Wednesday, September 30, 2009
an excerpt from the AP today.
How the hell is the most sought after, successful, box-office smashing actor of ALL TIME, still billed because of his music career first. Is it perhaps because he's black?
*Not really pissed off about this*
I think i just needed to post something.
dizzy thoughts and confused logic
punching walls, ignoring calls
throwing phones and books
not a body to touch or speak or hold
no placement for my foot to hold
blood and bullets
wish for dead
out of my body looking in
trying hard to find a friend
not going, gone
lost to reason's calming song
suddenly a face, a voice
red is fading
no longer blind
and so I see
the one who's calling out to me
calms me down
makes me sane
So I can try
to live again
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
"Try to shy away from giving the people facts, if they have facts they can be used against us."
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I wake up. My eyes are fogged and blurry making it hard to search around the room for my glasses. Everything shifts and moves nothing retains any specific shape.
“Where am I?”
I’m sitting up, drool dripping down my lips connected to my local college sweatshirt. I fell asleep at my desk again. Classy.
My hands dance along my desk and knock over the empty bottle of Jack.
Finally I feel something familiar; small, thin framed. I slide my glasses onto my face and everything comes back into focus. The nameless nothings all become real. My floor covered in old clothes, sneakers and jerseys. My desk covered in pills, half-full glasses, plates with half eaten food and my monitors. I grab my phone and check the time.
Been asleep for 12 hours. Some watcher I turned out to be. The silver hue of my monitors lights the room. I push my bare feet hard on the ground and my wheeled chair takes off as I make my runs.
30 monitors. 1 for each person. 30 people whose lives are in my hands chosen at random by the men who chose things and every six months these 30 stop being under my watchful eye and another random set is sent into my home.
Mr. Yomachi who works out naked in his living room.
Mrs. Kensington is still reading that Steven King Book.
Charlie Sanders always checks his phone when his wife leaves the room.
None of these people are dangerous; none of them terrorists, none of these people want to blow up Central Holdings. But somewhere out there, is someone who wants to. And they don’t because they’re afraid I’m watching them right now. All day, everyday.
Senior Castanada is about to drink from the gallon of milk that his wife told him to throw out two weeks ago.
Michelle is combing her hair, 22 times, 23 times, 24 times.
Robert reads to his son.
This is my life. Watching you live yours. This is must be how St. Peter feels.
While I watch Frank Gorbsy try to find something good on TV I reach down and pick up the 3 days old Chinese Food box off my floor and start digging in. This is when I start getting sad. Watching someone watch, it’s like setting two mirrors up to face each other and watching the reflections go on for infinity. Then I think about the poor schmuck who has to watch me. The thought sends chills down my back for a second. I remind myself I make good money for this job. My large government paycheck keeps the chills at bay, I could live in a nice condo in the zero sector if it wasn’t for the crushing guilt.
I throw the Chinese food towards at the bin. It bounces off the edge and lands on the floor sending shrimp fried rice all over my floor, the bugs will be here soon. I roll myself back to my desk.
“Save the best for last”
Truth is I know I’m not a good watcher. Truth is these other people get no more than 30 seconds each. The truth is that for the last two years I’ve been watching only one person. You.
Your life plays out on the double monitor on my desk. I know every inch of your apartment from your large couch to your collection of Asian dolls.
If the big men upstairs found out I was using my technical knowledge to keep you around they’d have me sent to containment faster than you can unwrap a Now&Later.
I know it’s wrong to call it love but…no other word really comes into my head at the moment. I hit the ENTER button on my keyboard to scroll through the cameras trying to find you in your apartment. You might be out right now walking your dog. But you’ll be back soon. You’ll go into the fridge and grab a coke and then sit and watch a movie.
I know it’s wrong to call it meant to be but what else could it be. I know what you like, I know every aspect of your body, your hair, your legs, your pale skin, the bruises on your back from when you were hit by that car 3 weeks ago. I know how your body moves when you dance, I know what TV shows you like, I know what makes you laugh and how you sound when you cry. I know when you’re having a real orgasm and when you’re faking it.
I know I can’t call it dating but what else could it be.
I watch as your door opens and you and Atticus; your tiny pug come back inside. Quickly you change into your bikini top and you lie across your couch and flip through the channels. Before I know it my fingers are lightly brushing your hair. If it wasn’t for this damn screen we’d both be in heaven right now. If it wasn’t for this distance you’d be in my arms right now.
“If only you knew.”
You yawn and get up to go to bed. Your lights turn off and my cameras turn to Night Vision. I grab my blanket and pull it over me and tuck myself in. You do the same.
You say good night to Atticus who snuggles up by your feet.
“Good-Night Jenny” I say.
To Be Continued?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
One thing you didn't know about me : I both love and hate the process of eating. I love it because it's delicious, hate it because I know that eventually I'll have to do it again and I hate repetition.
Monday, September 21, 2009
At first no one in the town minded, figuring it better to let a fool keep to himself and his foolish ways. But soon days had past, then weeks, and months, and Merryweight never moved from in front of that yellow door. Finally concerned but to scared to venture down the alley, the townspeople yelled "Mr. Grizlebaum have you died?" "No, I haven't." Yelled back the fool. Then fearing the worst of the fool the townspeople yelled, "You have been outside that door for months now Mr. Grizlebaum, Are you perhaps holding someone for ransom?"
Grizlebaum laughed, " I know I am foolish. But not foolish enough to hold someone for ransom in a village this small." "Well then what are you doing!?" the townspeople shouted and before they were finished Merryweight replied with "I'm watching the door."
"He thinks he's a doorman now?" the townspeople shouted, "Well doorman, what is behind your door that's so special that you must watch after it?" "That.." said the doorman now sitting straight up on his stool, eyes alert. "is none of your concern." The townspeople laughed in unison. "Silly doorman" they spat as they returned to their homes. But years passed and curiosity grew as the doorman never left his post at the yellow door. People came from all around the strange world to view from the safety of Barnabey street, the mysterious doorman. Over time the tiny village grew and grew until it was a large city with many buildings and people. And Barnabey street stretched for miles now. But there was still that alley between the Hopflop MegaShop and the Jenco JigVendor Inc. And there was still that door. And the doorman rarely moved in those years. Though sometimes, tourists would spot him away from his stool, curled up at the base of the door his ear cupped to the peeling wood. Or sometimes standing flat with his back against the door. And he aged and his hair got white and skin became loose and hung on his bones like hand me down clothes. It was clear to everyone that the doorman could die any day. And some even tried to use his weakness to try and storm the door, he'd strike them, they'd fall. Soon they just watched and waited. They waited for sixty years, and though he spent most of those days silent, two hours before his last breath a child ran past the guard lines and made it down the alley to the man on the stool. "Why did you sit here doorman?" whispered the child. "Why did you sit here and stay here forever? Why didn't you go to the everyplace and venture to the anywhere that I hear the travelers talk about? The doorman shifted on his stool, his left hand on the yellow door for support. "You don't know this little one, but I've been everyplace and anywhere. In fact, it was through those adventures through everywhere that lead me to here. I'm here because, behind this door is the only thing I've ever known that's meant anything to me, and it took me a long time to find it so I don't mind looking over it for awhile." And with that the child's mother called him back. And she was so overcome with conflicting emotions that she beat and berated the child in front of the crowd, embittering him so that he would never tell a soul what the doorman had shared with him. At his last moments the doorman stood and pressed his face against the warped wooden door, straining to press his face through the wood, in one last effort to merge with it, and for the first time even dared a knock. And then he sat back in his stool and stared at the door with the biggest smile and the widest eyes. As if death had granted him the ability to see through the door and witness his treasure one last time. There was a moment of silence as the people registered the doorman's stillness. But it wasn't long before they were linking arms and throwing their shoulders into the yellow door, forcing it open. When the door fell and shattered into splinters, the peoples head's craned to get the best view. A tiny bathroom, with black and white tiles, a ventilation fan and a single light hung innocently from the ceiling. But the square window above the toilet, the one big enough to fit any average, dog, or cat, or person. That window was wide open and lead to an alley that went on for as many miles as Barnabey street. The people stood, ashamed and sad, their mouths hung open in disbelief. But the doorman smiled his biggest smile and his eyes were wide with joy sitting on his stool, facing the open yellow door.
I like this movie. I didn't know much about it besides having my curiosity peaked by the bright orange billboard ads that I see for it when I'm driving home. I figured I was signing up for a Soderberg stylized corporate espionage film--and I was but I left feeling I had been given much more. A well presented character piece centered around Damen packing on some more poundage to pull off the Mid-West look. Like all great characters he only gets more interesting as the movie continues and the corporate plot-line is handled so well that it never interferes with learning more about the curious lead.
Informant does a good job of raising some interesting questions: Can you believe in integrity and be dishonest at the same time? What is the ultimate burden of a split life? Can Scott Backula actually act?
I'd say it's certainly one of the good ones. Maybe not one you need to see right now but the after theater conversation on this movie could be pretty enlightening.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The reason this bothers me is two fold. The first reason is that it no one was actually watching the VMA's when this event happened, because no one watches MTV unless your a 13 year old girl. We all found out the same way signing online and reading about it on Yahoo news or CNN.com or a real news source like Twitter. The second reason is that fake anger really pulls on my nut hairs. If I believed people actually cared about this stuff, it wouldn't bother me. But the minute Kanye comes out with his next album everyone and their momma is going to be talking about how great it is and this will all be forgotten. This argument also holds for Chris Brown and R. Kelly .
*editors note* This is also a retarded thing to get mad over since the whole thing was obviously staged. *editors note* This is even more retarded since no one cares anymore.
2. Filmmakers are Douchey High School Students
In the past couple of weeks a few filmmakers or high ups in the industry have decided to make public statements on LA's Nikki Finke Deadline Hollywood Blog. For those of you who don't know Nikki Finke is LA's own April O'Neil. She makes Perez Hilton look like 'black-eye-witness-guy' on network news. The first string was the infamous I won't read your fucking script by Josh Olsen (I'll hold for the communal "who?") He wrote History of Violence and really doesn't want to read your script. Then no more than a few days later three, Transformers 2 crew members publicly released a letter on Nikki Finke basically calling Megan Fox white trash(hurtful but true), in response to her calling Michael Bay Hitler(ditto) in an interview. What bother's me besides the fact that the number 1 industry news blog got turned into a personal trash talk forum. But when I found out that Michael Bay wrote the letter himself. I want to know why the director of one of the biggest films of the summer is putting up trash posts like the snooty bitch in 9th grade. I'm not really upset about turning a legitimate news source into a high school year book. What does upset me is that while Josh Olsen was telling me he wasn't going to read my script, or while Michael Bay was pretending to have a Vagina. They all could have been doing what they love to claim to do...Make Movies.
3. Beatles are Cool Again!?
The Beatles Never Stopped Being Cool.
I don't care how cool Rock Band the Beatles is. A Re-Beatles invasion is not okay. I'm great with introducing kids to the music of the Beatles, even better with giving kids and parents a place to relate and play together. I am not okay with this grand jumping on the band-wagon and loving the band because of a video game. People who will have no understanding of who the Beatles actually were but instead will equate them with Rock Bands single note views of the band. We all knew the Beatles sold out once and we were cool with it because they're the fucking Beatles. but two times is pushing it.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
He said, "nothing, watching the show. What are you thinking?" He didn't care but he didn't mind asking since he knew the answer was:"Nothing"
She said. "I'm just wondering what you're thinking." With that she was quiet and the sound of the TV took over.
After a time she said, "Do you think it's weird that we don't talk anymore?" She kept her eyes low to the ground.
He said "What do you mean?" and kept his eyes on the TV.
She said "There was a time when we could talk for hours about anything. There was a time when you cared about things going on in the world, and you made me laugh." "Remember how much we used to laugh?"
She said. "Why don't we do that anymore. Why do you think we don't talk anymore?"
She waited obediantly for his answer, not caring how long she would have to wait because it was the only question that really concerned her. She watched him inhale the air of the room through his nose while he thought. And when he finally spoke he didn't even turn his head to take in her gaze.
He said"We're talking right now aren't we?"
She said "Yeah, I guess you're right."
My wife & I have been married 12 years and we were having a lot of marital trouble in the bedroom. Sex became somewhat boring no matter what we tried and we've tried EVERYTHING. Counseling, candles, massages, resorts & getaways, little notes to "hook up with me" in her purse (lol), etc....
Now, sex when we met was great, but only due to the fact it was new and all that and over the years we've developed some fire that's kept it alive. We are both VERY attracted to each other so it's actually not a matter of anything other than sex became more of a routine even with the new stuff we added. Then we tried smoking 420 one night and pretty much had the most incredible sex we both agreed we ever had. After that, it was almost like every night we wanted to literally run home to each other so we could have hours and hours of sex because it was so mind-blowing. This was many months ago and I can tell you that we have since stopped smoking 420 we are both somewhat sad because we have not been able to achieve the orgasm or length of time spent having sex. It's back to square one again. The reason we quit was because we began to feel guilty about our relationship with God and how it's considered wrong to smoke pot. We don't know if we could call ourselves Christian AND smoke pot even though it completely enhanced our marriage and sex life in the evening and made us both feel closer to each other than ever before. This sucks because we love each other a lot but it was like having "super sex" to "regular ol' sex" made us not even be interested in it anymore. It's very "ho-hum" now. What to do?
Okay so that's the long and short of it. Loving couple have finally caved to the demands of time commitments and good old fashioned, 'been-together-a-long-ass-time syndrome.' They've made every christian attempt at spicing up their relationship and nothing and then they find their answer in some bud. And boy howdy. But because their religion see's it as a sin they stop and now their fucked, but not in the good way.
The comments following this post all assign the same remedy and I was quiet surprised when I read them. Post after post helpful christians advise this poor man that the answer to his problem is quite simple...he should have sex less. One man says they should take two weeks and pray together during the time they would be lovemaking. A rabbi advises that they have sex only once a week so it seems all the more special. And it goes on and on...for PAGES. People all saying that sex isn't the relationship (which it isn't) and that it should be enough to just be with his wife ( which it should). But not one. NOT A SINGLE one points out what to me seems like the most obvious answer.
Why don't they just keep smoking?
Just really pisses me off is all.