"official clockwork mechanical man: does everything but live" (the valentine edition, part I)

ladies and gentlemen...drumroll please...I...jonnaeaquus tiresias boomerang...(waves arms to signal his desire for more enthusiasm, more fervor, more drumrolling suspense)........



......needed a haircut.

like a shaggy dog.

now I have one. Got one. I have gotten a haircut. It's nice, I guess. It is certainly lighter on the neck, and the eyes maybe?

and NOW I present to you several song fragments that communicate how i feel about things...


"It's a trap, it's a vicious trap...it's a map, it's a worthless smile...someone somewhere far away"

"tenth avenue freeze-out... I'm on my own, and I can't go home"

"I got dreams but nothing to hope for...lady, lady, keep your distance, I mean no good."


Damn you Avett Bros. for representing and supporting all of my cultural values so well.

I think I'm'onna drink vodka-redbulls the whole weekend. Just for the holiday. You see, being that valentine's day is coming up, I thought it would be humorously ironic to tempt cardiovascular failure.

Anyhow, I have felt like a disgusting human being lately, and it doesn't help that there are several places on my bedroom wall occupied by boogers. That's right people - boogers. They've dried into hard lumps over the paint next to my bed. And that only encapsulates a small part of my neuroses as a human being. So you might imagine the mush I have in my melon.

somebody date me. preferably someone who can cook - my microwaves are mad at me. and the oven is trying to kill me. I think it's upset because sometimes I forget to turn it off.

so raise up your glass for conflicting ideas,
and drain the whole drink so they'll all disappear.

i've got smoke, pills and powders, and needles and shots
and i'm shooting the noose to get out of the knots.

what the fuck ever that means.


happy day-before-valentine's-day.

what i do instead of productive question mark...(s)

one time i just wrote a very long poem instead of doing my homework. i decided it was too personal and i erased it. you've hurt me too much in the past, internet. i can't go throwing my feelings all over the place any more, because any one of those feelings could land on, like, some sort of rocky soil, and then what happens? germination? girl, i don't think so!

so i still have all that homework. i think i might just continue to avoid it - do one of those purposeful all-nighters. what's the worst that could happen?

in conclusion, friends, i will now be going for a run. because apparently that's something i do? used to. anyhoo. its a particularly bad idea, because (a) I have been smoking too much, too recently, and (b) i am recovering from a sinus infection or something. what's probably going to happen is, if there's still some sort of sinus infection-type bacteria floating around in my system, i will suck it into my lungs and get some kind of respiratory infection, especially if i'm not sleeping tonight. so i look forward (or whichever way time faces...hands...clockward) to meeting you on the battlefield, sunrise. just to give you fair warning, i will have at least 21 hours on you. advantage. headstart. so you best be ready.


i say good day.

I only started to think i was jesus when the traffic lights started to change for me. but only when i walk.

the early morning has a sense that can only be described as a gentle elegance. Or maybe a quiet purity. But that negates my first sentence, so fuck that noise.

the moisture in your tired eyes
sends light beams shooting dice their size

I like how recently every night of the weekend has been its own little adventure, full measures of success and failure. Which is good, because the weeks are long, and often epic defeats in terms of morale. So buck up, missy, because life is just a limbo of a stripped down sort of symbol and you only make it simple by pumping up the music and lowering the bar. Or is it raising the bar? The representation is a bit befuddled because tbe brain can't help but be muddled in the morning when the sun is missing and you've already missed most of the afternoon.

So get up offa that thang. shake it, you'll feel better. I promise. I heard it in a song.

I'm trying to write myself out of bed. Fairly ineffective. Better luck next time.

But I have things to do! I have to get around to hating the weekend for being mostly over already. For not being around when I needed it. But I suppose I fail to remember forgetting December. Because the weather's gotten warmer but the winter's just begun.

So hold out for some splendor, hold onto hope, keep your eyes peeled for the sun.

I have been pondering what inspires the very essence of the organism that is a human being to arrange its composition so as to navigate all efforts toward another human being.

And.

i think.

i might have an answer.




but it is only another quandry in itself. isn't that always the case dontcha find?



so i've got a mess more problems and this thought bubble has a long way to float, but its going somewhere. i hope it takes me with it.

they're called GRABOIDS! I would have spelled it with uh zee.

What a mood. These sure are confusing times we're all living in, people. Check ya neck, that's all I'm saying.

What to say...what to say? I don't think gin is my favorite drunk. I think I will stick to whiskey and tequila.

Oh, right. Winter break was alright. Uneventful. Unproductive. New year's eve was just a terrible experience for myself. For the most part. And this first week of classes was dreadfully strenuous. And I know it is only going to get exponentially worse as this semester progresses. And it will probably get so bad that I won't be able to focus on getting a job for the summer, so I won't get one. It seems life is dead-set on sustaining this malaise. But you know. whatever.

one thing i will say is that i spread peanut butter on my banana this morning. In a very sensual manner. But fer real folks, I have been doing it for awhile now, and it's a beautiful breakfast. Especially for hangovers. Very sensual hangovers. Ones during which you sense that you FEEL LIKE SHIT.

Dystopian today. That's probably not the right word. But when you look out and all you see is gloom and doom and mud and crud, what else can you see? I can't see the bright snow looking back at me, it's all cluttered with filth. And there's a piece in my eye. So there's no way the mess of fallen precipitation can sub in for the blankness left by the sun's bitter absence. It doesn't quite fulfill certain electromagnetic supply standards. Sometimes she comes out, though. I just wish I could hold on.

I like it when people say "dudn't". Or "doe'n't"?

I had a dream last night. You probably did too. But I remembered mine, which dudn't happen a lot. It was about a fire that burned the shit out of a building i was in. I don't remember if it was my fault. Totes probs.

The shelf at the foot of my bed is supporting several items right now, including:
-jar of creamy peanut butter (oh yeah, it wasn't just a euphemism people)
-butter knife resting gently across the lid of said jar
-mostly empty bottle of flintstone vitamins
-empty glass of water
-face lotion
-empty peel of banana, quickly browning
-small pair of scissors
-iPod(first generation nano with blue earbud headphones)
-mostly empty bottle of gin

And that means it's time to go folks.

Fuck me, right?

Inspiration fails when you can't remember a thought from one moment to the next, or, "Has Something Been Shitting in Here?!"

One morning in the recent past, I was walking to class. It was cold. I was late I think. But I wasn't worried - I think I had a cigarette, but also a little ditty by Fiona Apple came up on my iPod, called "Extraordinary Machine". So I was jamming along. And what should pass but a hearse. Bummer. It had an orange flag, though, and I have never seen that before. And all of the trailing vehicles had their own orange flags. "Funeral", they said. Read. I thought - orange? I mean I love orange, don't get me wrong, but is it really the most appropriate hue for such matters? Certainly there's the visibility element, but I really think you need to utilize the skull 'n' crossbones insignia here. Really give everyone you pass a sense of gloom and a reminder of their own mortality. and a reminder of PIRATES! So yeah I guess pirates kinda have the market cornered on the skeletal icons, but hey that could add a hint of adventure, eh? Some rowdies try and hijack the casket? Looking for gold, find a dead body - the perfect distraction while you're burying the treasure in the cemetery across town.

But perhaps that was just the dead's wishes. Of course, I heard that orange flags are widespread nowadays for these sort of ceremonies, but you know, people are liars. So i'ma believe what i damn well please. and in this reality of my own invention, I reckon I would probably have flags on the train, but they would be very large, flying on the top of each vehicle. Now yes, some of the taller automobiles might not be able to make any clearance, but I'm sure there are other ways to the graveyard. And hey, more publicity for my funeral! but we'll get to that in a minute. So these flags - they
attackers find a dead body...you know what I'm bored. This is boring. moving on.

Sometimes I walk in a silly fashion. And most often it's for no one else's amusement but my own. I think it has given me light to moderate back trouble. These are the important lessons in life.

My hangover is like my body saying : "it's going to be a shitty day. WAKE UP ASSHOLE YOU'RE MISSING IT!"

In the course of my lifetime, I would like to be honored with a banner-raising/number-retired ceremony? I was watching Steve Yzerman's ceremony on the tyoob at the parents' house, and there was the pomp and the sentimentality and the detroit red wings has been the team that i have followed closest for the longest time or whatever. So it was touching for me. And I thought to myself, "I would like a version of this to happen to me in some sort of activity i am involved in". But then they brought out the chevy prize vehicle and were all like "and he's gonna be going home with this brand new chevy truck suv thing that's so cool". something like that. and they played this like midwest middle-age middle-class party music and had the vehicle like circling on the ice. ew...i'm gonna change the channel i think.

y'ever look at yourself in the mirror or think about something you just said or did, and wonder what the hell kind of person am I? what right have i to exist? what a ridiculous conclusion this has become - my life. I think the cut on my finger feels infected. See? I only wrote that for my own enjoyment from consonance. Absurd, no? but also because it hurts, but probs not because it is infected. I don't think. I don't know.

I.D.T.I.D.K.

I've got a clock face and I don't know which way is twelve. that is a way better title.

Syllogism the first

Class is a synecdoche.








Think about it.