?

Log in

Arturo Bandini's Journal

> recent entries
> calendar
> friends
> Action Photo Zine
> profile
> previous 20 entries

Saturday, December 28th, 2002
3:16 am - We're playing rock and roll in a rock and roll band.
Just returned from an adventure with Danny Nelson. So we went down to the Orpheum and peered inside to see no one having fun and no one we knew and this was at 11 or 11:30. We decided that because we went down there to go on a photo adventure that a photo adventure is what we would do. We went down some back alleys and found some older wooden chairs and then headed toward the cross town express and found ourselves on what was some sort of barge cleaning platforms. They were rusty and made of some type of iron and were in the water and rose thirty feet. So we played and took photos from atop of these odd metal cargo ship carriers that house barges while they are being cleaned and peed off them. (We had to wrestle with our child-like desires until we gave way peeing on things) After we had our fill we wondered to this dark and deserted (imagine that) old granary that had been abandoned for what seemed like thirty years. The parts at walkways had rust so bad that when we tired climbing to the top of the building our feet would start to break the walkway. Danny went ahead and went up any way by putting one foot on either side of the walkway and climbing up a foot at a time. We scaled all the way up three stories this way with our hands covered in rust at the end. At the top nothing seemed stable and we stood on the hilt of the building over looking the downtown Tampa area with only a couple of rusted bars from keeping us from falling. The roof was slanted at such an angle that if it broke there would be no way for us to stop before hitting the lip of the roof. After the building got us high Dan and I started finding things from the crow's nest like area that we were on to throw. I had picked up two large rocks before I got to the top and I gave some speech about how I only have two so make your last sort thing and threw mine toward the barge we just came from. It landed in the water and made lots of noise. Nelson threw his into a big whole on the roof side and then counted the sounds. Three clanks the whole way down. Then we moved onto large heavy pieces of machinery grating and iron beams. We made quite a bit of noise and we kept looking toward the horizon to this factory/plant where people were working with trouble in the back of our minds. The way down seemed a bit more dangerous then the way up and longer too. Nothing happen either way besides either one of us almost falling threw the grating. We got back to the Orpheum at 2:15, which sucked because I wanted to run into Ray while with Danny. Eh, oh well. The drive home was normal but we are on a mission, a mission to find something either to break, break into, or climb up then run down. Any suggestions? Any recommended places for photos?
1 fucking fascist!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Tuesday, December 24th, 2002
8:39 am - So....
So... I drove my car to Gainesville last weekend and slept in Todd and Jarrett's attic. I'm so happy that my super car rules. I remember drinking beers and trying to find the compound, a place full of beer sharks and fire pits. Happy hands now hold an original pressing of the White Stripes new album and my ear delight in Iron Maidens "Powerslave". Karen says I should move to Gainesville and, "rock-et". Too bad I was there when everyone was home.

Randy was home and I did the whole being really tired after work thing yet hangout anyway thing. Dome grill, talking about box sets, and digging for fire...er vinyl was all done. We found a bunch of really cool untouched LP's in thrift store across the street from the state that were all overly priced by ladies that did not even know one title track name off Led Zeppelin’s debut album. Disappointment of the year. Soraya got into car accident which is not cool and I represented Chris William’s by starting to drink High Life at 1:30 AM. HAHA Chris and Sore in the same sentence. OK, FIN.
Humbug.
2 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Friday, December 20th, 2002
8:59 pm - The synopsis
Thursday: Went to yet another under appreciated day of throwing and punching wholes in boxes that most likely have your presents in them. Turned down Todd's money in order to make my promise to Francis, Emily, and Mike. Had one hellva time blowing my legs out on what turned out to be a 42-mile bike ride. Clearwater to the Piers and back again via the trial and all it’s over passing glory. Always lovely to be surrounded my warm smiles and warm bellies of coffee. Mike was very hospitable and filled my connoisseur cravings for coffee. Sleep came quickly after working and biking. Emily left and said something to me or might have be I was so far gone that I don't remember anything. I think this job is going to kill me.
Friday: Woke and was so hungry to the point where I inhaled three pieces of watermelon and two tangerines. (Thank you Raya (for all those concerned with my diet)) Work sucked due to the inability to move my legs without cramping. I rode with Todd today and helped him deliver 114 stops. Not boxes Stops. I got to wear an entire Fedex uniform and I don't think I have worn shorts this short since I was five. I got verbally harassed for my sickeningly pale white legs and most of the thrashing came from none other then Eric Doss and Steve Foster. I discovered the only, yes, and simply the only top desert island reason why any one would live in Florida and its called Casey Key. I stood the whole day in the truck due to no seat, got paid 80 bucks for pretty much nothing and ate more tangerines. Don’t you miss it, don't you miss it. Some of you people just about missed it.
I got all the food I could eat from Todd who was Frappacinos and Luna Bars and I slept on the way back. I've been up since 1:30 AM, Todd says my car is in great condition and the best car for 350 dollars he has ever seen. He's a mechanic; he's bone fide! And I'm off like a prom dress!

P.S. Stay tuned for Timm’s first annual music top ten list of the year.
1 fucking fascist!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Tuesday, December 17th, 2002
10:47 am - It plays all the pops and buzzes on my servo.
"Toasted or not?” that’s all I could think while pulling open the door to the fridge. I looked at Matt and then to my mother who was standing further away then Matt was. I gave her an erratic look punctuating my concern with Matt’s animal like behavior. Like watching a honey bear trying to open a bag a cereal, Matt ripped open his cream cheese and directly smeared it on his equally ripped open begal. No time for grace he left the aforementioned kitten to relocate only seconds later in a plastered, stupefied position back to bed with his findings on his belly like a crown on a king.
“Mom I sometimes wonder about him. I don’t get know how he can just waste so much time in front on the boob tube.”
“Well, you know, he is just like your father”, said softly she replied.
I stopped to reflect on this. I didn’t reflect on the comments about my father, which I generally do. Usually frenzied excitement or wild enthusiasm with slight notes of hatred would usually accompany spit as they fly from my mouth spackling the darker-then-mine skin that shows all my mothers’ years. This time I have circular thinking to help with my fits of rage. I pull memories from 8mm movie projections and 3 by 3 Kodak pictures sepia toned due to improper chemical fixing done in the 80’s. Along with childhood memories and some warmer feelings I string these all along, unconsciously distorted with a Lynchien blur smeared across the entire vision. Fast and faster the thought comes, is held, and then goes and this happens often. Only after its over am I left delirious and holding something in my head like a stale taste, as if its for life, face contorted and tongue sticking out, eyes squinting. I normally get mad at her for the epithets and the slander, playing the defense for Dad because he’s dead but today I was saturnine. I couldn’t help but let the comment spark my built up sentimentality paving the molten way for some burning sad bastard sorrow.
I then retorted:
“Sometimes, while I’m at work, I’ll be picking up boxes and throwing them or I’ll be in some type of movement and I’ll start singing. It’s the same way that you might find yourself singing a random song in the shower, like a burst or an ebullition that just comes. I’ll get through thirty seconds of the song and then realize that I’m singing some sort of Christmas song or Sunday church hymn. I have been getting better at catching myself doing this but at first I would stand in a puzzled state and think, ‘How did I get here and why am I singing this song?’ I didn’t give it much thought because I felt I didn’t need to but I knew to the point of articulation who was pulling strings. I knew either I have some type of angel or Dad was trying to directly put these songs into my head”
I stopped talking at once. I felt something stirring inside. I believe it lives in us all. If it has a name I do not know what it is but it’s the force that makes us cry whenever we see a loved one off on a plane or have to sit through another Speilburg movie about war or retards. I’m almost sure it climbs up the throat and the eye ducts and holds onto your breath until you eyes go red and then lets go. I didn’t cry. If I did I wouldn’t say anyway I have to work on my image. I trailed off with an after thought that I had about the matter then expressed some discernment:
“One idea I’ve had about this whole matter or the state of my well being was that when Grandpa died, and I was down to see him in his final days I remember his this way. In his bed with a tube in his stomach taking wild guess at whom we were. I didn’t feel bad about not crying when he finally died. I knew he lived well and I knew his time had come to go. Dad on the other hand, It just doesn’t seem right. How can you just be taken like that? I fucking hate it. I’ll sit there sometimes surrounded with people I know and say to myself, ‘I don’t know a single fucking one of you’. I’ll begin to loathe my surroundings and realize that this is all limited. Tomorrow I may not be here and ask myself why this is? I’ll honestly tell myself that this is not how I want to live and I should be doing something about it. I’ll rant like this forever or until someone talks to me and pulls me out of it. And all the while, during the whole thought, I’ll know somewhere within myself that this is Dad doing this to me. Not speaking to me but making things aware, I guess.”
“It’s called closer Tim. You may never find it. I wanted you to see your Grandfather before he died because I didn’t want you to have to go through the process of remembering the things about him that you didn’t need to.”
Right about here I looked up and saw that my Mother was in fact sobbing. Rings around her eyes and clear sapphire trailing down her cheeks. I thought to myself, “Oh, brother I am not doing this.” I tried my best not to be rude but I had to leave. I may be sentimental but a mans got to draw the line somewhere. So I went into my room and put on The Beach Boys “Pet Sounds” and tried to forget about the moment.
I had some time to think things through the next day at work although I didn’t really stray to far from the thought of sending flowers, well not until one of my drivers came in.
“Man all this home delivery is KILLING me. I hate the holiday season. There must be like an additional 65 stops on here just from home delivery!”
(This is Todd and he is the driver for the second truck that I load. He doesn’t really play any part in this story so I obviously will not develop his character. He is mentioned here because my brother rode with him the other day and talk to him about my Dad. So of course he thinks he needs to talk to me about it, as if I need someone to talk to. I don’t that’s my whole point. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I lust for the aesthetic of solitude. A fucking rock.)
“So your brother rode with me last week.”
“Yeah, I know you called me during your ride down and talked to me about Zeppelin, remember?”
“He’s a funny kid.”
“Please tell me all about it.” I said with sarcasm.
“Well he talked about your father and I was wanted to say that I am sorry to hear about it. I know what it feels like. He told me that your father never missed one of your basketball games and I understand what that’s like.”
“Yeah, well...”
I walked out of the van and back to the belt. I didn’t want to spend time talking about it at all. I get really upset I get displaced when I talk about my father. I mean that in an emotionally unstable way. The same parallel as being high and functioning mechanically. I can do it, it’s just isn’t smooth or normal and the cohesion shared between my heart and my brain just wilts. I panic and tend to say things sporadically and compulsively. I’ll then apologize for talking and act nervous. I am fine right now because I don’t feel like I am talking about anything. I feel like I am just telling a story. A dramatic series of events that place a specific time and meaning on a detailed memory I hold. Something like that. Maybe it’s an unhealthily obsession with discernment. Linking what I have been with what I am.

current mood: torpor
I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Wednesday, November 27th, 2002
9:02 am
I have been having allot of conversations recently about the free spirited nature of allot of kids I know. I honestly think it's not really anyone’s business but you’re own, well unless you make it pubic. (harhar) This is post-able do to something that I read recently in this months issue or last months issue of SPIN magazine (a magazine full of too much bullshit and cynicism) and it is on page 38. It's a column where David Cross replies to reader mail. I wrote a song about it. Wanna hear it, here it goes:
Reader: I've been flirting back and forth with this guy for weeks. Finally, we went on something that felt like a date, at which time he casually mentioned he has a girlfriend who lives in another city. Why would he go on a date with me?
David: Why? It's called your vagina. You need to figure out what you want. Are you to get married, or are you just looking for a lobster dinner and some cock? This guy has a girlfriend, but don't be surprised that he wants to experience what it's like to be with someone else. This is al really normal. What’s with the serious bullshit? Step back, lady.

In the column there is a characterized picture of David holding a lobster in one hand and a male chicken in the other with a gigantic look of 'duh' on his face. I thought it funny.
2 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Tuesday, November 26th, 2002
9:34 am - Matic at the double doors.
I NEVER UPDATE ABOUT WORK. It’s just not something I’m prone to do. I don't think there is anything interesting about an under appreciated package handling dock satellite clerking position. I'm underpaid for the amount of labor with no benefits and work hours so bad I wonder sometimes why I'm not dead. So after not enough sleep and a lovely night in the hands of one of my favorite local bands I am off to work, er, I mean Bennigans, what?
So after the show I sat and talked to a few people, namely Soraya 'hottest girl in town' Zaumeyer and Danny 'I'm even hotter then Soraya' DelPurgatorio, but I left to go to the Castle to run into two girls. When I got there they were nowhere to be found but I did see my friend Patrick. Well I kissed Patrick, whom by the way most likely uh er liked it because he has gone gay then left. I stayed for eight songs and I contribute my leaving to the Senator for his clothes coming over. I haven't been to the Castle in little over eleven months and I don't remember that man being so crafty with his craziness then, what a fucking slip. I left and ran into what seemed to be a caravan or courage on 275, followed it and landed at Bennigans. I sat, talked and realized I was going to be late. I figured, "Fuck it, I'm way to loyal to of all things this damned job!" So I got there late.
After about two hours I managed to listen to my friends story about how he was hit by a car on his bike and got two grand out of it. I think I'm going to get hit by a car next week on my bike. The trailer was ten minutes late coming in from Orlando to Clearwater so that was ten more minutes sitting and talking to the manager. Matt, my little brother, managed to tell me that he hates me and "everything you do I hate and don't agree with."
"Ahh.Matt that was redundant."
He then continued to tell me that I'm killing myself be staying out late and he doesn't agree with me not going to church anymore. I replied to him by saying that when we were raise we where brought up by closed-minded republican Lutherans. I then told him that when you truly live your life you begin to question things you have been taught and push boundaries due to lack of faith and skepticism. He told me I'm full of bullshit. He eventually walked away flicking me off. When AJ, my belt boss, came around and told me he would move me down to the area around Matt I told him I'd knock Matt's dick in the dirt but I refereed to him as "my little brother". I then got a lecture for calling him little. I then responded to AJ with an amusing antidote about Matt and his love of wrestling followed by, "if I fought Matt it would go more like this: I would hit him in the face and then he would tackle me because he doesn’t know how to throw a punch."
The rest the workday was normal. When my first driver came in at 6 and told me he was sick I turned and left. Just getting over being sick myself I would rather not go round two. My last driver came in at 7:15, called me motherfucker and then asked me what’s going on. I told him "nothing" went over his truck with him and left to pull the rest of my shit off the belt. The first driver was talking to the second when I came over and handed the first a packed and told the second to move but I said it like this, "move it or lose it you damned cabrone!" He looked at me and corrected my pronunciation of the word "cabrone" in his think Jersey accent. I thought, "and all this time I was saying it wrong."
OK, all right. I don't have anything heartfelt to say in this post and I feel almost like It isn't complete without something...I realized a few important things about my abundance of emotion and how people must honestly see me act while I'm gushing. I remember someone told me that I'm too emotional, or at least something of the nature and another told me I was rather passionate when I asked about the word dramatic. I had an ebullition about my father and it was in regards to my mother but I thought about how she would take it. I know I'll get a stoned cold response so why bother?
I am leaving on that but I just needed to tell everyone out there that dollar records have to be the best thing ever especially when you are going to make someone’s mother a mix tape and you have none of the records you need. Also I thought I owed it to myself to make it public how uncool I am. I do not one damned record by the following:
The Flaming Lips
Explosions in the Sky
Drive like Jehu
At The Gates
Violent Femmes
Low
Gang of Four
Tom Waits
R.E.M.

Anyone want to help me out by putting to tape anything aforementioned
13 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Sunday, November 24th, 2002
4:43 pm - RE:here's to your newfound intrest in hardcore music, cheers!
So last night was fun.
I think Chris and big Mel finally got their issues out on the table and that’s good because I hate it when two friends have problems with each other. I think this also especially holds true when one or both of the friends, if nothing else, honestly doesn't even care to put forth the effort to anxiously waltz over and demote the other. But yet, after the pot calls the kettle black, all that's left is a stage primed and prepared for more drama and a steadily growing audience. So congratulations, the academy award for ridiculous over reacting goes to you! I did however have quite a long night to think all this over and I think I have already done enough damage with this frivolous post but in that night allot more went through my mind then just the current state of point and counter-point in the sluttering game. Simplistic ideas and valid points were the majority of the traffic but talking about it anymore wouldn't be either side out and I genuinely don't care who holds the ace.
I do think that, in the hour and a half car ride home, that silence between two brought steadily more lull and clarity then I have ever experienced with any other being, ever. It seems to be a reoccurring feeling that I at first called uncomfortable silence but after ten years of run-ins, sleep-overs, binges and broken skateboards you kinda just loose the uncomfortable somewhere. It’s that same comfort, that moment; it's what I have been looking for in my friends. Or not so much looking but longing persistently, wistfully, or sadly with some type of tenderness or compassion. I suppose you could generally call it “being gotten” which is how I more commonly refer to it as but I think the long term explanation is just as graceful. I want to love all my friends this way but I should be sticking to the random subject at hand, or not. I venture back to my old high school at least five or six times a semester to see art teachers because there are some there that just understands. I don’t have to define what I’m doing or where I am going. I can talk to them about everything and they always seem to smile. Those light white lies and the darker coffee colored truths that you never tell anyone, they understand, like some unconditional line of credit of trust at some bank. Why can’t I have these relationships, these friendships more? I hear the echo of one line salvo: OK, go make out with who ever you want, sure barrow the CD’s, Dumpster diving, why not? Where has it all gone? Where was I when everyone was cruising around and robbing liquor stores? Of course there are those moments when I get really stupid and contrary to what I type but its not something I labor toward. Then people stand around and talk about being in school, growing as a person and developing. Becoming who they know they are going to be and all I have been doing is sitting on the railing listening to why they hate the boy that sits in front of them in their creative writing class. I want to be a creative writing class! (Say it like you would say, “I am tiger wood!”) I take on a sullen eye-darting starring contest with the ground and am asked what’s wrong. I don’t even reply with anything audible, just some mumble, but I am thinking quite loudly, “Why am I in this rut? What am I taking so hard? Why do I talk about passion so much yet keep telling myself that I hate everyone? Who is this other person that roguishly manifests himself within me? Why is he so saturnine?” (This is really what goes through my mind in that hour and a half and that Katie is why I most likely seem distressed whenever people talk to me about school.) They taunt and turn and loath and if you are looking at me I seem really depressed and you may even ask, “Yo, you look glum, what’s the deal?” I reply with that artful “nothing” but I am lying. Oddly enough I started to read about Van Gogh’s life, his autobiography, thinking that he had some sort of near life experience but with depression? So what does that have to do with the friends theme? Nothing but I did want to say that I do feel the most homely when I am in this state, any others? I suppose the theme is more passion lest the drama but I am not prophetic, I live in the glass house too.
I got a message from a friend that told me I was too dramatic or it might have been melodramatic and for about a month that bothered me until I talked to one of those aforementioned teachers. I realize that that person maybe had unintentional motives in saying this, trying to change me into something I’m not. I am dramatic and I’m not going to change. I will remain passionate and calmly ardent. (This stroke means I’m drunk, this stroke means I’m not!) I understand now that this is me, if you don’t like it, take a number, sit on the sidelines and deal, though I refuse to belief that there are many that actually have the time to do this or even care enough.
As fragmentary and intangible as this maybe I do want everyone to know that I love either two of the fighting and I will always be there friends, even if it means dropping the paintbrush. Now the hour and a half that took me to write about the hour and a half was nice but I’m done and I rather not go on any longer.

current mood: Ardor
5 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Friday, November 22nd, 2002
9:09 am - movie...tonight!
Does anyone want to go and see punch-drunk love tonight? Maybe we can organize some sort of mass viewing and get a group discount! oh well, give me a call if you want to go.
7 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Thursday, November 14th, 2002
1:29 am - Mother superior jumped the gun...
Tired of drowning in your sea of manifestos? Is it getting harder to tell who is in cahoots with who? Ever wonder if there is a connection between the NRA and KKK? Does America’s obsession with firearms make you cringe? Do you hate the media’s connection with the saturation of fear in the current American status? Well if your tired of reading this and saying yes then get out of your room and down to the local theater and submerge yourself into what will be the best documentary you will ever see. Bowling for Columbine has to be the best I have ever seen to date. I would talk more about it but I would just totally ruin it. Just go and enjoy but make sure you bring your satire hats and look forward to Mr. Heston finally looking just like a man in office should, an ass.

current mood: Harried
3 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Wednesday, November 13th, 2002
8:34 am - Credit is due
Think of three objects that would represent you. I accredit Clamity Paige from Richmond for this little nitty.

1. A pair of flat tired vans old skools
2. An octopus tattoo
3. Burnt Umber oil paint or 24 hour revenge therapy
10 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
8:21 am - Ten easy steps to talking shit...
junethe6th: you talking bout the dumb scene girl?
junethe6th: that girl is amazingly scene and amazingly retard.......ive never met a person more wanting to be scene
junethe6th: its wierd
AtaxiaAction: come on now
AtaxiaAction: thats not true
AtaxiaAction: you and i both know
AtaxiaAction: that there are worse kids
AtaxiaAction: how about some of those seminole crew kids
AtaxiaAction: you know who i speak of
AtaxiaAction: at least she really does live in 813
junethe6th: no they arent as bad
AtaxiaAction: all those other kids just wish they could
junethe6th: sweet home bam-er
junethe6th: take me home
4 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Friday, November 8th, 2002
7:45 am - pseudo
My day rocked because:
Alison gets mad at me when I spell her name wrong yet she loves me.
Erin gets angry when I run up to Al and tell her that I was bored until she got there.
Andrew W.K. knows how to party hard
I drank two cups of coffee and it was to my liking.
I smoked three filter-less cigarettes and they not to my liking so I gave my "cowboy cigarettes" to a nice man outside of the club.
Being thanked for the latter
Mikes feedback about my tape cover art.
I found out I can touch my toes when bending over.
Conan made me laugh.
David Cross made a valid point about physical appearance in tactical political protest and I believe he had an interesting perspective on the idea of a "dirty hippie".
They Might Be Giants spoke to me through the TV set and told me No!
7 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Tuesday, October 22nd, 2002
10:12 pm - My life as a cul-de-sac
The another night was a much-needed break from the overtly worked serious this and depressing that of everyday man labor and girl thinking. Chris decided that it would be really cool to get fucked up and have me talk to this girl that I have been seeing for the better part of this entire year. The part is she doesn’t even know we have been seeing each other. At first we drank up the Champaign of Beers, whole quarts worth and paraded around the north side of countryside mall. I refused to let Chris tell me Candy Shop girl’s name for personal nostalgia reasons: I believed she was a walking ghost of enigma. I don’t think I was every within twelve feet of her before. She is beautiful, mysterious and she had a boyfriend yet that didn’t stop her from telling Chris that she was willing to make out. I figured there is something vaguely aesthetically pleasing and dangerous in knowing that another girl who has a boy friend would rather make out with you. It’s interesting in a hotel-room-white-walls-single-bed-just-silence-fuck-then-silence sort of way. I figured all this out in my head during the brief period when fifty cents can buy you a ride on one of those bucking horses or cars; I honestly can’t remember which it was. Chris and I left and went to drink what would put me at almost six beers and him a little under and it’s a good thing too because he was driving. When we came back we ran though out the mall until it closed playing the Disney game and casually bursting pick up lines at girls that had to be prepubescent. I later on learned that her name was Christi and she has aspirations of going to Ringling for further studies in art. I left the mall is nothing more then I daze with a face full of numb and only three or four hours before I had to be at work. I took the first bed I saw as soon as I got home and collapsed on it.
Four hours later my little bigger-then-me brother busted in and started yelling about how we were late for work. I didn’t care about the job and I went back to sleep. He came in a few minutes later and told me that I had another hour. I woke a half an hour later and went into the kitchen and took care of the pains in my head by drinking a bunch of water. I ate cheese and crackers, my milk and honey, and we left for work with Nirvana playing really loudly in his car. That night was the second in a series of drinking then going to work nights were my heart felt like its slowed down and my guts feel as if they are in process of being corroded. It got so bad that I had to leave the belt and go to the bathroom to vomit. This has been happening a lot where I just deal with the situation with a finger and a porcelain playmate.
After we finished today I went to go and talk to a wonderful man who I owe a great deal of thanks to. His name it Keith Less and I feel I am ready to start another chapter in life because of it. I feel sometimes like the transcendental angle has been overtly played in the advice column yet there is not much more to say about my current situation then its my life and this is what you make of it. I suppose in a way this is the hair that break the camels back of a bad streak of a year. Hello friends, how have you been, I’m ready and you are invited.

current mood: breathing
2 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Monday, October 21st, 2002
11:00 am - The acuritive powers of the santaria cult in domestic american relations
I know allot of my friends have been having a bad year. You are not alone. I figured a few things for myself the other day. Things about people, focusing on what I want in life, finalizing friendship and process of steps that should and can be taken in order to get me to where I want to be. I have forever to be young but hardly any time to think about how I want to do it. I get so entwined with the little things like who is kissing who and who is kissing whom when they are really already attached to someone else. I talked to a friend the other day that had a moral problem. I don’t know why you wouldn’t pick the morally right thing unless you do want people to find out about it, hurt people you love or loved, be labeled as, well, something, and then stick up another dense mechanism just to block out the very least subtle of the bad. I’m not trying to start any fights here and just to let everyone know this is all in conjecture with my incredibly large imagination but I cant help but wonder…
I suppose allot of people I know like to talk and I’m not just saying in a friendly ‘how are the wife and kids’ sort of way. I mean social rings around the collar with fingernails full of sexual dirt and clawing double joint pincers embracing each other throats. It’s easy to call things drama when your on the outside but any way you look at it whether you step forward or step back we’re all a bit dramatic. I’m not trying to play Cesar Augustus; you’ve heard it from the source but this very well may be no more then a few demons whispering things into each other’s ears. I suppose what I’m say is that I think too many people are taking up arms in sarcasm and cynicism and that all sincerity in what were the leftovers of friends are falling apart. If I could presuppose a question here: How many of you that are reading this would be able to hear a friend speak, know they need help and pull them out of a social gathering and say (me for example) “Tim you look a little thin. I have heard from some friends that you are forcing yourself to vomit and all I need to know is that is this true? Do you need someone to talk to?” I’m not sure that any of my friends can do this. I know I couldn’t with my father and I saw him more then I see any of you. I figure we are all depressed in some way and the line is only so thin. (Side Note: at this point in the typing of this mind ebullition I have only to wonder if this is a cry for help?) I suppose this is a horrible thing for me to post on what would be a normal live journal but I am not normal, never have been, mediocrity has never interested me and I give all you the credit of not being interested in it either. Am I undermining everyone’s wit? I don’t think so or I hope not. I’m saying that if you feel you know of someone who is down don’t play sides. Show you do care. Give 110% as a friend or nothing, I guess. I suppose I will saying something moral like you can save someone life just but listening or knowledge can be found in a simple minded mall rat or serenity in a record on a turntable. Best of times worst of times I suppose.
If I can afford to wrestle away enough attention from the bourgeois side of my brain while I’m at work I think allot about people who I persecute for no real reason or maybe because I think they are too customized. I thought that I am no real judge of anyone’s character. Just because I have twelve different pressings of a particular jawbreaker seven-inch does not make me any better then anyone else. So this is more about humility then apologies although they are due as is credit to people, pretty heart warming, huh? Seriously I think I publicly owe Mallory and all her friends an apology for cowardly disparaging them behind their backs and into the ears of their current and would be friends and for generally narrowing them to a specific genotype. I am truly sorry for anything that may have happened and for not playing Mallory’s record. If there is anyone else this apology is extended to you as well. I will wrap this up as to not bore any of you. I typed this because this is how I am feeling right now. I really do believe this. I believe allot of the people I know are hurting and some care more then I would have ever thought. I can almost hear a nostalgic Journey song playing through in my head so I believe that this is my exodus. Before I go I would like to say that if anyone would like to talk to me I am more then willing, leave a comment but electric assault and adulation are discouraged.
Credit is due to Paige because she is gorgeous.

current mood: Harried
16 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Saturday, October 19th, 2002
4:17 am
Drinking beer and eating dumpster krispy kreme dounuts before you have to go to work is not a good idea.
I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Thursday, October 17th, 2002
12:04 am - The pointless points I've make for stupid reasons
Mat Riley and I skated for the first time in what seems like three years, wait, it has been three years. He came over and picked me up in his Plymouth Laser rocket ship and we hit the rookie road like O.J. Simpson. On the way to the first stop Mat and I talked about the importance of listening in a friendship, something that I really need to work on. At his dad's house we picked up his brother and I took a liking to a football game on TV between Dunedin and Gibbs. The Dunedin Falcons are 5-0 and Gibbs are 2-3 and it's nice to know that since I left Gibbs the sports programs there still suck. We left and I picked up My board at the hair shop and proceeded to shred bro. Not after long we ended up in front of a first union bank and Mat and I were doing ollies over what was a fairly hair ledge. I landed one and then Mat did and I turned to him and said "If you do it once you’re good and it you do it again your pro!" So here we go doing more ollies and then I landed mine all wrong and broke my damned board. Just then two cops rode right on in on their Crown Victoria steeds.
"Don’t you guys see the signs behind you that say 'skateboarding prohibited'?” said in a New Jersey accent.
"Actually...no, no we didn't"
I actually think that the first words out of either of their mouths were 'where do you guys live or where are you from' or some such jargon. They did the usual by taking our ID's and running them but the thing is all of us had some sort of warrant out for our arrest in some state. Mat's brother was taken and held in the car after what seemed like some sort of pat down and hand job from the Jersey cop and Major Payne on the left took a good fifteen minutes to run our ID's. As we later find out the sheriffs no longer have any paper work and they have some 'bitches' down at the station that do all of it. We got a stern lecture after they let Mat's brother go and told us he isn't going to be extradited to Georgia. We kept hearing "I feel sorry for you guys, I really do", and "you guys are twenty so shouldn’t you be out chasing the ladies?” After that last comment Mat and I turned to each other and smirked.
Well the car ride home was full of Satan in the speakers and Screeching Weasel in our mouths. Of course anyone who knows anything about the countryside crew will tell you that we have replaced any mantra that would have been moralistic with An Anthem for a New Tomorrow. It has been sooooo long since I have just had fun singing Every Night or I Don't Wanna Be Friends of which are Traci's favorite song and Allison’s Timm given song. I think Mat and I have both somehow ripped or voices from it? Anyway the car ride home was filled with cigarettes and talk about problems, relating and moving into a house in St. Pete together. We also talked about pot…allot, goddamn allot. Future hanging out will be scheduled for this weekend. We plan on getting really fucked up, any takers? Open invite or should I say that company is invited for all time? Well the weather is changing and I believe I am as well.

current mood: exhausted
8 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Tuesday, October 15th, 2002
1:08 am
This is a great website and I am now sharing it with whoever reads this thing. You too Chris. www.Se7en-cult.com

Hint: its like a game, play with it!
1 fucking fascist!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Monday, October 14th, 2002
8:02 pm - Kitty kitty kat
m u b b y 123: what should i be for halloween?
AtaxiaAction: i homo
AtaxiaAction: you know
AtaxiaAction: like i robot
AtaxiaAction: geogre bush
m u b b y 123: something sexy please
AtaxiaAction: geogre bush in a dress?
m u b b y 123: right
AtaxiaAction: whats wrong with that
AtaxiaAction: what kinda things do girls like to hear?
m u b b y 123: fuck me gently with a chainsaw
m u b b y 123: thats what they like
2 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Sunday, October 13th, 2002
3:42 am - Clitty Litter
Normal day right? No, and the best part is that I didn't spend a damned dollar! I figured talking to Danny B. was my best bet for some fun today so of course I found him awake around three doing nothing and all the willing! It was decided that him coming over would be OK so when he got here I was painting and I gave him a promise ring sticker that I found in Chicago that says "I get on the dance floor and just freak out". He liked it. Off it was to his house to talk about bike, scooters, motorcycles and food. He decided on a Peoples and I decided on a Honda 1974 CB460, all around good choices. After pumping air into my bike tires we went off to Tyrone to see Mr. RandyPartyPants and to just say hey. We ended up running to Mel and Esther B. at the make up counter in Dillards and engaging in fun conversations about having a crappy overall year, death and make up that stays on forever. I left Esther and ran off to talk to Randy about some shit and ended up talking him into hanging out, why the hell not? (here is where I cut to good parts) Two hours later we are at a party and it was one of those amazing times in life where you just talk to friends about records and everything is a-o-k. (here is where I throw Mike into the mix) RandyPartyPants, Mike C., Danny D. and little ol' me sit around and talked about nothing but damned vinyl for the duration of what seemed like forever and it was great. I took away from the conversation that you can in fact steal from overly price record stores and sometimes being drunk at a party is not all that fun. Later Danny jumped off the roof into the pool and we watched a clock work orange while a girl who must have been in her later twenties kept saying she was passive-aggressive and RandyPartyPants stared blankly into space. That lady was crazy and it was one more reason to just leave and so we did. We get back to Danny D's rocket bus and I proceed to pick RandyPartyPants up and drop him on his head which is something that must have drove him to runaway. I grab a shopping cart and Danny D. opens a sewer grate and I throw it in there and then crash! We look up and there is RandyPartyPants driving a blue Albertsons shopping cart through the window of Sally’s Beauty Supply. So yeah we defiantly hung around for that. So I still have two dollars for a cup of coffee, any takers?
3 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
Saturday, October 12th, 2002
4:52 am - Doesn't evil overbalance the happiness in life?
I just clocked off an interesting day of hanging out with Chris and am now ready to write something in this thing. He came over today at around six and didn't even knock while I was sleeping. I like that, the unexpected visitor, and I love being awakened by someone sliding the door open. "Hey Bitch, what you doin'?" That’s the kinda talk I get as I wake up. Before to long I have been conned out of going to a art/fashion show and into a car ride to Tampa to take part in what would be called an critique of USF student humanities. It was ridiculous. Before we murmured any nose-in-air snob talk about Ken Kesey or Joseph Cornell we went to Jabba's house to get "fuck-ed u-p" a la Chris and Matt. (Credit is due) I figured earlier in the day that I didn't want to do any of the fucking up because I knew that doing it would possibly make me feel a HELLVA lot better, ya know? So I got there and finally figured I had better do some fucking due to the unbearable amount of boredom being shared. I did notice that the only girl kept looking at Chris at least a glance or glare but Chris deserved the attention, his balls were in and out of his pocket the whole night, ass. I started the fucking with some Amber Bock and then threw in the towel after it took me a half an hour to finish the only beer I had the entire night. The spiders, cocaine and the usual "my band played here" talk was enough to make me ill that the taste of beer just seemed disgraceful. Then someone passed me a god damned blunt. Up until this point I have never smoked pot, not ever, period. I wasn't and haven't been looking forward to the next two weeks of my life and I couldn't imagine why. I cleared up my headache with anonymous post-it notes on the Internet and I cleared up the Shannon stuff with seeing her naked and peeing so what is next? I have some ideas but when I smoked the thing I figured it would be some type of great escape, it wasn't. I still am waiting for a lope-off-my-arm life change. I have been riding this horrible art click wave recently and hanging with Jared thing in some type of attempt to feel comfort but I am getting progressively more lorn and the ghosts, they are every where. As dramatic as it may sound I am even beginning to miss people from pictures that seem to embody a spiritual form, like feeling someone’s presents, it may sounds dumb but I can’t help it, it is. Some of these people live close to me and some have died and I can't decide whether it’s easier to revoke the dead or the living. (insert a deep sigh here) Coffee is my new favorite drink and I would like to thank the academy.

current mood: Languid
4 fucking fascists!|I don't like your jerk off face, Lebowski!
> previous 20 entries
> top of page
LiveJournal.com