You know, I love a good jab at KISS as much as the next person... which is why this is pretty close to genius. Oh Cat Man, you really are a total pussy.
Thank you John Moe.
I recommend reading the "Sweet Child O' Mine" piece if you follow the link.
29.1.07
John Moe Cracks My Shit Up
You know, I love a good jab at KISS as much as the next person... which is why this is pretty close to genius. Oh Cat Man, you really are a total pussy.
Thank you John Moe.
I recommend reading the "Sweet Child O' Mine" piece if you follow the link.
27.1.07
Never Call a Man With a Gun a Cocksucker, and Other Pearls of Wisdom
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24.1.07
"You’re like two jerks pushed together"
I am my own worst enemy...
I had every intention of going to bed at a decent hour, but for whatever reason, and as is the norm, it didn’t really work out. I was going to write a bit, have a gin and Sprite, a couple beers, keep it mellow (yes, it’s a little sad as to what I consider "Keeping it mellow" on these harsh, cold, and lonely nights), then hit the hay by 11:00 PM or so. So I had a drink with my roommate Y– and as my drink disappeared rather quickly she asked if I was trying to destroy myself.
Was I?
No, not really. I just drink fast, which is why I try to stick with Pabst as the alcohol content is negligible, and I can pound it for awhile and still remain relatively safe and about my wits.
She finished her drink and went upstairs to paint and I turned on the stereo, made a quick On the Go mix on the iPOD that suited my mildly intoxicated brain, and set off to write.
As usual, I just ended up sending off a few e-mails that probably had no business being sent off. Then my other roommate, R– came home with some friends and they were off to the bar across the street, "Hey, you wanna come along?"–"No. Sounds fun and thanks for the invite but I have to get to bed early tonight. You kids have a good time though" is said through an uncoordinated tongue.
So they took off and I sent off some more e-mails, checked the news, all the things I usually end up doing when I am supposed to be writing.
Then my other roommate, D– came home and I have no idea how it happened but suddenly there was beer everywhere. We were facing off across the table, pounding beers, him berating me for being a douchebag, trying to motivate me to do something with my life, asking me to justify my currently-held belief that I am quite possibly doomed (I only half believe it. Honestly, I just like the way it rolls off of the tongue) . He got no answers from me but kept digging, and along with the 20 questions (more accurately 2700 questions) we talked music and other things... and it was probably the music subject, or something else, that prompted him to pay me the greatest compliment I have ever received... I just wish I could remember what exactly prompted it... but he said, out the corner of his mouth:
"You’re like two jerks pushed together."
All I could do was laugh, and hard, and write it down, because of all the things I assumed I would be forgetting on this wicked and polluted night, this was not one that I was willing to let go of. We kept on and I occasionally glanced at the clock on the microwave, crudely calculating the amount of beer I had consumed against the amount of time it was until I had to get up and go to work and how many more beers I calculated I could still down without being totally destroyed in the morning.
Unfortunately the only math I was capable of doing was the figuring out the difference between the time it was as I looked at the clock and the time I had to be at the bus stop, still in the dark of early morning. That whole part about factoring in sobriety and time to become sober and maintaining at work was lost to me, so I kept going. Sliding unopened beers across the table as D– was getting as drunk and sloppy as I was, cursing every time another beer manifested in front of him.
Then my roommate who went out earlier to drink came home, not too sturdy on the legs, and the next day I wondered if it looked funny that I said I was going to bed and then she shows up at 2AM and here I am drunk and flopping all over the table like a beached dolphin.
She disappeared into her bed to pass out and after the Tom Waits album ended I had to stop playing the music because her head only has about 4" of sheet rock between it and the speakers. Even drunken double-jerks like me have hearts.
So we kept on at each other, and honestly I have no idea what was said. I do recall noticing that it was 3 AM and me springing out of my chair like drunk people have a habit of doing, and saying something along the lines of, "Fuck... I have to sleep" and collapsing in my bed.
Two hours later my alarm went off and it was like a little slice of hell showed up in my room. I argued with myself over whether or not to call in sick, but I would feel like a chump for calling in a false sick day because I was drunk. If there was a pretty girl in my bed, that would be a whole different story, but the sad bed of mine was deserted and soaked in lousy beer sweat.
Had I been pulled over driving I suspect I would get a DUI, but I wasn’t driving so I sucked it up and took a shower in the dark. At some point, one of those 10 gallon jugs of shampoo that one can acquire at Costco or some such warehouse store fell on my foot. What can one do but swear? So I did. For a second I was sure I had broken the damned thing, the pain was unbelievable, but I could still move it. I squinted through the dark though and saw that I was bleeding nicely. It had hit that vein that runs right across the top of the foot and popped it.
A little more swearing, without much energy of course. Then I toweled off and got dressed and barely made my bus while listening to absolutely nothing on my big padded headphones. Some times I just like the muffling effect they have on the atmosphere and considering the weather they make a nice pair of ear muffs.
The whole day at work was pretty easy. It was a slow day, and I was moving even slower but I didn’t suffer a hangover, just a wee, lingering buzz that rose up occasionally as a dizzy spell that had me snickering at my incompetence.
I am my own worst enemy.
I had every intention of going to bed at a decent hour, but for whatever reason, and as is the norm, it didn’t really work out. I was going to write a bit, have a gin and Sprite, a couple beers, keep it mellow (yes, it’s a little sad as to what I consider "Keeping it mellow" on these harsh, cold, and lonely nights), then hit the hay by 11:00 PM or so. So I had a drink with my roommate Y– and as my drink disappeared rather quickly she asked if I was trying to destroy myself.
Was I?
No, not really. I just drink fast, which is why I try to stick with Pabst as the alcohol content is negligible, and I can pound it for awhile and still remain relatively safe and about my wits.
She finished her drink and went upstairs to paint and I turned on the stereo, made a quick On the Go mix on the iPOD that suited my mildly intoxicated brain, and set off to write.
As usual, I just ended up sending off a few e-mails that probably had no business being sent off. Then my other roommate, R– came home with some friends and they were off to the bar across the street, "Hey, you wanna come along?"–"No. Sounds fun and thanks for the invite but I have to get to bed early tonight. You kids have a good time though" is said through an uncoordinated tongue.
So they took off and I sent off some more e-mails, checked the news, all the things I usually end up doing when I am supposed to be writing.
Then my other roommate, D– came home and I have no idea how it happened but suddenly there was beer everywhere. We were facing off across the table, pounding beers, him berating me for being a douchebag, trying to motivate me to do something with my life, asking me to justify my currently-held belief that I am quite possibly doomed (I only half believe it. Honestly, I just like the way it rolls off of the tongue) . He got no answers from me but kept digging, and along with the 20 questions (more accurately 2700 questions) we talked music and other things... and it was probably the music subject, or something else, that prompted him to pay me the greatest compliment I have ever received... I just wish I could remember what exactly prompted it... but he said, out the corner of his mouth:
"You’re like two jerks pushed together."
All I could do was laugh, and hard, and write it down, because of all the things I assumed I would be forgetting on this wicked and polluted night, this was not one that I was willing to let go of. We kept on and I occasionally glanced at the clock on the microwave, crudely calculating the amount of beer I had consumed against the amount of time it was until I had to get up and go to work and how many more beers I calculated I could still down without being totally destroyed in the morning.
Unfortunately the only math I was capable of doing was the figuring out the difference between the time it was as I looked at the clock and the time I had to be at the bus stop, still in the dark of early morning. That whole part about factoring in sobriety and time to become sober and maintaining at work was lost to me, so I kept going. Sliding unopened beers across the table as D– was getting as drunk and sloppy as I was, cursing every time another beer manifested in front of him.
Then my roommate who went out earlier to drink came home, not too sturdy on the legs, and the next day I wondered if it looked funny that I said I was going to bed and then she shows up at 2AM and here I am drunk and flopping all over the table like a beached dolphin.
She disappeared into her bed to pass out and after the Tom Waits album ended I had to stop playing the music because her head only has about 4" of sheet rock between it and the speakers. Even drunken double-jerks like me have hearts.
So we kept on at each other, and honestly I have no idea what was said. I do recall noticing that it was 3 AM and me springing out of my chair like drunk people have a habit of doing, and saying something along the lines of, "Fuck... I have to sleep" and collapsing in my bed.
Two hours later my alarm went off and it was like a little slice of hell showed up in my room. I argued with myself over whether or not to call in sick, but I would feel like a chump for calling in a false sick day because I was drunk. If there was a pretty girl in my bed, that would be a whole different story, but the sad bed of mine was deserted and soaked in lousy beer sweat.
Had I been pulled over driving I suspect I would get a DUI, but I wasn’t driving so I sucked it up and took a shower in the dark. At some point, one of those 10 gallon jugs of shampoo that one can acquire at Costco or some such warehouse store fell on my foot. What can one do but swear? So I did. For a second I was sure I had broken the damned thing, the pain was unbelievable, but I could still move it. I squinted through the dark though and saw that I was bleeding nicely. It had hit that vein that runs right across the top of the foot and popped it.
A little more swearing, without much energy of course. Then I toweled off and got dressed and barely made my bus while listening to absolutely nothing on my big padded headphones. Some times I just like the muffling effect they have on the atmosphere and considering the weather they make a nice pair of ear muffs.
The whole day at work was pretty easy. It was a slow day, and I was moving even slower but I didn’t suffer a hangover, just a wee, lingering buzz that rose up occasionally as a dizzy spell that had me snickering at my incompetence.
I am my own worst enemy.
21.1.07
Procrastination...
So I am in the process of reading a semi-coffee table book on Django Reinhardt. I have been at it for awhile. I am finding that I am too finicky to review books, but this will get done when I finally run out of other things to do (mop, drink coffee, bake some cookies... blink, breathe).
Anyway, I came across this great quote. My second quote post in a row. I will try to avoid making this a habit.
"In the abrupt way that jazz orchestras have, this one plunges into a number. It loses no time in circumlocutions, but gets right down to business. It constricts the thorax and splits the heart with its tempo and narcotic harmonies. This orchestra grows rambunctious, rears on its hind legs, and attacks the tonal veil with primitive fury, rending it, clawing it until it breaks through to the jungle beyond. I follow those heathen--follow them exultingly. I dance wildly inside myself; I yell within, I whoop; I shake my assegai above my head, I hurl it true to the mark yeeeooww! I am in the jungle and living in the jungle way. My face is painted red and yellow, and my body is painted blue. My pulse is throbbing like a war drum. I want to slaughter something--give pain, give death what, I do not know. But the piece ends. The men of the orchestra wipe their lips and rest their fingers. I creep back slowly to the veneer we call civilization..."
-Zora Neale Hurston
1928
18.1.07
McLoch Resurfaces, Drunk and Lost Somewhere on the Yucatan Penninsula...
"All is Beautiful, no matter how Tragic, cuz All is of the Now and the Now is driven by the Living and the Living have an upper hand over the Dead. Life is Quick, Brutal, and Unflinching and it is for the Now... hesitation breeds Insanity and Regret... that is for the Dead...
This is the Now...
This is the Now...
We are the Living."
-Edwin McLoch
16.1.07
WTF?!
It's funny. I went to bed in Portland, Oregon and woke up in North Dakota. I don't know how it happened, and frankly I am not too thrilled about it. See, Snow is pretty and all, and I really like the effect it has on the ambient sound of the outdoors, all muffled and strapped together with pillows, but I was under the impression that we had an unspoken agreement-- that Snow would only put in appearances on the periphreals of wherever it was that I happened to be operating at the time. If I wanted a rendevous, got a hankering for frostbite and wet shoes, numb feet and a frozen nose, then I would drive the 1 hour to where Snow had its place. Today, Snow crossed the line.
So, forgive me while I become juvenile for a moment or two.
I give you the Fleshy Bird of "Go Back to North Dakota!" Snow!
I sully your Virginal Whiteness with the Urine of Cheap Beer and Spite, Snow. This is my town!
I Poop on you, Snow! You must leave me in Peace, for this is no place for you!
Now that that is out of my system, well, I suppose I have to find something else to curse. Sorry for the ass shot, everyone. You know the Donner Party would have done the same thing had they digital cameras and a blog as well.
I promise, next time, something a little more relevant to the Bigger Picture, if you will.
(Photos: David F.)
(Stunt ass: Will Conquest)
(Special thanks to Pabst Blue Ribbon, Polaroid, and my Uvula)
13.1.07
A small poem...
Actually, it wasn't meant to be a poem. Just something I jotted down on the fly. But I have yet to find a home for it so I offer it up as a sacrifice to the Demons of the Writer's Block.
(the following has no grounds in reality...)
("dot, dot, dots" hold a lot of weight in my reality)
(take that as you will)
Occasionally A Sentimental and Mildly Cliche Moment in the
Night Time is a Flash of Well Deserved Violence in Disguise, Delivered by a Girl Who
May Not Actually, Considering Recent Developments, Be Receiving that $4,000 Diamond Ring that Is Nestled Warmly in Your Coat Pocket
I thought I saw a shooting star,
but it was just your fist,
but it was just your fist,
all pale and small
in the moonlight
arcing towards my head.
That’s the last thing I remember.
arcing towards my head.
That’s the last thing I remember.
Thank you...
Thank you very much.
Is it wrong for a title to be longer than the actual piece?
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