Happy New Year

Distracted Holidays

I've been back in reno for a few nights now from my trip on the mighty cruise ship the Ooesterdam. Since being back I have had to do some serious thinking about my life. Which isn't anything new, as that seems like all I do. Mostly I'm just disappointed in a lot of things in my life. When you are on a cruise ship and the room you get, on a freaking boat, is larger than the room you live in, it sort of starts to put life into perspective a little.

Something that became clear while I was on vacation was that the less I cared about what other people thought of me, the better I felt about life. I may come across as a crass jackass sometimes, or perhaps just as a silent, possibly annoyed, figure on the periphery of your perception. Maybe I come across as a clown, or a cynic, or an optimist, or a kind gentle person, or as the type of person that would throw you throw a plate glass window if it suited my needs. I'm not saying I see myself as any of those types. But I have come to realize that I can't control how other people see me. Not at all. All I can do is get annoyed at myself as coming across glib/unremarkable/annoying/insane/boring/insane again. So in a weird way a vacation was apparently what I needed to understand that it just doesn't matter. I can't do anything about it. Be myself and let the chips fall. It sounds like the theme of an afternoon special. It takes a little more than cartoons to make a notion such as that really sink in, though.

Not to say it's completely sunk in. I still think of myself sometimes in terms of how others see me. Honestly, I don't know if anyone ever really gets over that part of their self. Maybe you want to be seen as someone more successful than you are. Maybe you want to appear more religious than you really feel. Maybe you want to make sure that no one that serves you, in a restaurant or store or what have you, think of you as someone who thinks of their self as being better than them. These are all things I've done. There is this strange urge sometimes to try to make other people see you in a certain light. It can't always be done. The smallest slip and the whole charade is up. But we keep it up because if we can get some people to see us in the way we want them to see us it can make our lives a lot better. But is it worth it?

Today, for the first time ever, I lied on a resume. I took off a few jobs that didn't seem to be helping me and added in a job to fill in the blanks. Complete bullshit, that other job was. But believable and somewhat hard to prove that I never actually held it. I've heard so many people say that they only got a job here or a job there because they made something up on their resume. And if everyone is doing it, it can't be that bad, right? But why is it that we are punished for telling the truth? Yes, I've worked many jobs. Some for very short periods of time. I have an odd resume. But I'm intelligent, I'm capable of learning how to do many new things, I work hard and almost every employer I've ever had has asked me to stay on and keep working for them when I told them I was quitting. But when I put that into a resume it gets nothing. I'm interested to see if the ones I've lied on get more people to bite on them. I'm also interested to see if I decide not to get hired under false pretense. I talked to someone this week and said "I've always felt that I was above lying on a resume." And he said "so did I, until I couldn't get a job, and then I lied and got a job." Do I want to be that guy? Only principled until I feel it would suit my purposes better to not be? I don't think I can do it. I mean, in a way I've already done it, since I made up the job today. What seperates me from taking that job when I've given someone the impression I'm someone I'm not from someone that lies straight to your face in order to con you out of money? (Also, sorry for so many uses of the word "someone" in that last sentence.) I've broken my share of laws in my day but I don't know that I've ever really flat out lied to someone to get what I want. Maybe thats why I still have no job. Maybe thats why I have no girlfriend. Maybe thats why I might always be living in a place smaller than a room on a boat. A big part of me would much rather have nothing than have everything at the cost of the one shred of dignity and integrity I have left in this world.

Maybe this is why I'm so drawn to writing fiction. Its the one time I can write bald-faced lies and its okay. People know its a lie. People want it to be a lie. They want it to be fake and they want that shred of truth to come out of the lie. Its a dance, writing fiction, telling just enough of the truth in the face of one big, long lie. How can I honestly write fiction if my own life is a fiction? My life may not be great. But I have what I need. Friends, family, enough money to get by day to day, a dream, a few goals, and nothing stopping me from trying to live a life that still has some truth to it.

Okay, I'll grant you, I am not perfect. I have told lies. I have made things up to get out of situations. But aside from lying to my parents about where I was the night before when I was in high school I can't think of any time I have told a lie to get ahead. And granted I've never really gotten ahead. But I spend enough time with myself not particularly liking myself to add more reasons to dislike myself to the list. I may end up being some loser that could never get his life together, but I'd much rather be an honest loser than a dishonest man with a fortune at his feet.

Merry Xmas

I Don't know what I'm Thinking

I could seriously listen to Mephistopheles' Return by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra for hours on end, day after day. I have no idea why I love it so much. Somedays I'll turn on my itunes and just listen to it over and over and type out the lyrics to the song as it plays. Mostly I do this when I am trying to write and have a bit o' the writers block.

The winter months, for most, seem to be a time to just settle into a rut and sort of run out the clock till spring. Perhaps because I am opposed to outdoor activities most of the year I have found that the winter is the best time for me. I read more, I get more done, I focus my attention on a goal more actively. Last winter I tried to learn the piano. And I would have too, had it not been for that meddling sun starting to again and my mood shifted towards self-preservation and not self-improvement. A lot of people get depressed in the winter. Is it so crazy that some of us would get depressed during the rest of the year? There has got to be more people out there, other than just me, or see the winter as a time of renewal and the spring as the end of that season. Honestly I have no idea why it is that I feel so much better in the winter. But I fucking love it. Nothing invigorates me more than a nice chill when I jump out of bed in the morning.

Yesterday I spoke to an old professor of mine for a little while. We were going over stories for my writing sample for grad school. We did this in truly nerd fashion, with both of us sitting in a coffee shop reading the stories off of macbooks. Yes, I said I'd bring the hardcopies of the stories and didn't get them printed out. Still, I had to laugh at the image of us. "Who needs paper? We have fucking macbooks, man." Perhaps it is the way of the future. Perhaps we were just being green and not wasting precious tree resources on useless copies. Or perhaps we are just nerds.

Did we just get...?

Yes.

Forth Thine Hellith of It

Platinum and Diamond Encrusted Golden Parachutes

Normally I steer away from political observation on this blog. But these bailouts are really starting to bug the crap out of me. Yesterday the CEO's of this huge car companies show up asking for a $25 billion bailout for their industry. And they get their by taking three separate private jets at a cost of $20 thousand per trip per plane. In fact, I'll just post a clip I was watching yesterday to better illustrate my point:



I'm starting to think that the "let the record show, no hands went up." Is going to be one of those lines that defines 2008 in history. Maybe "showing up at the soup kitchen in a top hat and tuxedo" will be used as well. I'm glad that these old white congressmen are being such hardasses on these CEO's, honestly it reminds me of asking my dad for money. And I think that this is what they are doing. Asking mommy and daddy to help them out of a bad financial situation. Except it isn't just them that need some money, its a multi-national corporation. And it isn't their mommy's and daddy's, its the goddamn country of the USA (and not to offend anyone, I don't mean the USA is goddamned, I use the phrase as an adverb to describe my frustration, not in the Jeremia Wright sense of it).

In what way is this not socialism? Oh, wait, I know in what ways it isn't. If it were socialism the taxpayers, upon having their money used in these companies, would own a piece of the companies. Would be getting part of any profits made from their money being used to finance a private company. Also, it wouldn't really be a private company any more. Granted, my knowledge of socialism is pretty rudimentary, but my understanding would be that the idea behind both socialism and communism is that the workers own the means of production. Not the country pays for other people to continue to own the means of production.

Bush said something the other day to the effect of "we've failed the free market system, but it is still the best market system in the world." My understanding of how the free market system works, according to people who think like Bush, is that it can't be failed by a government. That it is a very Darwinian process that enables the companies most adaptable and the others die off. The only way to fail it in that model is to get involved in it. This sort of confuses me, as by this logic I am agreeing with republican ideals. But there is a reason why I insist on registering independent.

The breakdown of any government bailout is, as far as I can tell, a risk assessment exercise. Is it worse to let this company fail and have a chink of our economy fail along with it, or is it worse to soak up more debt as a country that could ultimately lead to an even larger financial failure of the country if we mismanage said debt? I honestly don't know the answers to those questions. But these companies are failing for a reason. And yes, it has to do with the fact there is simply less money to go around and therefore they are doing less business. But these companies are based on pure greed. A corporation, in American law, is considered a "person". As a person the corporation has certain rights and privliges under the law that other real people have. It also means that the corporation, the entity, is somehow in charge of running itself. Its sort of an odd notion at first, but the more you think about it the more it makes sense (or the more insane you go and the more it seems to start making sense, I'm not one hundred percent sure which). The corporation, as an individual entitiy, has certain needs and desires, like any person. Although its needs and desires aren't for food, water and shelter. Rather it is for money. Every decision made by a board of directors and CEO has to be the decision the makes the most money for the company. I've often thought of it as though starting a corporation is the same as unleashing a hungry newborn demon child. The child is pure unbridled Id. So what if they have to lay off half the workers? So what if they have to dump waste illegally? So what if they have to brie congress to get certain restrictions lifted? As long as it is making the demon's money for it then the corporation will keep doing what it is doing. And by bailing out the companies we are simply enabling the Id to keep going. So what if we got $25 billion from the government? It's not where the money came from, only that money was still coming in.

Now, the problem with that metaphor is that clearly a corporation isn't alive. Not in any real way. And it is run by people. People who have (theroretically) some sort of human emotion. Some sort of desire to not destroy the world only to make more money must exist within them. But all they can really do is just walk away from the company if they don't like what its doing, not actually change its business practices. Their hands are tied by the very nature of the beast they have created.

And if this Id driving demon child is going to the government to ask for money, and the government gives them said money, then what does that make the government? The government can't compete with the market, it isn't the governments place and has been wholly against the law since the beginnings of this country. What they can do is loan out money. But like all who loan money, they will expect a return. So should we start looking for signs that the government is breaking the kneecaps of corporations when they haven't gotten their money back? It would seem that we should, because much like the need of the corporations to make more money, the government is run by its need to get as much money back as it possibly can, through whatever means necessary.

Again, granted, I don't really know much about this stuff. I'm just frustrated with it and trying to figure it all out. I think everyone is, though. You can flip to eight different news channels and watch eight different experts give eight different expert opinions on what should be done. The real problem comes down to figuring out what is going to happen in the future. I'm sure that there is something we can do now that would be the right choice for later. But we don't know that right choice. Does that mean we should do something? If we honestly don't know then I think the best thing to do is nothing and wait for more evidence of what we should do. I think the real way to solve these problems isn't by blindly giving or not giving, but by doing a series of tests to see what the problem is. Take a hypothesis and test it. And see if that gives you the answer you need. Find a control group. Find a few variables. Find out something so that we at least have an idea of what we are doing and we aren't just throwing money into a bottomless pit of debt.

Of course, this whole thing could be solved if we just really took these CEO's to task and made them appear on the Suze Orman show.

We'll Need Both Horsepowers on this Thing

Lost Endings

My brain is an Idiot

When I decided to go to UNR, I think I spent somewhere around seven minutes filling out a form on their website to gain admission. I've already spent a couple hundred times that seven minutes preparing stuff for my applications to graduate schools and I'm no where near ready to even send off the first of the applications. I don't mind doing it, it is just a lot more time consuming than I realized. Not to mention having to have my ex-professors help me through it all. I hate taking other people's time up for something that will only directly benefit me. I know that it is part of the job of being a college professor, but I still feel like a dick asking busy people to spend hours of their precious time focused on me. Granted, everyone has thus far been extremely nice about it. And most of the interactions with them take place via email. I can't imagine trying to get this all done without the internet. It probably took three or four times longer. Oh, I love technology.

I'm really getting excited though. I've been thinking about grad school for years. And now its finally starting to get closer to a reality. I'm also fucking petrified I won't get in anywhere. Because then I would be royally boned. Boned like a pop star. Boned like Sideshow Mel's hair. Boned like a... well you get the idea (I was going to say ...like a skeleton! HA!)

I was going to ramble on a bit more. But then I realized that it is already past four in the morning. And I think I blew my load on all those bone jokes. So much so that I'm not even going to make the obvious joke about bones getting their loads blown.

Please children, scooch closer. Don't make me tell you, again, about the scooching. You in the red chop chop.

Though I always felt Poe's "Raven" had passed too far into generic old school spook to really become frightening on a modern Halloween, sometime in the last decade or so one man came along and changed that forever. Now I think this reading has become one of my favorite Halloween traditions.

Creepingly familiar

Down the street from here there is a... something. Art show, maybe. With spooky music playing for all the children wandering around downtown reno trick or treating from various shops. Sure, they are mostly with adult supervision, but still, downtown reno? Kids? Haunted houses in back alleys near a river? That river is going to be littered with broken princess crowns, tiny little butterfly wings, and pirate hats in the morning with parents searching in vain for tiny lost fairies and frankenstein monsters. Maybe its just that I dislike having to cross the street to get around crowds of people standing on the street while children run in and out of bars while the parents laugh with each other under the neon-sign lit sky that is reno at night.

I used to like halloween. I was never that great at dressing up. Now I feel like I'm in costume everywhere I go. Tonight walking through the throngs of children I took stock of my appearance. Carrying a togo container of chinese food, a satchel full of books on writing, notebooks, and a laptop, run down clothes and a look of ever increasing annoyance on my face I see myself as just a stereotype. A walking cliche of what a want to be writer who is trying to be hip and irreverent while simultaneously avoiding all human contact. Not really what I was hoping for in this life. But it will have to do for now.

On an unrelated note, I've spent a year getting the same criticism from nearly every girl I've met. If I had been dating on eBay my profile would probably be gathering replies such as "C-, Not sure what the hell he is doing. Lacking confidence. Not as funny as he thinks he is. Would not buy again." I'm starting to get slightly annoyed. Problematic for me is the fact that when I do meet that rare girl I feel I have enough of a connection to to attempt something as alien and grotesque as a date with I tend to get my hopes up. Far too up. Which of course makes even the smallest failure dwindle my mood down to a dull roar of self-pity and anger that I soon find myself far too drunk to notice.

In the past I would spend a good week wondering what I did wrong and what I could do better in the future. I have since come to terms with the sad realization that it no longer matters if I can identify exactly what I did wrong (probably shouldn't have mentioned that I blew all my money on hookers the night before and that is why I can't pay for dinner) it will be useless information, as I will continue to make the same mistake time and time again. Ben Franklin's infamous adage of how to tell insanity from sanity by "attempting the same thing again and again with different results" prances through my head. I tend to ignore it, however, and just keep carrying on. I've drank the same type of soda since I was five. Smoke the exact same brand of cigarettes everyday that I have smoked for six years. Go to the same restaurants, dress in the same clothes, write about the same things, watch the same things, read the same things. Spend time with the same people I've known for years, play the same games with them, talk about the same trivial matters time and time again. As I write this I get the sinking sensation I've written this all before. I probably have. I am a creature of pure habit. And I'm not going to change. Certainly not to appease some half-baked notions of what should happen on a first date built into the heads of any girl I've ever met. Not even if I wanted to, which admittedly sometimes I do.


Despite having been in a sour mood, especially in this past week, today finally felt like a good day. Last week I had enough endorphins in my head that I was actually engaging in small talk and joking around with random people I came into contact with. Then it all came crashing down and down, and somehow I'm back to where I like to be. Comfortably in the middle. Somewhere between jackass and gentleman. Caring and uncaring. Out of touch with anything that doesn't appeal to me and totally focused on a singular goal. A beautiful world where I exist as an outsider even to myself. I sit now in my tiny apartment and smoke and drink soda and look forward to watching the Daily Show and I can't imagine a life much more fulfilling than this ever coming to me, and I am perfectly happy with that.

Obambulate while writing a palinode.

I love foreign countries. Mostly because they don't really have to give a shit about international copy-write law. Well, at least in the 80s they didn't.



I love his power of turning himself and anything he touches moderately transparent during flight. Quite an elaborate cloaking device for a guy with a three foot 'S' on his chest and two feet worth of hair on his head.

And if you think that a superman rip-off from the 80s has no bearing on todays world, then you obviously haven't seen this:



Between the hair, the dancing, the cheesy green screen and the music I'd say Andy Sandberg's life has been profoundly impacted by indian superman and indian lois lane/spiderwoman.


Post Script: Normally I have a pretty strict rule about making sure that the title of each blog entry (A) has nothing to do with anything and (B) is never, ever explained for any reason. I have no idea why I came up with that rule. Thank your lucky stars, then, for today is a rare exception as I provide a link to explain.

Potato Marmalade

I haven't seriously written anything in the last few months. I need something fresh. Something that pops. Something that says to people I want to admit me into grad school that I am the next *insert name of their favorite author.* I also need something that doesn't use the word 'fresh' or 'pops' in it, as I don't want it set in the fifties.


I had a lot of fun writing those little short stories from those random ideas people gave me on here a few months back, so if anyone wants to throw out some more ideas I'd definately be interested. I have a lack of faith in my writing as of late, I think the reason I enjoyed writing those was because there wasn't anything riding on them. They were just for this blog and as such it didn't matter how good they came out. But when there is a lot riding on them I just don't trust my instincts on what I'm writing.

I've just been floating around a lot lately. I haven't gotten much done. Job hunting is a pain in the ass. But my jobs of late have been like bad relationships. I go in knowing its not going to last, I stay around until I just can't stand it anymore, then I break up suddenly with it. I get antsy easily. I have trouble staying in one spot for very long. The problem now is that its hurting my chances of getting other jobs. My resume reads like an ad for A.D.D., proof that I won't stick around in any job for more than a couple of months.

I've been thinking its probably time for me to get a serious girlfriend. But then I think that I'm not sure I'm really ready for any sort of actual commitment. I contemplated this the other night and realized I don't think I could handle the level of commitment needed to take care of a goldfish right now. Granted with a human I wouldn't have to take care of her so much as I would a pet, but still, we are talking hours a day devoted to spending time with another human. Hours at least. Maybe whole days. Though it would be nice to have some constant companionship, I can't help but think I would go insane being around someone else that often. Its just such a foreign concept to me. Then again it is possible that I've gone insane without that and I need that to go in the other direction, but that is a completely unproven theory at this point.

I don't know what the hell I'm talking about anymore so this is the end.

A Lame Turducken

The last couple of weeks have been forcing me to think about my immediate future. What I've realized is that I am actually quite unskilled at forecasting my own future. But today is/was a turning point. Basically a decision was made for me. So now I am sitting in a coffee shop waiting for it to be a few minutes later so that I can take care of everything that needs to be taken care of today.

I hit a breaking point at the house I'm living in and I have to get the fuck out of there. Like now, dude. It only took me about an hour worth of work to pack everything up. I like that sort of flexibility in a place I'm staying sometimes, especially when it comes to a point wherein I need to get the fuck out. Had I been so motivated I could be strapping my mattress to my roof and throwing my comfy chair into the back of my Rav right now and be completely moved out of that place. That would have required me to have already driven to and from Fallon in the past three hours, but I could have done it and had all my stuff safely in storage out there and have been left with a duffel bag and a couple of books and my computer and been floating around homelessly right now. Well, okay, in like an hour I could have been floating around homelessly.

Unfortunately this move is going to create a chain-reaction that is going to change what has been my life for the last couple of months completely. But whatever. I'm young and impetuous and foolhardy. I'm also sort of backed up against a wall and I've got to lunge at my attacker, in this case an unlivable living situation.

My basic plan right now is to not be out of Reno for more than a couple of weeks. I've been needing to take a sort of 'work vacation' and go somewhere and work on some writing so I can start to apply for grad school. Granted, I wouldn't really need to go anywhere to do this, I just need some spare time to do it. I just can't seem to write much when I'm working an actual job. I think its because for me writing is sort of an all day/all week process. Starting early in the morning, requiring driving, walking, sitting, occasionally blogging. Usually ending a day, regardless of if it was a successful day of writing, with a fairly respectable amount of alcohol. And then waking up and starting all over again. It just isn't something I can really do when I'm working 40 hours a week. I need about 50% of the time I spend working a day spent on an activity that requires no thought, so usually TV. So you take the eight hours plus the four hours of tv plus eight for sleep and it leaves me with four hours to write, an hour of which is spent on getting ready for work, and hour spent on eating, and probably close to two dicking around. Which leaves me with zero hours. That was probably something that needn't have been described so thoroughly, in which case the wasted time I spent writing it just goes to prove how much time I do need for that dicking around part of the day.

It is now time to get on with things for the rest of the day. I'll try to make sure I keep everyone in the loop as to what is going on with me over the next month or so, but I don't know that I am done with Reno just yet.

Ice Cream Social

I am already getting sick of reno. This place is like kryptonite to me. I come here and lose all ability to function on any normal level. I lose whatever powers I have and lose all that compelles me to move forward in life. Basically I just end up feeling like a worse person when I'm here. I want a nice peaceful existence and with all the bright lights and glamor of reno I get lost. Okay, that may not be the reason, the glamor part especially. But whatever it is I can't figure it out. And its stronger than me. I don't think I'm going to be sticking around Reno much longer, and that is the reason why I've made this quick blog entry. I don't want to up and vanish someday and have everyone wondering why I took off. I just don't like it here and I don't like myself here. It isn't personal against anyone in reno, it just doesn't work for me.

Sandwiches!

It has been like a month and a half since I posted anything up here. Crazy. On you. Have you ever listened to the lyrics of Heart's "Crazy on You"? She keeps saying "let me go crazy on you." Which I had heard but never really thought about before the other day when it came on in the radio. What does that even mean? I picture the cat lady from the Simpsons. Perhaps to come home to one of the Heart sisters would be to come home to a woman clothed only in pink pant and the blood of a sacrificed goat. Lets just take a look at the other lyrics though, shall we?

I was a willow last night in my dream
I bent down over a clear running stream
Sang you the song that I heard up above
And you kept me alive with your sweet flowing love

Weird, vaguely romantic, not that crazy, as she states clearly that it was "in [her] dream." I could envision his love flowing like water over her willow. Makes me hot just thinking about it.

But what concerns me is:

Wild man's world is cryin' in pain
What you gonna do when everybody's insane
So afraid of one who's so afraid of you
What you gonna do...ohhh...

What are you planning? Get away from me you crazy bitch? Why did you replace the floor with a grate? Whats with that machete? How did you get that duck shaped paddle boat in the house!? Stop cutting off my toes!

I used to think it was just some nice love song and I guess I thought of the crazy as being more metaphorical, but now I'm just not so sure anymore. Although that song still fucking rocks.

I'm not really sure what the hell else to talk about today. I woke up feeling anxious and optimistic. Much as I felt a young Obama felt the first time he dared to Hope for the Change in his status as a virgin. Oh he had been beating around it for a while. She was popular and cool but dumb as a box of bricks and poor Obama, struggling to make any money he could to help his mother, living on food stamps, while his grandmother didn't buy a car for herself so she could send Obama and his sister to the finest schools, tutored this young thing everyday after school so she wouldn't fail math 1 and lose her cheerleading scholarship. And one day, after a particularly alluring explanation of the Pythagoras theorem, he made his move. Oh it could never last, and he knew that, he was the school nerd, voted most likely to succeed but least likely to get a date. If only Urkle and been around for him to relate to at the time, but sadly he was on his own. Well, maybe he had Potsy. But mostly on his own. She lay down upon his bed, giggling the laugh of young idiocy and Obama felt the first audacity of hope stirring in his loins. It was over before he knew, her blond hairs, though, he continued to cough up for weeks. He never told anyone, but she did, and the origins of the stories of the large cock of the black man spread from that busty cheerleader in that small high school to the rest of the world.

Which brings me back to me. Sorry, that last metaphor kind of got away from me.

I'm sitting in a coffee shop right now and this girl that works here keeps walking by in perfect 4/4 timing, matching perfectly to the song I'm listening to on my headphones. Magically how that works. Like she has some innate female sense that she should be dancing right now, perhaps she really likes the song I'm listening to. Of course only her subconscious can pick up that its being played, somehow transferred from my consciousness to hers. Or perhaps it could be a coincidence, though I like my explanation better.

As I was saying though, I started out today feeling pretty good about things. Which is the first time in about two weeks. For a while everything was looking like it was coming up roses. Then the roses died. Then a dog came and shat upon the dead roses, and life stunk pretty bad, but then the shit decopmposed and the the roses gained new life. Only I'm a little worried about the impending forecast of a drought, but we'll see how that turns out later.

As it should be

The Watchmen trailer just popped up online. I will admit to being highly impressed.

loud noises

Today I found myself, for possibly the first time in my life, jealous of people who have held a job for many years. The longest I've spent consistently working in a place is one year. The longest I've ever really wanted to be in one place is less than a year, though. Which in a weird way seems out of character for me, since I tend to be very consistent in most things I do. I dress the same as I have for many years, drink the same sodas, beers, juices. Go to the same stores, watch the same types of movies, read the same types of books. Sure I branch out from time to time, but I stick with things that I like.

That last bit there is why I think I was jealous, I do stick with things I like. I have never really liked a job. I've had one job I almost liked, but there was enough about it that I didn't like that I wasn't willing to stick with it. Why is it that it has to be so hard to find a job I like?

There are a lot of people out there that say "No one ever really likes their jobs, they just do them." That just isn't true. Its the same sort of logic as staying with someone in a relationship just because its a relationship and you have someone there with you instead of being alone while you look for/wait/hope for someone you do really like to come along. People are too eager to say its just the way it is to justify why they've settled for something they don't like.

So I suppose as I say I am jealous of people who've stuck it out I mean I am jealous of those that have found jobs they really like. It is a lot like being jealous of people in a happy relationship when you aren't. Some part of everyone wants that stability. In some that stability is important enough to accept it wherever they can get it, in people like me its something that is worth waiting for the right thing to come along. It just gets fucking frustrating, but at least I can feel comfortable knowing that I haven't given up, that all the frustration and the annoyance of constantly being on the lookout for a new job, for the right girl, for things to fall into place, is worth the suffering (and I use suffering loosely here).

I can't complain too much. Right now the only thing that I can really say that I want is for my goddamn air conditioner to actually cool the room my computers in. Other than that I'm pretty much set for the time being. And after writing that last sentence I went and got a fan set up in here, so I'm all good.

I don't know what job I want. I can't say for certain what it is that I think I should be doing right now. But I feel justified in my position. Like I haven't quite completely given into the pessimistic view of life that others have, and I'm quite glad of that.

Classy Class-A, Eh?

To start with, you are not going to be addressing me as Deputy Moore anytime soon. Which is good, because that was the first time I wrote it down that way or even thought of it that way and it looks really weird.

I've got a bit over a week left at work now. And I've got almost no money left. Neither of these things worry me all that much. Not because I feel like it will all work out, I hope it will, but I don't know. But mostly because I'd rather be broke then miserable. Something happened to me as soon as I started working there. I'm not always the happiest guy in the world, but I didn't realize that as shitty as I felt at times I wasn't completely miserable.

I was feeling bad for myself the last couple of days, though. I found out I wasn't getting the job and then went out with Carl to hang out in lively downtown fallon and even though the night wasn't that bad, I got drunk enough that I had to call off my 4pm shift because I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it. Which worked out well because I slept till about 6 in the afternoon. Then went back to sleep at midnight and slept till almost 11 this morning. I feel less bad for myself now. This whole last week has been sort of shitty. Though this morning it is starting to feel like I am coming out from under the hump of it all. I guess sometimes when you are stuck in a rut, even after you start to shake yourself loose, you are still in the rut. I suppose I finally shook myself hard enough to get back out.

I don't have a whole lot else to say right now. I've been writing emails since I got up and figured I'd top it off with a quick posting, but now I feel as though I am about out of words for the moment. Hope everyone that reads this is doing well, I've been sort of out of the loop for a while now.

Also, Welcome back Cheb. Give me a call when your in Fallon next, you bastard.

Short and Sweet and Low

Well, I quit. Rather I put in my two weeks. Though it was hard to do since I wanted to walk right the fuck out. But I didn't, I'm doing it the legit way. Even though I hate it there, I still have my dignity and will not succumb to walking out.

My stomach feels like someone put a brick in it. I went on a mini-road trip today and so got some Burger King. I haven't had fast food for a little while and its really attacking my stomach in retaliation of my disloyalty to the fast food industry.

I have no idea what I am going to do for a job. I'm applying for the Sheriffs on Saturday, but I keep thinking I'm not really interested in getting the job. Maybe I am, somedays I definitely am, but other days I just can't see myself doing it. Some parts of myself that I had gained living away from Fallon seems to have vanished since I've been back. My confidence is one thing thats been lost. Never a very high level of it. Still, I had some. And I had a sense of self and purpose that seems to have gone missing. I was sitting in my car yesterday holding a cup of coffee outside of a coffee shop, a shop where a girl I like works, thinking that I didn't even want to drink any of the coffee. I'd only gone in to see the girl and when I had a chance to ask her out I froze. I felt like I was back in high school, when I constantly froze around girls. Again, I've never been great around girls, but I had gotten much better in the last few years. It was all gone.

Then last night happened. At the perfect time, really. The details are more mundane, but in broad strokes: Beer, poker, police, lies, arms dealing, blackmail, confrontation, and women. A fight, too, though that didn't involve me and I didn't see much of it. Yep, last night had it all. And so today I made my little trip and as soon as I got back in town I went to work and told them I quit. And it felt like a huge weight was off my shoulders. Also, a guy who threatened me last night was there and we talk it over. I was a fucking badass to him last night, I mean hardcore. I had to be, I was surrounded by people and I didn't know who was with him. All I had a little drunken Mexican dude with me and he wouldn't have been much help. I got out of the bar and the guy I was with said "I gotta go" and I said "Yeah, I gotta run before they realize that I'm all smoke and can't back anything I just said up." So I was heading to my car and it was smoggy what with the fires and its about three in the morning and theres one van driving slowly by and he stops and asks for directions and I'm telling him where to go and my heart is still racing and he drives off and I'm standing in the deserted street with the guy about to head out and the guy in the van makes a U-turn and double checks on the directions and it all felt fake. Like I was in the middle of a movie or something. Nothing seemed real at all anymore and it occurred to me that that fake feeling was life. It was like someone had blown some air into my deflated life balloon and I realized all at once as that guy drove off and my friend left that I hated my job, I hate this town, I hate my personal life. I hate everything. And life is too short to hate everything, so I'm making a break for it. I've been trying to act like a responsible adult when it just isn't in my nature. I take life on as it comes and don't make any clear goals for the future. Just vague notions of what I want to do in the future. Tonight I watched the Simpsons and I realized that Homer has it all right. He just lives in the moment and things work out in the end for him. Granted that is largly becasue it is a show, a cartoon show at that, but he stays happy, and thats all that really matters in life.

I realize that I sound like a fortune cookie or something right now. I don't care.

Not Undead

I haven't posted in a bit. Sorry. I blame Kevin Spacey. Also Gene Hackman (Damn you Lex Luther!).

I have started working in a casino. Which has its ups and downs. Ups is that I feel that I can use this experience to help me in the future. The downs is that I sort of hate it. Sort of, in this context, means I dislike some of my coworkers. Hate it, in this context, means that I am about ready to throw in the towel less then two weeks in. Is that, in this context, is a conjecture with a preposition that implies a present state of things.

I just got back from a weekend vacation with my dad for fathers day. It wasn't a bad trip. I'm learning that I can deal very well with each member of my family individually. Except for my mom, who requires at least one person to act as a buffer. A lot of kids of divorced parents may have negative feelings about their parents next boyfriend/girlfriend. But I feel that my mom's is a godsend. A patient, easy going guy who balances out my mom's insanity a little. Similarly to how my sisters boyfriend makes her much easier to deal with. It makes me realize more and more that I need a girlfriend that balances my personality. Everyone in my family is better with a proper mate. Now I'm just the odd man out that is a pain in the ass with no one to give me that upside that I've been looking for.

I'm still in the process of applying to the Sheriff's department. It is a long process. One that needs very little of me. The 28th is the test date. Written and physical. After that who knows how long. After that probably six weeks of training I have to pass. So I probably won't really know if I get the job till August or September. But it seems worth the wait. Everytime I get to thinking about it I have all of these detective fanatsies in my head. I've always wanted to be a detective. I just never wanted to go through the process of being a patrol officer first. But I think if I do the patrol part in Fallon it should be about as easy as it is ever going to get and then I can transfer to the police department and get promoted to detective and then get transfered somewhere I else. If I can pull this off then it is one less thing I want out of my professional life. There are three others; fiction writer, bookstore owner, movie director. Technically I've been a movie director and a fiction writer. But I mean to do them in a professional sense. Not just this amateur stuff I've done. So if I can get detective then write some fiction and sell it for some decent money and have that book get turned into a movie that for some reason they let me direct, all I'll have to do is take my earnings and open a bookstore and I'll have accomplished what I set out to do. It is a sort of exciting time in my life. On the verge of making ways towards achieving a lifelong goal. I really hope I can pull it off.

My grandpa is still very sick and needs a feeding tube put in, which is going in tomorrow. I saw him this weekend and he looks about the same as he has the last year or so, which isn't so great. He has no lose of his personality or memory and he's still the same grandpa I've always known, which makes it so weird to see him incapacitated by his body being unable to fight off infection after infection. It is always hard when someone starts to lose their mind to a degree. But it is just as hard to watch someone who is fully aware of everything going on around them to lose their ability to have any sort of a normal life. He is just stuck with his body going to shit. He could still make a recovery, though it is unlikely. He doesn't seem to upset with his situation, which I suppose is good. But I know he has his old self in him and I hate to seem him suffering through the fact that he can't do anything on his own for so long.

Sharks freak me out. Death not so much. I guess I've accepted death as part of life. But not sharks. I hate sharks. I feel bad when I kill an ant but I would beat, torch, mutilate, incinerate, and bury any shark I had a chance to get rid of. I point this out because I feel bad that I am so cavalier about the fate of my grandfather. A part of me tells me I should be worried that he could die while he is stuck in the intensive care units and hospitals. But another part of me is so relaxed about the idea. Maybe I'm just a robot. I love my grandpa, but it doesn't bother me thinking that each visit may be my last. Perhaps it is because I have no regrets. Perhaps it is because I have faith that the afterlife is perfect peace. Non-existence is complete peace. Don't think I've gotten all Jesusy on you. I was perfectly content not existing before I was born. I believe I will be just so content after death. After all, how could I not be content with no consciousness? Zen is all about freeing ones mind. Non-existence is the most free any mind can ever be. Not that I am zen. I just really like that notion.

I used to have a fear of asking women out. Not so much anymore for a variety of reasons. But there was a girl I sort of wanted to ask out a few months ago then sort of decided against asking her out. Recently her natural beauty has been exposed to me both inside and out (I realize this statement sounds dirty, but as much as I wish it were, it is not) and I really want her but am petrified of asking her out. I feel like I'm fourteen again. Normally when I get in a situation where I feel I really want a girl I just ask her out and prepare myself for the worst so I can take it if it is to happen. But she's different somehow. And I really don't want to screw it up. I know I just have to take a chance. I just don't think I'm good enough for her.

I told someone, around new years, that my goal for the year, my resolution, was to fall in love. That was an incomplete statement, as I want to have a non-unrequited love (mutual love). I'm six months in and I'm nowhere closer to my goal. Maybe its because I have not taken big enough chances. I've taken a few chances. But a part of me is convinced I will never find a woman that will love me and everyday I listen to that part of me a little but more. Despite my dreams of detectiving and bookshop-ownering and directing (directoring) I desire such a thing as love above all else. I don't think it is going to happen. But I'll hate myself if I don't at least try.

Inter-Yeti

I think the biggest problem I have living here is that I have to use filtered water to make coffee. Not that that is really a problem, but the fact that the tap water is so bad that boiling it and running it through ground coffee isn't powerful enough to take out that horrid taste it leaves in your mouth. When I first moved into this apartment I woke up and poured a glass of tap water for myself and I nearly gagged trying to take a sip of it. It is not good water. Thank god for those PuR water filters you can keep in the fridge.

I read somewhere once that there is a theory that humans can only think of about 150-200 people as people. Meaning that we can only think of a certain amount of people as individuals and everyone else we just group and stereotype. Our brains supposedly can't empathize enough with more than around 200 people so we have we can't think of too many people as once having been children, of having their hearts broken in the past, of having real thoughts and feelings. They are the minor characters and extras in our lives. I don't know if I agree with the numbers they say, or with the idea in total, but there is something to it.

I work with a lot of attractive girls and I barely talk to most of them. Even though I know things about most of them I don't really think about them in the same way that I think of other people I talk to a lot more. They are just there, not really people, just some sort of 'other.' There for scenery as far as my brain is concerned. Every once in a while I will have a short conversation with one of them I hadn't ever really talked to and all of a sudden I have a different perspective on them. Like a girl I talked to a bit last night. I've been seeing her three to four days a week for almost five months and just by putting a little more personality to her she sudden seems like a more dominering presence in my life. Before I could just ignore her if I wanted to and now I'm not sure I can do that. Not to say I really connected with her or something like that. It was a mundane conversation. But the fact that I'm forced to understand on more than just a theororetical level that she is capable of conversation it now seems like I'd be an ass to just ignore her for the rest of my tenure there.

On the other hand I could make the case that I distance myself from some people for purely selfish reasons and it has nothing at all to do with being able to see them as a real person, through and through. In this case I try not to connect at all with a girl that I know I can't at least try to date. Married girls and girls in other long term relationships. Once I fall for a girl it takes me many, many months to get her all the way out of my head. And even then she won't be entirely gone, just far enough away that I don't think about her all the time. It's frustrating to pine for a girl you can't have. Not to mention stressful and emotionally destabalizing. If there is such a thing as emotional destabalization. Probably.

But if that first theory is correct then it would stand to reason that there is someone from my past that is knocked out as a 'real' person in my brain as soon as I allow someone else to enter into my little world. Probably someone I haven't thought about for years. Someone I worked with or went to school with and now I can't really picture them as a whole person because I let one more person in. Maybe part of it is just memory. I barely remember a person from my past, have no idea what they are doing now, how can I really see them as a real person? Expecially when there are all these people right in front of me. Or maybe its stranger than that. Maybe I don't really see new people, even ones I've talked with and gotten to know a bit, as real people. Maybe I am just thinking of them as more specific generalizations. I suppose that is possible. I might just apply certain ideas to them that I think fit based on what I know and therefore I'm not really connecting on a human level, I'm just see them as slightly more complex characters.

This may, at best, make me sound very cold. At worst it may make me sound crazy. But I think we can all understand that we stereotype people. Maybe not, because I have had conversations with people who speak in generalizations and stereotpyes that swear they don't. But that is a lack of understanding of how their brains are working. A lack of self-awareness and knowledge of how the human brain works. I'm not saying these people are bad or making mean stereotypes, just that they make assumptions and don't realize they are making assumptions. But we all do it, and I think its important to, from time to time, try and figure out how we are doing it. Not to correct it so much as realize when we do it.

On a different subject, I need to meet a girl. Actually there isn't much more to add to that. I thought I was going to have a lot to say. Nope. I just need a girlfriend. I've been saying this for so long its almost lost all meaning.

I miss being around people with academic knowledge. Okay I'll say it the mean way; I miss being around smart people. The people I see the most are the people I work with. I found out one of them I talk to all the time never went past 7th grade. Half the girls are still in high school. The others are graduating now or never went on to any school after high school. The only person that has a college degree there beside me is the boss, and he is kind of an idiot. I have to dumb down my vocabulary around him. And I don't use many words that are all that complicated. When I used to listen to loveline Adam Carrolla would say it was better to be the idiot of the smart people than to be the smartest of the morons. When I was in college I would occasionally feel intellectually inferior to people. But that was a much better feeling than being around people that you can't even converse with because they don't understand what you are talking about. I'd much rather have people have to dumb it down around me a bit than the other way around. At least that way I have room to grow and try to catch up. Even the dumbest conversations I've ever had with people from the group have more depth than the most intelligent coversations I've had at work in these past months. Its a completely different world. I don't mean this to sound like I'm some sort of elitist, but if that is what I'm saying then fine. I'll gladly accept the mantle of elitist if thats what I have to do to get around people I can actually talk to. I used to think it would be nice to constantly know I was the smartest person in a room. But as someone who never thought of himself as being smart enough to ever have that experience it was pure theory. Now that I've experienced it for a while I have to say I really hate it. Not only do I feel more isolated than I'd like, I also have to admit to myself that I am much smarter than everyone else there and that makes me feel like an ass. And it makes me sound like an ass. And hell, maybe in some weird way I am the dumbest person in the room. And at the end of the movie I would learn that and everyone would laugh at me for thinking I was better than everyone else and some slick talking guy would run off with my girl. Of course there are problems with that, for starters I don't have a girl. And second, I don't think I'm better than anyone. I just accept that my brain processes information better than other people I work with. But that does play havoc with my emotions. Sometimes I wish I could just turn it all off and just do everything impulsivly and just be happy with whats in front of me. But not often, because I'd rather be discontent with a shitty situation than just accept it and be happy and never have any motivation to move forward in life.

I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman

I just watched Lars and the Real Girl. I realize that this movie might not have much mass market appeal, but I loved it. It is a very dense movie, you have to peel away at it once you've finished watching it to make any sort of sense out of it. But then you see the core of it which is that no matter how alone we all might feel at times there really are people out there that care about us. Sometimes it takes something utterly bizarre for them to really come to our side, perhaps, but they care. It takes on depression and loneliness with a softness and sweetness that is lacking in almost any thing else I've ever read or watched before. I'll grant that there are some unbelievable bits to how the town reacts, but you love these characters so much you just won't care. And the acting is just brilliant. As is the cinematography. Normally I barely notice the directing in a movie but in this case there are so many shots and images that just stick in your head.

I had a restless last couple nights. Bits of insomnia and crazy dreams keep me tossing and turning occasionally waking up in my chair wondering how it was I managed to actually fall asleep. When I do sleep I wake up with a sore neck and a sore back. I feel like an old man. I guess I'm just stressed out about life again. I'm in a bit of a writers block, I'm quiting my job in a week, and I keep obsessing about a girl I can't have.

Even though I was going to be everything from a book store owner to a cop since I've graduated, none of those things really seem to have worked out. In the back of my mind I kept saying "well, if these don't work out I'll go back to school." And I suddenly realized why so much hasn't been working out is because I just want to go back to school. I think I go after these things more half-assed than I should be and don't work to get a better job because even though I always thought of school as plan B, its really been my plan A and I am sabotaging myself so that nothing gets in the way of that.

This realization isn't that helpful though. Because I can't get accepted until next Febuary anywhere I want to go. And then I wouldn't start till August 2009. So I've got somewhere around 16 months to kill. I shouldn't speak of over a year of my life as just "time to kill." But I have to find something to occupy myself for that amount of time. Maybe this is a good thing though. I can do a lot in 16 months. Expecially if I know I don't have forever to hang around doing it.

Fuck, I don't know what I'm going to do. And 16 months is a long time and I change my mind every couple of weeks anymore. I used to always think I just need to get focused but I suppose that isn't my style. My brain jumps all over the place and I just have to accept that and work with it instead of against it. I have to understand that I am without sails. I must go where the current takes me.

Power nap

When I graduated I felt like things would magically work themselves out for me within a couple of months. It's almost been a year already. I remember about a year and a half before I graduated I was working in Pizza Plus and this application came in for someone who had a duel major in Philosophy and English and I chuckled because he was applying at a pizza place. I think I've more than made up for that chuckle at his expense now. I've also learned why it is that people with arts degrees don't find great jobs. I always kind of thought they did. Somehow. I just assumed there was this huge market available to the 25% of people in this country that graduate college and there were fantastic jobs around every corner. Now I'm getting the idea that there are only jobs for about 50% of those graduates. The rest of us come out of a life long dedication to education to find the world doesn't think we have any real qualifications. I suppose they might be right in that. They could say, 'hey, at least we know they can learn and accomplish something fairly major. Lets get them some jobs.' But they don't. They just want the people who can work at their peak in a pre-established system. Those of us they see as wanting to do things our own way, even if our way is better, are not good employees. I don't mean this as a stab at anyone, just that there is a difference in the way people approach the world. Some people work well in closed systems. Other people don't. The problem is if you don't you end up being kind of screwed until you can make your own path. Which is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I've lasted a lot longer than I thought I would at my job now. Its a shitty job with shitty hours and shitty pay. And yet here I am, three months in. I just have had to suck it up and deal with it because I have a feeling there is something in it for me. I stayed in Fallon because I had a feeling that there was something for me here. I've stayed at this job to be able to afford to stay in fallon with that same hope. Maybe there isn't. Maybe there never was. To be honest I felt like I was going to meet a woman here. I don't know why. Desire. Optimism. Just a hunch, really. So far that hasn't happened. Though I am starting to feel more confident about asking girls out. I just struggle to meet ones that aren't already taken. Or, well, undereducated, poor, substance abusers with children (read:white trash). Ahh, Fallon.

Whats more to it I suppose is that I just feel connected to this place. As much as I hate it at times, I did grow up here. Born here. In a book put out a couple years ago about Fallon's history there is a picture of my Great, Great Grandma Thorton on the first page.

I'm not sure what is going to happen with me as far as life goes. Right now I am applying to become a Deputy at the Sheriff department. I was planning on, still am planning on really, going back to school. But that can wait. The bookstore was a great idea that just wasn't feasible for me right now. So instead I am going to go ahead and try to do that. It might work out. It might not. I have no idea. I have a feeling it might work out, though. Mostly because I really don't want to do it but I'm doing it anyway. Its usually situations I feel like I have to do rather then want to do that work out for me. As if my mere desire for something is enough of a factor to disqualify me from ever getting it. But we shall see. A few more weeks should tell on this.

In the meantime I am going to try to get into shape and start taking some martial arts classes since that is one of the few physical activities I enjoy doing. I think I'll try to pick up Judo again. I did it for a bit before I dropped out of college for a half a year and I was enjoying it. I just never ended up going back to it while at UNR. And maybe some Karate or something as well. Learn how to punch a guy so hard his nose goes up into his brain. That could be entertaining.

Lamentation

Lamentation
By Matt Moore


Dawn with her rose-red fingers might have shone
upon their tears, if with her glinting eyes
Athena had not thought of one more thing.
She held back the night, and night lingered long
at the western edge of the earth, while in the east
she reined in Dawn of the golden throne at Ocean's banks,
commanding her not to yoke the windswift team that brings men light,
Blaze and Aurora, the young colts that race the morning on.
-Homer: The Odyssey, XXIII.273-280

I need to be protected. More so because I don't think I need to be protected. I'm sensitive. I'll admit it. I'm sensitive and I take care of my own problems. I need more help than most people and I'm the last one to ever ask for any help. I may not turn down help if its offered. I like to be helped. I just don't know how to ask for any help.
Perhaps this is why I find myself standing on the Great Wall. Perhaps this is why I find myself alone on a structure older than Christ and I'm alone. All alone. There are still sections of the wall that have never been put on film. Places that exist only in one place at one time. No photocopies of them anywhere in the world. Just approximations of what they must look like based on what has been shown of the rest of it. Perhaps I am like an un-photographed section of wall.
We were supposed to be here together. This was our honeymoon. Twenty years ago we were here and I laughed as she joked about the serious demeanor of our guide. The other tourists barely noticed, too busy pretending to be awestruck as we strode u pon the fifth mile so far. It all looked the same. History had happened here, we were sure. The English translator had long since given up relaying what that history was as the guide continued to tell it. She saw we were just here to go for an interesting hike. She saw that we were ready to be back in our hotel room.
I remember this kid. Maybe not so much a kid, twenty probably. We were barely twenty-five. He looked German. Maybe Swedish. He had fallen for my wife. He said hello to her when we were meeting at the entrance to the tour. He wanted to say more before I came up from a few feet away and said hello with my left hand outstretched with my right reaching over her, pulling her into the curve of my body. When it had an inward curve. I look down now and see the inverse, my belly stretched out beyond recognition. Twenty years can change you.
Maybe I should have let him talk to her. They would have flirted. She was always flirting. It used to bother me. Not so much as to say anything about it. It just bothered me. They would have flirted and he would have gained more confidence and he would have walked along the wall beside her and perhaps she would have gotten lost with him for a while and I would have left her there. Here. Maybe if I had left her here in China I would have had a much better life.
Now the sun is rising and I wonder just how many hours I have spent on this wall. How many days? Just since last night, I am almost sure of that. Just since last night. I think I remember it. I woke in the dark and wandered aimlessly trying to find my way back to anything resembling civilization. Soon the remains of the alcohol took their toll and I found myself just sitting and watching the sun come up. And I wonder why we never did this. Did we watch the sun come up from the longest wall in the history of the world? Would it have made a difference? The warmth of the sun can't even be felt yet. My face is frozen. Like a stone. Like the stone I'm sitting on.
When we were here before she wondered if we could be seen from space. I laughed at her. The first time I laughed at her but certainly not the last. Though at least this one was not meant with malice. She explained that since the wall could be seen from space, so could we, couldn't we? I told her it was just a myth the wall could be seen from space. It isn't even tall. She told me that she had seen pictures of China from space and that it was there. So maybe one day she would see a picture from space and there would be two little dots that loved each other dearly and they could be seen from space. I agreed that I supposed it was a small possibility. Then I pictured us as dots from space and I think that was the first time I realized how little our love really was, no matter how big it seemed.
That kid just walked away when I came up. He was alone. Not alone, with his mother and father. He was alone as they enjoyed themselves and he tried not to ruin their good time. I wanted to let him walk with us. Is that how I used to be? Looking out for other people? Trying to cheer everyone up? Was that me? Or was it her that wanted to let him walk along with us? I think that it was more likely that it was her personality coming through me. That is how we used to be. Her goodness shining through me. And I was transparent near her.
Someone is on the horizon. A camper, probably, maybe a couple of them. Or a couple. They are coming towards me. I don't think they have seen me yet and I want to hide but I can't stop watching because now I know it is a couple and they are holding hands and I recognize them. I've never seen them before in my life but I recognize them. Young. Happy. In love.
I hate them.
They are at least a mile away and they will see me before long as the sun continues to rise. I should move. Though my mind makes itself up to do so long years of sobriety have forgotten the torment of a hangover. So to stand could lead to my death. A relatively short fall to the ground from here. I doubt I would ever get back up. Sitting on the ledge was probably a bad idea. Hopefully they can at least stop their love-fest long enough to help a hapless drunk to a more sensible location. Like a hammock on a beach somewhere.
We were going to go to Hawaii. That was the plan but as the wedding approached she told me that she wanted to do something less cliche. Go somewhere fun and exciting but not somewhere where American's go on honeymoons. I suggested China. She had the tickets changed before I could explain I was mostly joking. I didn't care though. The thought of twenty-hours on a plan with her there and back seemed quite pleasing to me at the time. Now I wonder if I'll be able to endure the flight back. Maybe I can just stay here. On this wall. It does get pretty cold out here at night. And all I have to eat is a bag half full of beef jerky. I should have changed the tickets back to where we should have gone in the first place. I shouldn't have come back here. My friends told me not to come back here. The tickets were purchased. The plane was leaving in two weeks and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be on it. My friends are really just my coworkers. I haven't talked to any real friends in fourteen years. I don't really know what happened. They just sort of faded out of my life. I thought of them later as actors. Minor characters that are just there when they have something to add to the plot. My plot had already played out. Oh god, how my plot had already played out.
The dating process was fast. The engagement was faster. The marriage dragged on longer than this wall. We didn't so much as meet as find each other. I sat in a cafe. Trying to appear to be refined. She walked in and sat down at my table and asked me if I were Chris. Chris Sale. I remember his name though I never actually met him. I told her that I wasn't. She said sorry and started to stand up and I told her she should wait for him right there. She told me it wasn't a blind date or anything. Just a business call. She sold metals. To everyone from contractors to jewelers to soda can manufacturers. I told her I was fascinated with her work. And I was. At the time. Later I came to find it quite dull. Almost as dull as she found me.
When I saw that boy walking a few paces behind his parents, kicking rocks and dirt out of his way, head down, the quintessential restless teenager, just a little bit older and a little bit calmer, I told her that we should have kids. Normally the thought of a little baby in the house is what makes people want to have babies. Or at least that's what I thought. But seeing this kid who was really almost the same age as us I realized that one day we would come back here and she and I would walk around, eagerly paying attention to everything we missed this time, there could be one or two restless kids walking behind us. And for some reason this appealed to me.
We did have kids. And they are in college now, both of them. And I am proud of them. They don't know how to talk to me anymore. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't know how to talk to me anymore either. They were supposed to be here. Walking aimlessly behind me and the wife. They were supposed to talk pictures of us smiling in the bright afternoon sun and I was supposed to talk them to Beijing and make them try food they've never seen before. They didn't know I was coming. I told them I gotten a refund on the trip. Next year, I told them, next year.
It never really worked. Once we left this wall it never really worked. Up to that point it was magic. Then we fought, then we made love, then we fought. I thought that it was just a release of stress. I didn't realize it was the tone for the next twenty years.
That couple has made their way to a stairwell in the wall and they are on their way up. My fat and tired legs are slowly working their way back over the ledge. I should be standing by the time they get here. I think about jumping off. I think about but I don't want them to have to try to get me to a hospital. I may hate them but I'm not spiteful.
They see me when I get turned around and I am facing away from the sunrise. They smile. They stop for a second and asses me. They decide I'm not a threat. They walk up to me and he pulls her in close to him and reaches out his hand. They are Chinese, they are young, they are in love. And I don't want to deal with them right now. But they will walk right on by before too long so I take his hand and he nods slightly.
"You are American?" He asks and she smiles in that way that only Asian women seem to be able to do. Or at least non-American's seem to be able to do. A smile that reflects actual happiness. I don't recall the last time I saw an American face with such a smile on it.
"Yes." I say and I nod slightly to him.
"We are," he pauses searching for a word, "pleased to meet you." She doesn't change the expression on her face and I want to hug her so badly suddenly. A face that brings hope to the world. Only a face that belongs to someone in love can do that. Only a face like that can make an old man like me feel like their is still something left to hope for in this world.
"Pleased to meet you."
I refrain from hugging her. Instead I pull out the bag of beef jerky and offer it to them.
"Oh, we," he pauses for longer this time. A breeze comes off the fields around us and chills me to the bone. "We don't want your beef." I smile and laugh and he laughs with me and she joins in for a moment when we don't stop laughing. Then they stop laughing and I wipe a tear from my eye. I wasn't crying because I was laughing, I realize.
I hate them again.
Those stupid grins and that take on the world attitude. I wish that he wouldn't make the same mistake I made and leave the girl with me while he leaves her here for good. Maybe they haven't even married yet. Maybe their is still a chance for him. A chance for her. It would be better for everyone if they never gave into the fallacy of love. I stand and begin to walk away from them. I can feel them watching me so I turn around and they have suddenly forgotten to smile and I think that perhaps I can reach them.
"Don't believe in love. It will never last." They seem to be confused. Better confused then hopelessly happy.
Checking her face between every word he says slowly "You believe in love?"
"No. Don't believe in love."
"What is... love?" He says it like he's never heard the word before.
I turn and walk away, not even sure which way I came onto the wall the night before. Not sure where the village I was in is. Not sure what it was called. Not sure what the hell I am doing next. I should ask them for directions. I should find out what it is that makes them happy. But I know what it was for me. What it is for them. They could help me. They could protect me until I can get back home. But they can't. Because I won't ask them. Instead I choose to hate them.
And I hate them.
"Close enough" I yell into the morning sun as it finally begins to warm my face.

New Every Morning

Okay, so it took me a little over twice as long as I said, but it is finished (sort of). I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I feel it is complete if not as refined as it could be.

Also, this is my 100th 76th post on this blog! Woo!? (I just realized it was counting drafts as well as actual posts, so it only comes to 76. Lame.)


New Every Morning
By Matt Moore

Windshield leaflets cover the parking lot as he walks through. There is only one car there at this hour, it is his. He leaves it as far back as he can and enjoys the cool breeze of the early morning as he walks. He reaches the door, he knocks. A dead-bolt slides on the other side, the door creaks open and he walks inside.
The room is dark. It smells of mildew and stale beer. Now cleaning off the back of the door as she pushes it closed is Sandy. She doesn't say hello to Him. He studies her from the back and finds her nearly attractive. Blonde hair in a bun. A body that would drive him wild save for a few misplaced curves within it. But as she turns around and catches his eye for a moment the years have clearly caught up with her. She smiles, but it is a hollow smile. She smiles, but He knows she doesn't not mean to smile at Him.
The chairs are still up on the tables from the nights before. The bar stools have been set back down on the ground, the counter wiped down. This place will open at ten thirty. Now it is just before nine. In the back someone is cooking bacon, maybe eggs. Today is Tuesday, it must be Mike. He hopes Mike has made enough for everyone. He hopes, but Mike rarely does unless he is asked.
He walks to the stage, still set with amplifiers and microphones from the night before. He begins to unplug everything. He goes to a closet hidden behind the raised dais that makes the stage, opens it, begins to roll in the equipment.
When he is done Sandy is vacuuming and Mike is sitting at the counter eating bacon and toast. Mike smiles at Him, and this is a smile that is meant for Him, and Mike has points to a tray of bacon sitting beside him and he finds a plate behind the bar and grabs a handful and sits down next to Mike and they eat in silence save for the vacuum.
Soon Sandy is sitting at the counter smoking a cigarette and Mike is chopping tomatoes in the back and He is in the bathroom with a plunger. By the time ten-thirty rolls around He has finished. But the bathroom still has a smell He wouldn't wish upon anyone.
"What's with all this hootenanny?" Hollers a voice from the large wooden door as soon as Sandy unlocks it.
"Hi George." She says and turns away and goes behind the bar. She begins to pour Pabst from the tap and opens the door to the back and says simply 'George' to Mike. Mike nods and begins to make a ham and cheese omelet.
"What's with all this hootenanny?" George asks again and Sandy stares at him. "Out with it then." George says after a moment.
"I don't understand." Sandy says as she hands him his beer.
"Last night." George says with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression. Sandy knows that he thinks she should know what he is talking about. She stands with one arm on her hip and one arm on the bar and thinks and can remember only an overly loud band and hardly anyone sticking around for the evening. "What they are saying about Him." George points to Him as he walks out of the bathroom and He smiles and waves walks behind the bar.
"What are they saying about you?" Sandy asks Him.
"I wasn't aware anyone was saying anything." He responds.
"They is saying your some sort of messiah." George says and then laughs a gruff laugh.
"Really?" Sandy asks and she joins in the laugh, adding a high squeaking noise to George's baritone.
"Oh, yeah." He said, "You hadn't heard. Yea, look upon me, my children, and know me, I am the Lord your God." He now laughed alone, but only for a moment as the others joined him as well.
"And so shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars will fall from heaven and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken. And then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven. And then shall the tribes of earth mourn. And they shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory." Mike said with his head sticking out from the door to the back. The laughing stopped and the three froze to reflect upon what he had just said.
"Matthew 24:29 through 34." Said a voice from somewhere behind George. The four turned and saw a man in priests garb. Salt and pepper hair, his clothes neatly pressed, a bible tucked under his arm. The priest was smiling and that smile was for Him. "The second coming."
"Yeah, that's right. How are you Father?" Asked Mike.
"I am very well. Thank you for calling me."
"No problem." Mike smiled at the priest and nodded with a large grin to Him and went away behind his door once more.
"So, may I have a word with you my Son?" Asked the father to Him. He met Sandy's eyes and she shrugged and leaned over the bar to whisper to George. With that He motioned to a booth near the back and strolled over with his hands in his pockets as the priest sat and straightened his bible so that it was perfectly perpendicular to him.
"What would you like to talk with me about?" He asks.
"Last night of course." The priest lights up like a kid in a candy store.
"Nothing happened last night."
"That isn't what I've heard."
"Well then you have been misinformed." He sits back in his seat, draping his hand over the back partition.
Rock and roll oldies from the sixties and seventies played over the radio. The two sat quietly contemplating why it was that Mic could not, in fact, get no satisfaction. Perhaps the double negative was meant to imply that he always did get satisfaction. It would be nearly impossible to tell.
"I don't believe that I was misinformed."
"Just because you may not believe it doesn't mean that it isn't true." He scooted nearly out of the seat, sitting on the edge the priest grabs his arm.
"You saved her life."
"Let go of my arm please." He shrugs the arm off but the priest stands, stands in front of Him, places his hand on His shoulder.
"You placed your hands on her and she was healed. You have saved her life. You must take responsibility for it. For what that means."
"It doesn't mean anything. I didn't do anything. Let go of me." He stands, but the priest does not move. "Please get out of my way."
"Not until you admit what you are."
"And what am I?" Standing, starring, they look like father and Son.
"You are He."
"I am just a bar back."
"Jesus was a carpenter."
"And if He came in here after a long day of work I would happily serve Him a drink. But I would not take his position." The priest loses eye contact. Picks up his bible and rubs it in his fingers. He squeezes it, the book bends up and down in his hand. Suddenly it flies open, lands face up on the table.
The priest, his hands curled nearly into fists, takes a deep breath. He picks the bible off of the table and holds it open in his hands, reading.
"Matthew 10:8. Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give." Said the priest.
"You don't need to quote the scripture to me. I have heard it before."
"Perhaps you weren't listening closely enough."
"I think I was." He tenses, His arms and His fists seem almost ready to strike.
"If you were listening then you know how deeply I regret what I have done. The things I have done in my life."
"And how would I know this simply from listening to a sermon? A sermon by someone other than you?" His hands relax, but His face turns to a scowl.
"If you were listening, really listening, then you would know I can, no one can, ever live up to what is expected of us from Him." The priests face stays soft, smiling, affable.
"Are you saying that you have sinned? That is no great surprise, you above all should know that we all sin."
"I have sinned worse than you know, my Son."
"Well, I am sure that He will forgive you."
"So then you forgive me?" The priest touches His arm.
"I am not in the position to forgive you." He brushes it off.
"Say that you forgive me."
"I can't forgive you. I am not who you think I am."
"Yes you are. You are!"
"Perhaps you should leave, preacher. I'll buy you a drink if you'd like or-" The priest grabs His hand once more.
"Freely give! Freely give to me! Drive out my demons!" The priest falls to the floor, holding His hand to his forehead. "Heal me! Heal me!"
"Get off you old fool!" He says and he pulls his hand away from the priests head. The priest drops to the floor. The priest lays motionless. He kneels down over him. Pokes him lightly on his arm. The bar is completely silent. The others stand by the bar watching. "Are you okay?" He asks.
He hears nothing, no breathing. He checks for a pulse, finds nothing. Holds his hand in front of the priests mouth and feels no breath escape. Checks for a pulse again.
"I think someone should call an ambulance." He says but no one moves. They watch, the lean forward, they hold their breath. "Shit." He says under His breath. He places one hand on the top of the priests head, the other on his chest. He closes his eyes, breaths deep. Exhales. A small shimmer of light escapes from his lips and shrouds the priest.
A moment passes slowly. Another moment. Then the priests gasps, his eyes shoot open. He raises his hand and feels His hands upon his body and sees the light surrounding him, but before he can reach out to touch the light it vanishes, and He removes His hand from his body.
"You passed out." He says.
"I think perhaps I did more than pass out." The priest attempts to stand, He gently pushes him back to the ground.
"Rest for a moment, you just had a shock to your system."
"Yes, I think perhaps I shall rest... just... for... a... moment..." The priest closes his eyes as He lowers his head to the ground.
"Sleep well preacher." He says, then He stands, and the door opens wide and there is a bright, bright light. And He walks into it, and then He is gone.

The Second Coming

I'm still working on the second story in this series. It took me a long time to get going on it and then I've had a few problems with getting it done, but it should be done before the end of the weekend. Hopefully before the end of the day, but I make no promises. I just wanted anyone who cared to know I hadn't given up on it yet. And I'm still accepting new ideas from any takers.

Okay, see you back here soon with the second story. I know I'm looking forward to it!

Ha ha, sell it.

Fall From Fort Point

Josh gave me a setting, character, and line of dialog for this story as I was asking for in my last post. This was a lot of fun. Feel free to go back to the last post and read what I was saying and throw out your own ideas. The minimum I'll write is 500 words. This one came out to 1,666 (oooohhh) words. Thanks, Josh!

Also, this is a first draft and I skimmed over it briefly but there are bond bound to be typos (see?), sorry.

Fall From Fort Point
By Matt Moore

This is it. This is the spot she fell into the water. Fort Point. Below the Golden Gate bridge. This is where she fell. Where she always falls. She continues to fall each time I replay the scene. Each time Kim Novak falls in and each time James Stewart saves her. Then he falls. Falls for her, and she falls again for him and again to her death, though the first time she doesn't die, the second time she does though, after making him fall in love all over again.
I feel like falling. Not into the water. But falling, forever. With only space above me and below me. I feel like falling. I've been falling all of my life. Just not free falling. The wind is picking up and I can smell the daily catch coming from, well from just about everywhere. I wonder how long I have been standing here. I wonder how it would feel to fall from further up.
I woke up here this morning. No real memory of coming here, though I find I wake up here many mornings. Clutching onto my empty bottles like a cliche. I never used to drink. That isn't true. Do you want to hear that I was once a successful man? Do you want to hear that I was just screwed over? By a woman, by a boss, by a bank? That I found myself on the street all of a sudden one day having ostracized everyone in my life? That I turned to drink only after I was left alone in this world? Do you picture me falling from the top, hitting every ledge but never getting a handhold before falling further down?
Yes, I was once the head of industry. I ran a newspaper, we have several here. A homeless newspaper. I was in charge of everything. We take turns running it. This was last week. When I was a newspaper man. Now I'm a poet. Sold my first poems on the street just days ago. So far I've gotten positive reviews. But who am I kidding? I wasn't being read by the Paris Review. I suppose there aren't many people out there who read a poem and tell the smelly old fart that wrote it and sold it to you for fifty cents worth of beer money that it was a piece of shit.Unless you plan to tell him he is a piece of shit. I've heard that more than once.
You'd think I'd be tired of falling. Each muttered remark and each condescending ass who gives you a quarter and expects you to kiss their ass for it. Even the ones that just drop a dollar or two my way and barely make eye contact bother me. What sort of asshole would give me money? What is so wrong with them they feel they need to buy redemption from me? I fall further down each time anyone does anything for me, even if all they are doing is nothing.
Perhaps I don't hate them that truly want to help me. They are just too naive to understand that they can't do anything to help me. No one can help anyone. Everyone is falling, and everyone is powerless against the forces around them. We grab onto each other in mid-air, we shout into the wind at each other. We hold on for a while then let go. Some of us just fall faster than others.
I'd love to stop falling. To find my feet on solid ground. Yet when it gets cold and wet at night and I haven't got a place to sleep I lay on the ground and picture myself falling. Sometimes I jump from a plane first. Sometimes I'm just falling. I never hit the ground. I can't see where I started from. I'm just falling. A bottomless pit and I am completely powerless against anything in my environment. All I can do is allow gravity to do what it is already doing. And I know that thinking I am the one to allow it to do that is just as ridiculous as the thought that I could stop falling if I really wanted to.
I'm sitting in a corner, hidden almost in the long shadows from the rising sun. I'm cold, but I hear someone coming and I don't want to go into the open just yet. A woman, I can tell from the clicking of the high heels. I suppose I don't know its a woman for sure in this city. Either way she would like to be called a she so long as she is wearing high heels. Perhaps she will become he when he goes into work. You can't take any of this stuff for granted anymore.
She passes by me and I know she doesn't see me, but she wouldn't slow down even if she knew I were here. Determination. I don't expect a woman like that to have any interest in me. Not even enough to acknowledge my presence on the same planet as her. But that won't stop my interest in her.
She stops in just the same spot as Ms. Novak. And from behind I could almost, almost... she turns and looks right at me. She is. She looks as good as she did in 1958. She's even wearing the same clothes from the movie. She can't be her. She'd be in her seventies by now. She looks barely twenty. But I am standing up now and I don't know and she has turned back towards the sea. And I'm standing in the warm morning sun, the same sun as her. And we stand, the wind blowing my tater clothes the same way it blows on her tailored dress. She doesn't let out much of a sound, just a gasp, and she is gone. Over the edge. And I am Jimmy Stewart and I am going in after her. I take only a moment to throw my coat and my shoes to the side as I run towards the edge. She is laying face down in the water, the current pulling her away from me, towards the open water just beyond the bridge and I am a terrible swimmer.
Now I am falling. Finally a true free fall. The water isn't too far away but I am in the air for what seems like a lifetime. Minutes, hours, before I hit the surface of the water I see her young body age, die, decompose, turn to dust atop the water and blow away. I'm stuck in the air, not moving. Not falling, and yet I'm still falling, somehow.
Time remembers it has forgotten me as I smash into the freezing water.
"Ahhh... Fuck!" I hear before my ears go under. There is a current down here, its pulling me, not an entirely different sensation than that of falling. Yet in this place time moves much faster. I want to embrace my new life underwater, the few moments of it I feel I will have before I suck in enough water to become John Doe. But there is a hand on me chest, and another hand on my leg, and I'm being pulled towards the surface. Falling upwards.
"Come on Al, at least try to swim." He was talking to me. All I could see was his face. A pleasant face, but to square to be doing anything other than working for the government. I kicked absently in the water, but knew to try to push against the water was as useless as kicking against gravity. I was falling sideways now.
Soon we had gotten to a ladder and he helped me climb up. He wore only soaking black slacks, but laid out on the ground next to my discarded clothes was the upper half of his uniform and utility belt. I laid myself out next to them, he sat on the cold stone ground and shook his hair of the salt water.
"I thought you might be a government man," I said to him. I want to hate him for helping me. For grabbing onto me in midair for a few seconds. But I can't seem to hate him as much as I'd like. Something about him tells me that he knows how to fall better than most.
"Goddamnit Al, one of these days I'm not going to be here to save you."
"You already saved me." I sat up and extended my hand to shake his.
"Just like last month, and last year before that. Do you wait for me before jumping in or is it just that I am that goddamn lucky?"
"I'm sorry, have we met?" I retracted my hand, not wanting to shake his hand until he started to make some sense.
"Trying to save Kim Novak again?"
"Yes, she fell. She keeps falling. Just like me."
"That was a movie Al. It was a movie from a very long time ago."
"But she hasn't stopped falling."
"Yes she has. You haven't." He stood up and pulled his shirt and belt back on, ran a hand through his hair to try to even it out, then reached out his hand to mine which I had extended towards his again. "Come on, get your coat and shoes. I'll take you to the hospital."
We walked dripping the cold water from our clothes back to his car.
"She died out there."
"Al, your going to die out there. I can't always save you."
"But you saw her. She died out there. She fell and she died. But she loved the fall. You saw her." He opened the door and let me in the back. "Tell me you saw her." He closed the door and walked around to the front and got in.
"I saw her." He said as he turned on the siren and headed towards the VA hospital. "I saw her."

Tree Fiddy

The last four days have been a blur of illness. I guess a lot of folk have had what I got. I called in monday and tried to go to work on tuesday but as soon as the boss saw me he told me to just go home and try again wednesday, which didn't happen as I was stuck in bed all day wednesday. Today is thursday and I feel well enough to head into work in a couple of hours for my shift, but I do still get dizzy and light headed when I stand up for too long. Fortunately I can take it slow and since I'm a driver I can sit most of the time I'm working.

I still need to get a better job. Since my last posting I've done very little looking for anything else as I've been bedridden so much of the time. But it did give me time to think and think I have. I have thought, "I'm mother-fucking broke." I have also thought "Am I a fucking idiot? Why am I working as a goddamn delivery boy?" Apparently when I'm sick I like to swear a lot. Hell yes I do.

I haven't written anything creative in a few months now. I'm going to start up again soon. Sometimes I have to let life sink in for a while before I'm ready to write anything. Perhaps I shall even post some of this writing if anyone is interested in reading it. Although I always say I'll do that and rarely do. But we'll see. I need to get something published. I think if I do that I'll be more motivated to finish the final drafts of things. As it is now I just sort of forget about them because I hate editing my stories. But when I have motivation to do so I'll get them done.

But for now I want to have an interactive writing experience. So if you are so inclined, whoever it is thats reading this now, please provide me with a setting, a character, and a line of dialog and I will attempt to turn that into at least a 500 word story to be posted here later. And if anyone else wants to join in on this with me the more the merrier. I'll even start you out:

Setting: A mineshaft
Character: George, the fast-talking detective
Dialog: If only I'd remembered to tie my shoe.

The story doesn't have to be all in a mineshaft or all about George, they just have to make appearances. This is an old workshop trick to force creativity out of people under strange circumstances. So hit me with something and we can see what we come up with. Or not, if you don't want to. I understand.