire.

Sadly, people who shop at Whole Foods tend to be the most inconsiderate people that I have the pleasure of dealing with.
The same goes for people with umbrellas. I can't tell you how often I risk losing an eye to those kids.

"You don't need to be rich to be my girl, you don't need to be cool to rule my world."

* We can choose who we are with, but we can never choose who we fall in love with.

It just occurred to me that my last name's origin is that of the current language that our culture speaks. So why do some people have such difficulty pronouncing it?

If guns are legal, then why aren't switchblades or butterfly knives? Guns are much more dangerous. I thought that things were made illegal for our own personal safety and that of those around us.

* There are two things that I can't live without: Freedom and Respect for myself. You might as well kill me now if you ever plan on taking either away from me.

I am writing from afar.

* New anti-psychotic drugs are found to kill people over a period of time. Yep, they kill crazy people. Natural selection anyone?

Okay, that was a bit cruel of me...maybe...

I love hair so black that it's blue in certain light.

I miss Illinois drivers. They actually know driving etiquette and know not to block the passing lane. Missouri drivers are idiots. It's enough to make me want to hop the river and live on the other side.

I've decided that I'm finally going to make some signs to keep in my car for specific purposes. I tried this before but only on the spur of the moment type situations; I want to be prepared now.

Samples:
"Do you not understand what a yield sign means?"
"Didn't your mother ever teach you manners or was she too busy whoring to do such things?"
"Only my boyfriend can ride my ass and you, clearly, are not manly enough."
"You're God doesn't exist."
"With a truck that big, you must have a small penis."
"How Would Jesus Drive?"
"Unless your name is Johnny Depp, get off my ass."
"I love abortions because without them, I'd have no babies to eat."
"War solves issues of world hunger."
"My mother drives better than you and she is a woman."

The point is to be as offense as possible (directed at you assholes who don't get it).

I don't really see the point to being vegetarian or vegan. Being healthy, I can see, not really liking meat I can see, but being a vege simply for moral reasons, well that's just plain stupid. To me, all the food that we eat is the same. All of it contains living organisms or organisms that were once alive. Even without eyes and blood, vegetables and fruits still wither, decompose, and die like any other. They may not be cute and cuddly, but they are still dead when you rip them from the ground (or trees) and devour them.

* Just remember, an excess of anything can kill you; even vegetables and water. Plus, watch out for that diseased spinach.

On a side note, until last Saturday, it had been about two weeks since I had any meat.

* Something that has been seen throughout history is, in poor families, the mother tends to starve herself to death. Not intentionally at all, but because she cares so much about her family and providing for them that she doesn't eat and eventually withers away. Sad but very courageous.

* I really like being a still photographer.

I don't ever want to feel my face smooth again.

* I really hate when people say something like "It's a child, not a choice!" I mean, you could say that eating isn't a choice, that breathing and in some cases that drinking alcohol (when an alcoholic) isn't a choice but you'd be wrong in all cases. The three that I just labeled could be considered compulsions at the best, but clearly, by the definition of the word "choice," abortion IS a choice that one can make. Giving birth IS a choice and the act of giving life SHOULD be a deeply considered choice. Granted, one should probably be thinking about the consequences of sex in order to avoid even having to make such a decision, but that's not really the issue here. The issue is that people corrupt the English language on a daily basis and it annoys the crap out of me. This ranks up there as being just as bad as when people use the word "theory" incorrectly; FUCK them as well. I wonder if other languages have this same problem. Somehow I'd think that a language with 13 ways of saying "the" wouldn't be subject to such issues.

* It's funny to me that this nation grew out of the settlement of a religiously oppressed people. Somehow I doubt that they would agree with these national religious holidays and swearing in officials on religious texts.

As soon as I close my eyes everything is covered in darkness. Gloom engulfs my physical manifestation of happiness. I'm fighting black clouds spotted with lightning to regain what they would steal. They are silent, but powerful. Among all the silence, my boys from Queen pop up with a good anthem for a struggle of this magnitude.

For some reason I am reminded of a time when my 9th grade English teacher was confused and concerned about the extent of my knowledge on Zip-guns. "I know much about many things," I respond, "Zip-guns just happen to be one of them."

It then dawns on me that I attended 9th grade after Columbine.

Someone on CNN pronounced Missouri as "Misery" the other day. I want to hurt him.

"Light another cigarette and let yourself go...and fall in love."

"RAW 4" reads the license plate. As I pass, I look in my mirror and it now reads "4 WAR."

I'm on a Queen bender right now.

* Apparently traveling through time is possible according to a psychics professor from MIT, however, the world will explode right along with it.

Every time that I change lanes in traffic, I imagine a high speed crash. The images flash through my mind. The sickening metal on metal crunching, smashing, collapsing sounds. My head slamming violently forward and then quickly backwards into the headrest. Windows shattering; glass trickling down into my lap. The airbag deploys with a loud "FUMP" sound. The car that nails my rear corner pulls my car hard to the right and my forward motion causes my car to roll...once...one and a half onto the hood.

"It's an awfully risky thing to live." -Carl Rogers.

"If her love and affection for you is based on a false image, then what the hell good is that?" -Carl Rogers.

"You tell me lies and give me the run-around."

I'm DJing my soul at a party that's sure to end.

Second guessing and doubts usually lead to incorrect decisions and unhappiness. Studies show that the first thoughts are usually the correct ones and the decisions afterwards usually only complicate things and cause you problems. As Billie Joe Armstrong wrote, and later sang, "The doubts were all someone else's point of view."

We tend to remember the hits in these cases and forget all of the misses that caused us problems; that's why people continue the trend.

High speeds and a nothing-to-lose attitude make for some amazing experiences. Adrenaline induced highs allow me to never crave coffee or sugar of any kind. Between Jefferson and Kingshighway on 40 would be the best location. I feel sorry for you if you don't regularly break 80mph and never push your car past 100.

Speaking of, did you know that they are making a movie called "Kingshighway" that takes place in St. Louis? It will probably be crap, but hey, at least we've got a movie to draw attention to our poor, quaint city again.

I've begun to move on from dancing to singing. Of course I still dance, but now I'm a bit more open and confident that I can sing in front of people that I've just met.

She's my Queen, in a land where the sun never sets.

"How do you get herpes in your eye?"
"I don't know Ivan, have you ever watched a porn? They all end the same way."

My family is the only in which you can be ridiculed for eating right and exercising. Something must be wrong with you if you ever lose weight.

Alton's motorcycle shop has the best name ever: "Goodbye Beautiful"...in Italian.

I may have no time to enjoy it, but at least Spring Break is actually feeling like Spring.

Springtime Free Association:
Sitting out in the alley behind Bruton Stroube on a wood cart next to an overturned body-size freezer that used to hold ice cream in quiet reflection...an old man just drove up to me in a rickety, loud truck with a bed full of broken metal and plastic piled underneath a lawn chair. He asks me if I'd like to get rid of that freezer. "No...not really," I say. I'm drying it out and making sure that no one steals it. Two more freezers to go. Ice cream never smelled so funny. I feel like I've been a lot of thing in my life; been a lot of different people. I don't know who I'm lying to; I don't even know if they can be considered lies. Maybe this is just who I am and I'm sure that I'll be a lot more people in the future. This versatility is good. I feel like I can do anything; anything that I set my mind to. The future holds a lot. I hear children in the distance. I see a row of light orange buses. School must be getting out. McDonald's trash loudly flops by. The gate to a private lot opens nearby. I love going to work in the city. The feel, the atmosphere, the people, the colors, the cool breeze, the sound...I love it all. I just wish that it was all a bit bigger. I wish that I was somewhere bigger. Involved in something truly important with people that mean a lot to me. The gate opens and closes...opens and closes. At the end of the alley I can see a large building reading "US Bank." I like alleys; I love the feeling of walking down one. The feeling of being someplace that people rarely pay attention to. Every time that I see a fence, I have an urge to jump it. I don't like restrictions. I don't like being told that I can't do something. My favorite part of being alive is the freedom to do as I wish. No one will take that away from me. No one who cares will try to stop me. When I free associate my thoughts always return to two specific, slightly related places. All the important things that I've lost have been people. I remember their names everyday. I recall situations. I am trapped in memories. I feel that if they were that important, then I should never have risked losing them; I should have held on. So I am holding on. Opens and closes. I refuse to lose the most important aspects of my life; the things that shape me and make up who I am. One who loses them, loses everything. This gate is getting a workout. I live for it, because it's worth it. I'm starting over with "Fight Club." Giving it a second chance; it deserves a second chance. I'm starting over now. As I read my cookie's fortune of "You will overcome difficult times," I think "Oh how I wish that I was ignorant enough to believe this crap." I wish that I had more words with which to express myself.

I love that Ringo Starr refers to drugs as "non-prescription medication."

I still remember a lesson that I was taught at a young age: never fall in love with a beautiful person. It will break your heart. I forget who taught me this, but they were wise beyond their years.

"In this one moment, Marla's lie reflects my lie, and all I can see are lies. In the middle of all their truth." It's amazing how well I can relate to this line.

"The old saying, how you always kill the one you love, well, look, it works both ways."

"This is our world now, our world and those ancient people are dead."

"A person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort."

Apparently a girl went missing from Berkeley today. Posters lined the road of Salisbury downtown. I say girl, but she didn't look that young. I find it amazing how quickly they got professional posters out. It's a shame that there is never much hope in finding kidnap victims.

"Could you tell green fields from a cold, steel rain?" Are you sure?

Lucky for me, I've acquired all the patience and time in the world.

Regardless, money, time, property, politics, the world, etc., all do not matter; only people...certain people...important "friends."

[Caution: More random that usual]

"I want to hurt you because you are a womanizing fool!"
I guess that she follows the philosophy that one should not go breaking young girls' hearts.

I've recently discovered that I fit into a child's large and that most of my clothing from the past two years no longer fits me.

Loud honking and fists of rage.
"Patience is a terrible thing isn't it?"

Relationships: Beautiful, Complicated, and you never know when a little pressure is going to try and rip it all apart.

I love that people talk about my facial hair when I'm not around.

My ideas have begun to pass down to the younger photo students. My buildings are no longer sacred...soon they'll no longer be there. I'm not sure how I should feel. Maybe it's for the best. But should I feel threatened? Should I feel like a father watching children walk in his footsteps? A professor has decided to tell his students that they'll just end up getting arrested like Chris Willingham. HA! If I'm going to be known for something when I leave Webster, it might as well be for causing trouble and running from the police.

"You only saw my soul, but I didn't like that at all."

Hmm, I just decided that I never want my children to grow up doing whatever it is that I end up doing. I'd rather they make their own way and I can only hope that they make it unique to them.

Is anyone else curious as to why James Bond is an effective spy? I mean, I know he's just a character in literature and cinema, but he never uses an alias. How is that possible? In order for him to continually use his own name, he would have to kill everyone that ever heard it during any previous mission. There's no way that he could do that. Point is, James Bond is a fool.

Saying that Yoko Ono broke up the Beatles is essentially saying that they were broken up by love. Wouldn't that just be a bit ironic?

The last few years have been an incredibly enjoyable waste of time.

If there was an award for biggest asshole driver, I'm pretty positive I would take it. At least these days. Don't get me wrong, I've always been an asshole driver, but shit, you should see me lately. Someone should haul my ass off to jail.

"I want to own the world's biggest ball of blue glue."

"I feel like an angel."

"Let's do some sex."

"Excuse me, do you have some sex on you?"

"Hold this sex for me please."

Quaint is just a fancy word for little that is unlikely to offend anyone but me.

It's amazing what you can dig from the trash at 1am. I discovered one complete works of William Shakespeare, one 100+ year old book about Christian accomplishments in the new world, and one "Civilisation;" one can only assume that the book is British with that spelling.

"We are what we do...how we act."

Progress doesn't happen at the ungodly pace that most would like it to occur at.

Nothing easy is worth anything.

The need to be around others is built into everyone's DNA. It's an evolutionary survival technique. Not so much "the more, the merrier" but instead "the more, the safer."

Society made him so you really can't blame him; he's fucked in the head for reasons that he can't explain.

Funny how a career in politics just popped up as a life goal one day. I say it's funny considering how opposed to lies and deception I am when I'll be voluntarily digging into those abilities again.

When anyone asks me about what I want to do in the future now, they tend to walk away with their jaw hanging down slightly.

Let's talk about belief perseverance. It's a horrible thing; a true Skeptic's worse enemy. It doesn't do anyone any good considering that you can't change the affected person's mind. For those who aren't familiar with the term, this phenomena occurs when a person has set their mind on believing something. Generally someone experiencing this cannot have their mind changed even if their previous belief is now known to be completely false. It can be incredibly difficult for this person to walk away from their previous views particularly if others know that these were (or are) their views; such a thing can even be embarrassing because no one wants to admit to being wrong...no one wants to continually doubt their own credibility. The best thing to do is to not discuss your views publicly if you aren't completely sure of all the facts; try not to even discuss them with yourself. If you do, you might be fucked...so might others if they get caught in the middle.

Growing up is all about realizing that you're not going to be able to do all those things that you once wanted to do.
Good thing that I'm still a "Toys 'R Us" kid. It's a good thing that those commercials don't run anymore...they might just make me cry.

I've noticed that I only write these once I've come up with a title.

...I want to meet someone who literally has skeletons in their closet.

So I traded one major problem for physical pain. I guess it's not really that bad, but I just don't enjoy feeling like a crack addict every now and then while attempting to go to bed.

It's all bearable though; I've just got to remember that my body needs the nutrition that it actively tells me that I no longer need. There could be worse side effects, but I miss wanting food.

Reminds me of why I quit.

Stress.

Chin up, eyes forward, fight your way through.

No more detours, no more "road closed;" this is the last time around.

The Fratellis write the best love songs to describe what I experience in life.

Is it possible to get a contact high from drunks? Well I think so and I think that this isn't going to be so hard.

"God forbid you shut the door on your way out!"

Never have I wanted to deck a man in a suit more than tonight...but then they broke into song and dance and became enjoyable.

Lesson of the night: Pub musicians are required to play 70% Irish Folk songs, 20% soundtrack of the 90s (and coincidentally my childhood), and 10% Beatles.

I'm tired of walking into a room and only being able to say that I only fucked 3 people here. I should have fucked everyone in the room.

"What's your name..Sweet?"

"I want to make slow, seductive love to you."

"I'll kill you...just to let you know."

Snow closes out the night.

"4 Give Yo-Self"
While the spelling is poor, the message is clear. This modern day artist knows more about us than I'm sure he is given credit for.

Here's a thought, when you get older (I'm talking near-death old) would you rather live at your own home or at a nursing home? I know that it seems like you'd want to live at home, but would you want to be alone? Most likely your friends are dead, your spouse has passed, and your family just doesn't have the time to spend with you. You'd be free, but you'd be mostly alone. A nursing home would almost be like living in a dorm. You could meet new people with some similarities and just hang out; maybe play some backgammon. However, wouldn't it be strange to live in a place where you'd never know who was going to die next? Friends could just drop around you. Everyone goes at some point but do you really want to live in a place where people pass all the time?

Moving away from...

Everyone rides the Carousel, but I'm already more than halfway through the ride. Granted this half is the longest but fuck, I'm already on the other side.

This past week has seen an increase in the number of vivid dreams that I have...and actually remember. It seems like a year since I've remembered a dream and now I have six in a row that I can recall in detail.

2)There is a knife fight going on. It's under a highway in a fenced off court similar to the one from West Side Story. One of the two men fighting is me; the other is unknown. We are equal in strength for what seems like an eternity, but then I remember my switch blade. I pull it from my back pocket and the fight is soon over. I've earned something but I never get to see what it is.


3)This one has been reoccurring for some time. I'm in a cave. It's cold. I start a fire. After a time I wander to the cave's entrance and sit upon a large rock. This piece of broken earth is familiar and comforting. I stare out at the view of an expansive plain stretching for miles. The sight is beautiful and I have no idea if there is a more amazing image on the entire planet. I feel a longing sensation.

The dream could mean many things.


4)There is a hit-man standing over a victim. He desires and needs to torture his subjects before he finishes them off. He tells his victim that it's been 675 miles since his last kill. That number means something to me. "168 hours." His pseudonym is Irish; I cannot recall. O' something most likely.

I don't believe that I am any character in this dream which is odd. I feel like it partially stems from my recent encounter with the TV show Dexter.


5)I'm in the White House, in the Oval Office. A friend and I are listening to vinyl records. We sift through large stacks and I recall putting new ones on the turn table quite frequently. I don't recall it ever being turned on; music just comes from all around. There are two other figures in the room. I do not know them; we never interact with them. Are they really there? Are they are figment of my dream-self's imagination? It dawns on me that they could be security. They don't require much attention.


6)My militant vegan friend (Spydr for those of you who haven't heard his name) and I are wandering around an industrial district. It's not St. Louis. It's summer; bright and sunny and slightly windy. We sleep in an abandoned warehouse at night and wander the large city during the day. We cause trouble which is usual when we are around each other. He has figured some way to scam the public transportation.

It reminds me of the past few summers and how I never wanted to them end. Maybe I'll take up this lifestyle at some point in life so that I don't feel like I've missed out on anything in life.