I don't want to know how I feel.

Being friends with you sounds like a fucking nightmare.

Design is so simple that's why it's so complicated.  — Paul Rand

A stranger's just a friend you haven't turned into your nemesis yet.

At one point or another all normal people have wished their loved ones were dead.

Everyone has somebody they care about, and it is never you.

Your brain doesn't give a shit about your happiness.

My past is what I've failed to be.

The moral of the story? Never try.  — Homer Simpson

Underwater may be the best place to cry.

You are the only one stopping you — I mean, me.

I'm continuously finding new ways to not be enough.


Solitude is fine, but you need someone around to tell that solitude is fine.

All roads lead to fuck me.

You could be great if you were not so brilliant at being mediocre.


*unless otherwise noted, the above quotes are all taken from the internets, books, or life and have all been butchered or altered in some way by myself or my editor, abe lincoln.



an old joke


I speak one language. In high school, I cheated my way through four years of Spanish — I learned a few key phases, but nothing more. During university, I minored in Russian, and with frequent trips to the old country I was almost, sort of getting, kind of, in-a-way, fluent. After a few years of neglect and with no practice, sadly, I never obtained a true duel tongue. I've met a few people, and have become one myself, that believe those who speak only one language are simply idiots.

I have a son. He turns two tomorrow and speaks three languages. At least, I think he does. He isn't a rambling mess of complete sentences just yet — but you can tell that his tower of Babel is nearing completion. Focus in closely, and you can see his brain at work — putting the right words in the right system for use with the right people, at the right time and the proper situations. 

We share one language; my son and I, and I'm trying to learn words from his other two. Simple ones —  mostly animals, numbers and letters and such. One of my favorite anomalies of this learning process is noticing how animals "say" things differently depending on the language. I knew this from my studies in the past, but had since forgot, just like most of that other language. Apparently an elephant says, "pawoo," and, what does the fox say?

Chickens and roosters say all sorts of crazy. Cock-a-doodle-do. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm looking at that over and over, in my one and only language mind you, and still think it looks and sounds just all wrong. I feel like a nephew of mine — a two language speaker himself —  who would slant his head with a look of surprise confusion and quickly ask, "What-the?" 

With the animals and their sounds and the words comes laughter and simple jokes. There are two "jokes" from as far back as I can remember that seemed to be the foundation for all others. As if, as a kid, you had to learn these two not-so-funny jokes before moving on to anything of real comic weight. One asked, "Why firemen wear suspenders?" With the answer being the obvious one as to keep their pants up. As an adult, pour moi, this joke has turned into: "How do you get a nun pregnant?" A: You fuck her.

The other joke was about a chicken, and asked, "Why does a chicken cross the road?" The answer: "To get to the other side." Okay, so ... not funny. Not funny at all, in any way. Yet still, embedded into my brain like an image in an Illustrator file. But, on a walk with my wife, while strolling our son, and preparing myself to tell him all those horrible dad-jokes (you get a book of them from the at the hospital when they are born, it's true), I paused and gave this proverbial chicken more attention.

And by using that word — proverbial — a word also seemingly branded into my head from over abundant familial usage, I thought more about what a proverbially really meant. And that fucking chicken, that coward ... why would he do such a thing? Why would any man, woman, or child throw themselves into on-coming traffic with purpose? Just to end it? Cowards! Chickens! Do they not know heaven is in the here and now? The other side promises nothing — especially for those who take their own lives.

While about to sit down for a brief repose the same "what-the" nephew from above — after over-hearing an adult conversation — asks me , "What is suicide?"
I respond, "When you kill yourself." 

He said, "That's funny."




No. 9


I used to live in a high rise above Wilshire Blvd., in what is now called the Wilshire Corridor. It may very well have been called that back then too, but I was a mere chubby kid, who wouldn't have noticed such an adult name. I'm not sure to the reason why, but I had acquired my first alarm clock. It was a baseball — more softball in size, and softish — it had a digital clock built into it. The idea was fairly simple: The alarm went off, one throws the baseball across the room, and it would then go into sleep or snooze mode. After a few weeks of throwing the thing around my room, breaking small objects here and there, I realized the agony of getting out of bed and finding the damn thing after about eight or nine minutes.

Later, I lived in a small town in Colorado. One with a population a touch over five hundred. My class had close to twenty boys and one girl — all the boys asked her out, but she rejected us each one. Back then i loved sleeping more than anything, and could sleep for great lengths. I would also say awake till early in the morning reading giant books that were over my head, and since I've had to re-read. I didn't have an alarm clock then — I had my mom. She would walk down the stairs every morning and gently yell me awake. Yet, I was awake before her vocal alarm went off — it was her footsteps — they woke me up as she walked upstairs.

My first night in my eight by ten foot dorm room in high school was a long one. I couldn't sleep. I bought my first alarm clock the day before moving in. It wasn't purchased for me, I bought it on my own. It was an old fashioned number, with the bells on top and a little hammer in between. Eventually, I did fall asleep, and whatever ungodly hour it was when that hammer smashed those bells was the moment 20 years of my life were taken from me. I was scarred. My heart pounded. I checked my bed for shit stains. And literally threw the thing out of my dorm window into a small canyon below.

For the rest of my high school career, I bought a small, black digital clock with red numbers. It was a plug-in. I read about REM and sleep patterns, and dreaming, and came up with some crazy system of setting my alarm at these odd times to make sure I would have 3 snooze cycles — 9 minutes long — before getting out of bed (OCD here I come?). Sometimes I would purposefully set the alarm an hour early to grantee the perfect cycle.

In college, I abandoned this sleep cycle regime and opted for heavy amounts of drugs to get the optimal dreams out of my brain. Yet, I noticed after a night of LSD use, the red numbers of my clock would always flicker and twitch. To this day these red digital numbers on such clocks play tricks on my eyes, and I don't use them anymore.

From then till almost now, my alarm clock turned into my phone. I hardly turn off my phone and my phones over the years have all had reliable alarm schemes. When I was single I would set the alarm and put the phone in the empty space next to me in bed, and never use the snooze feature — there was no need. Now coupled, it rests on the bedside table, but snoozing is a must.

I am a snooze hound. My phones all had 9 minutes snooze lengths. Today, I use a fitness tracker with a silent alarm (it vibrates on my wrist) and that also comes with a 9 minute snooze feature. I do not understand the origins of the nine minutes of snooze — I'm sure Wikipedia has the answer, but I don't really care to look it up. But seriously, why not 10, a nice round number. Honestly, after a round of snooze, who wants to get up at 7:09? Is that even a real time?

I recently read users will be allow to set their iWatch ahead of actual current time. No where have a read about the ability to change the length of the snooze — how sad. The future is bleak. I will continue to have to set my alarm to 18 or 27 minutes before I wish to rise. And wonder why 9.