Starved

It's hard to explain the feeling of wanting something so bad. So convinced that when you get it, all will be right, a feeling so overwhelming that it's almost blinding. Food for your soul that nothing else will satisfy, thus you're always left hungry. A connection that powers you, like a cord to a battery pack, without it you're never fully charged. Always running on less than capacity and with the juice slowly fading away into space like evaporating alcohol. You keep searching for that elusive outlet, praying for a flavor you'll always crave and consume until sated, longing for that fully charged state.

test

Symptoms?

First off, my eyes burn. Even when closed they feel like shampoo crept in the through the sides. My throat feels like I’ve been drinking gravel and lighter fluid for days on end. My head is light, floating above it all. My heart is heavy. Except that it’s being periodically hit with dabs of adrenaline spurring flutters or palpitations that almost make me want to vomit. My water cooler rumbles. I have the sudden urge to place my face under it, depress the button, and let ice-cold water run down my face and all over the floor until the entire contents run empty. That would be a bitch to mop up.

Good Day

... laughed about time pieces, dined at the Fish, boobs after work, Rocky's for dinner, CCR playing as I write...

back to Dena soon, but for how long? What is my purpose? Where is my home? Who comes first? Who am I?

Is four twenty really a holiday?

You know for all the internet has done these days, there’s still not a whole lot on it to read. Maybe I’m just jaded. I remember when I first had real internet access, like real high speed shit in the dorms at UCSD, we would be on it for hours, downloading, chatting, emailing, and reading all sorts of shit. Illegal music, newspapers, crazy porn. Now I’m bored after “surfing” for an hour. I guess if we all contribute they’ll be more interesting stuff to absorb. You’d think there’d be a huge demand for writers, yet with the fall of newspapers, there’s not many good ones out there. The news has been so whittled down that the most you get is a few paragraphs. You’d think sites would get traffic if they were simply written well, not just updated constantly, or filled with celebrity side-boop. What happened to developing a fresh take, supported by evidence dug up from sources, that really made you pause, think a little, learn something? Probably too much work.

Anyhow, in other news it’s 8:00 at night and 80 degrees outside. I think we all need to move closer to the beach before it’s too late.

Momentarily Depressed Baller

Basketball, a sport I love to play. But, it's not been quite the same lately. I'm a competitor. I really need to win. But my current adult league team is so shitty that it's eroding my competitive bones into dust. Then blowing them away, like the young kid who crossed me over last night. Almost resigned to lose when we step on the court. I tell myself I still have fun, getting the sweat on, draining an open J, driving the lane, but somehow it's just not the same. I play better angry. And I just can't mad when we lay down. I had more fun playing AJ mano y mano el otro dia. Brought me back a bit. Friends, yet briefly enemies. The worst thing is to drop a sick pass to a teammate diving the lane who repeatedly fumbles it to the floor. Worse yet is to make that cut yourself, raising your hand, opening your eyes with anticipation, only to have the guy crank up brick that misses so bad you're out of position to capture the carrum.

I'll keep playing. Next time, I'm going to be angry.

Untitled

I overheard another’s phone conversation the other day (just another unfortunate consequence of the cell phone). It was a friend of mine talking with a friend of hers… I caught it somewhere in the middle and not at all on purpose… but it went like this…

“so I decided I can’t write a book, it’s just too much work. It’s so hard to put together a whole book. I don’t know how anyone could do it. I think I’m more of a poet. It’s so weird how you go through life and then just discover your calling. I really love wrtiting poems.”

I know I quoted that, but it probably wasn’t verbatim, just how my ears and brain now remember it. First impression was, “no shit writing a book is hard.” Second impression, “I hate poetry.”

Not all poetry really, just most of it. And all if it by people who think they are poets. I mean I can appreciate a clever rhyme. But, for the most part, I don’t get poems. I think they’re just shit written by people who can’t write a book, or even a short story for that matter.

Check it…

They ate till they became surfeited,
Inebriated under the silky skies.
Once supposing all sentiments
That float along and pass on by

There, done in about 90 seconds. I want to write a book.

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