I use these words

These words were meant to be profane; these are words that symbolize the feelings of man and are ubiquitous in our society. The feeling of malcontent and dissatisfaction found in one another is sometimes easiest expressed in profane vocabulary. When one uses profanity, they use it in order to share their feelings as well as evoke emotions from others. These words can be related to human excrement, be racial epithets or even sexually derogatory. Yet and still, I use these words.

These words, as simple as they may be, retain power and flexibility of use. These words, sometimes four letter words, are taboo and their usage frowned upon in society. Be careful how you use these words. These words are powerful and power can be a dangerous thing. Be careful who you subject to the relative description that is implied by these words. One wouldn't want the minds of the youth corrupted by such vulgarity. I admit I use profanity. I cuss. I swear. I use all seven words that you can’t say on television and then some. I’ve been referred to by a few profane phrases in my time as well. I can’t say that I liked the way that these words made me feel. These words were meant to offend. These words were meant to bring down a persons soul. These words convey shock or pain or grief.Yet and still, I use these words.

These words, when they are uttered, are uttered with strong conviction. If you really want to be vulgar, here’s some profanity to share: tell someone that you love him or her. The profane treatment and oppressive nature that is held for items that are loved is then transferred to the item of your affection. Yeah, love is a trap. Better yet, it is sacrifice. What are you willing to sacrifice in the name of love? Tell someone you love them; those are fighting words. Yet and still, I use these words.

Indifference is the easiest way not to argue.

what a headline!

New Moons and Rings Found at Uranus

what a headline!
what a pun!
what a geek i am...
i am so juvenile.
oops.
i will make a blog mad lib next.
remember your youth.
the holidays are here.

cogito ergo i am stupiderest

Bear with me as i grow more stupider and stupidest.
i am about to abandon my computer, as well as all logical reasoning...

i enjoy visiting a blog named fark.
this blog is a black hole of internet subculture.
i love it.
i have learned so much about internet subculture that i never knew.
plus i get entertained by the news (weird) at times....
hell, i didn't even know what a blog was until september 2004!
anyhow fark has exposed me to the following internet subculture icons:
O RLY, Owned, STFU, YTMND
Andy Milonakis
Henry Earl
Dancing Banana
Happy Tree Friends
Icy Hot Stuntaz
domokun

one of the weirdest things i have heard of though is the flying spaghetti monster.
If you never heard of the flying spaghetti monster, it may insult your intelligence.
i encourage you to be stupiderest for a minute and check it out.




i really find it interesting how the flying spaghetti monster is related to the concept of intelligent design, which is legitamately being considered as a scientific persprective of the origin of man.

i do not know enough about this new science to really have an opinion yet.
i learn more and more from the internet.
i learn to be stupiderest more and more as well.
perhaps:
the internet is a parallel universe.
it destroys all old knowledge and creates new knowledge simultaneously.
the GOD of the internet is the flying spagetti monster.
his disciple is maddox.
the holy spirit is the blogosphere...
the "good word" is spread by google.
firefox is the "bible".
you pay your offerings through paypal.
heathens get banned by their ISP.
free porn is evil.
i am done being stupid for now.
i am trying to copy 2 hour DVDs in 8 hours or less.
maybe i am not done being stupid yet.

wikipedia needs you, the internet GOD has spoken.
everytime you masturbate the flying spaghetti monster kills a kitten.
why not?
can't let domokun have all the fun!

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i woke this morning.

i was full of piss and vinegar.

i needed to run.

i got dressed.

i looked outside.

i saw that it was snowing.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i read a little.

i wrote a little.

i thought a little.

i grew impatient.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i thought of how fat i was.

i thought about my next meal.

i thought of how restless i was.

i thought of going back to sleep.

i thought of my need to get somewhere where i wasn't.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i waited until dark.

i dressed in all black.

i clothed in the perfect backdrop against the purity of the white snow.

i walked out to the unplowed street.

i ran straight down the middle.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i reflected energy from shiny reflective part of my shoes.

i reflected energy from the shiny reflective belt i wore.

i reflected energy from the shiny reflective white wire of my mp3 player headphones.

i reflected energy from shiny reflective teeth in my smile as i gritted my teeth in the wind.

i let cars pass, heading towards me.

i glared at them through dark sunglasses.

i know they couldn't see my eyes.

i wondered what they were thinking.

i imagined what they thought.

-he is crazy for running in the snow.

-he is crazy for running in the middle of the road.

-he is crazy for wearing sunglasses at night.

-he is better than me.

-maybe i am crazy.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i felt the snow slip under my feet.

i arched my toes for better grip

i felt the snow settle on my shoulders

i ran faster to let the snow melt

i inhaled snow.

i wondered how many snowflakes will make a grown man drown.

i multiplied how many snowflakes in a tear.

i added how many snowflakes will i sweat.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i thought of my daughter.

i ran.

i thought of my friend.

i ran faster.

i thought of that little haitian girl.

i sprinted.

i thought of my battle buddy that lost a limb in the war.

i couldn't feel my legs.

i remembered so many limbs.

i ran until i broke my limbs off in the snow.

i wanted to cross the finish line after wearing my legs down like wooden pegs on a sandpaper treadmill.

i spat.

i blew my nose on my hand.

i had no contempt for the world.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

i didn't curse when mp3 player quit working.

i never wondered why traffic didn't approach from the rear.

i didn't stop when my glasses fogged so that i could no longer see the path.

i outran the world.

i reached the finish line.

i stopped running.

i saw it stopped snowing.

i can't wait to run again.

i am so selfish.

i couldn't wait for it to stop snowing.

What do you look like?

What do you look like?

Are your looks really important?

Will you succeed or fail based on what you look like.

Is the way you are seen overly important to you?

Has anyone ever described you by an adjective that belittles the way you look?

Does your character supersede your appearance?

I have long had an issue with the balance between the narcissism in MY behaviors and the desire to look for more in ANOTHER person’s quality than their looks. I mostly desire to look good for reasons of self-esteem; I also desire to look good because society smiles upon those who look best. In life, I want to achieve. I need the abs of 2pac. I need the chest of Schwarzenegger. I need the smile of Denzel. I need to look successful. If I told you that I have gold teeth, would that give my words the value of baser metals?

I am a black man. I don’t want anyone to misunderstand. Do I think that being black has affected my position in society? Do I think being black has affected my mating choices? Do I think that being black has influenced what others think of me? Yes, yes, and yes. I am proud to be black by all means, but, the main reason that I am that way is because, someone somewhere loathes his or her skin color.

I am the reason you cross the street, while clutching your purse, though I never robbed anyone.

I am the reason that white man can’t jump, though I suck at basketball.

I wish I was the reason that black is beautiful.

I am not skinny by all means. I am shaped more like a cork than most. That doesn’t stop me from doing pushups, sit-ups, or running around the block. I eat the type of foods that would lend for me to be thin for the most part (fuck the Atkins diet). What I really hate is for people to have issues with those who are heavier but have no issues with those who are rail thin. I mean, what is so attractive about a person who is as thin as a pencil? I admit, I like my women to be robust and full. Does that mean that I have a fat girl fetish? If you think so, you are wrong on so many levels. You think fat is unhealthy? I think starving is unhealthy; in fact, being hungry is the worst feeling in the world to me. I would never wish it on anyone. The truth is, I come from a lineage of folks that have similar body types. I must constantly rebuke my genetics and be thin at all cost. Is there any other way?

Are you a tasty dish?

Are you “finger- licking good?” Those who dine well dine with there eyes first. Ask any chef that desires to serve a tasty dish. The appearance is often more important than the looks. One cannot look at the flavor of a given dish until it has been tasted. Give life a taste.

the following tastes are responsible for this flavor:

Michael jackson

Bougie black boy on image

Jaimie on image

Notes from a different kitchen on image

Dvalin darksdale on racism

haitian girl

something i feel...

All the world knows beauty

But if that becomes beautiful

This becomes ugly

All the world knows good

But if that becomes good

This becomes bad

The coexistence of have and have not

The co-production of hard and easy

The correlation of long and short

The codependence of high and low

The correspondence of note and noise

The coordination of first and last

Is endless

Thus the sage performs effortless deeds

And teaches wordless lessons

He doesn’t start all the things he begins

He doesn’t presume on what he does

He doesn’t claim what he achieves

And because he makes no claim

He suffers no loss

translation of Lao Tzu, "Tao Te Ching"
II

compromise

i have never really been successful with women
and it is pretty obvious why.
i don't really give a fuck.
over the course of time,
i have devised some rules to getting to know women.
okay men,
here it is.
these are the rules.
if you want to be successful with women,
you must:

• compromise.
  
• have a big dick.
• be willing to use big dick immediately when needed.
• know when the big dick is needed.
• break backs with said dick.
• use little dick like it was big anyway.
• have life experience and accumulation of possessions.
• not be old.
• have nothing better to do.
• be willing to do all of the work in bed.
• be spontaneous, but double check first.
• kiss.
• give compliments no matter what.
• hold the purse in public.
• take control.
• remember you are not the boss.
• be neat and orderly.
• have no personal habits.
• tolerate others personal habits.
• pay for dinner.
• pay period (don't be a cheap bastard).
• tell the truth or complimentary lies. ( lies are only discovered false truths anyway.)
• not ask for shit.
• abandon your inner thoughts.
• trust her lying ass.
• tell the truth with your lying ass.
• love your momma but don't be a mamma's boy.
• never look at another woman if you have one.
• put the toilet seat down.
• drive.
• remember what you said. it will be used against you.
• answer the phone.
• have no hobbies.
• dance better than you fuck.
• fuck better than you dance.
• love drama.
• be strong.
• be gentle. ( i would say don't be violent, but that's another list.)
• be a father figure.
• be friends with all of her friends.
• have no friends of your own.
• stay out of the club, especially the strip club.
• eat the pussy.
• be available at all times.
• stop being a bitch.
• get the introductory pronoun right.
• get the name right, period.
• compromise
• have a big dick.

that's pretty easy, huh.
that's why i have no woman.
i refuse to compromise on a lot of that shit.
i am cool with being solo.
c'est la vie, and i am loving it.
i wonder what my view would be
if i was a seahorse.

the recipe

how funny it is
this world that we live in.
we often wander about,
bumping into others,
giving little thought to
the influence that we impose on others.

each of us is the sun of our own solar system.
each of us is the mitochondria of our own cell.
each of us is the nucleus of our own atom.

everytime that one comes in contact with another person
an impression is deposited.
an influence is withdrawn.
that is,
unless you are inert.

we have a strange influence on each other in this life.
one can influnce positively.
one can influence negatively.
one can be a virus or a vitamin.

for example:
for a long time in my life
i felt guilty for the people in my life that i influenced
to smoke marijuana.
i enjoyed smoking pot and i always
extolled its benefits of enjoyment among my peers.
i puffed.
i passed.
i regretted.
never did anything positive ever come from
my sharing of herb with my friends.
some of my friends are doing seriously hard drugs now.
unless you consider hitting rock bottom a benefit,
i have caused more harm than good.
i was a virus.

another example:
for a long time in my life
i felt redemption for the people in my life that i influenced
to quit smoking tobacco.
i enjoyed smoking cigarettes, cigars, and tobacco pipes
and i always extolled its benefits of enjoyment
among my peers.
i puffed.
i passed.
i quit.
never did anything negative ever come from
influencing my friends to quit smoking.
some of my friends have influenced others to quit as well.
we are all stronger and faster and smell much better,
and that is the shit.
i was a vitamin.

both examples were in my lifetime.
both were on different legnths of my biorhythm.
a biorhythm can be compared to ripples
left when a rock skips across the pond.

my mother used to tell me
that there are people that come in
and out of your life all of time.
they all will serve a purpose...

what i used to tell you:
life is a batch of cookies.
the people you meet will be an ingredient,
in the cookie recipe that you call life.
sometimes you have to add ingredients.
sometimes you have to remove ingredients.
remember what ingredients work.
remember what ingredients don't work.
remember you recipe, period.
never stop baking.
you may have to make another type of cookie all together.
you may not recognize the importance of
salt or baking soda
but just because they aren't tasty ingredients solo
they are important to the overall quality;
they still make the cookies good.

aint nothing like some milk
milk goes pretty well with cookies.
i used to drink milk.
milk does the body good,
or so they say.
builds strong bones
and all that jazz...
i am lactose intolerant.
milk also aggravates my allergies.
sometimes things in you life just have to go.

this post is inspired by the follwing ingredients:

Willie Nelson & Julio Iglesias - To all the girls i've loved before

Alli's Soliloquy, "Good or Bad Ripples"

fortune cookies

MY KINGDOM, "King of Bloggers..."

Anonymous commenter, "to be a veteran."

and of course,

Tyler Durden

are we there yet?

I've had an epihany
or some could say a moment in clarity.

I tried not to think of the words "searing" or "flesh." I imagined my pain as a ball of healing white light. - fight club

fight club is relatively new to my existance, so my relative infatuation with the media is strange to me.
after my last post, i recognized the concept from the media and...

JACK
I... I think I understand. I think I get it...

TYLER
No, what you're feeling is premature enlightenment.

Tyler SLAPS Jack's face, regaining his attention...

TYLER
This is the greatest moment of your life and you're off somewhere, missing it.

JACK
No, I'm not...

-fight club

i can only describe the way i feel
by the following words:

Amazing grace!
(how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost,
but now am found,
Was blind,
but now
I see.

iu don't mean this in a religious manner either.
hell, i don't even know the religious parts of the song.
all i know,
is
i
feel
some
kind
of
way.

i think i have arrived.
it's about motherfucking time too!

6

i am inspired by a moment of reflection.
i am inspired by a "poetic" misnomer caste by an observer.
i am inspired by the thoughts that i see in someone else.

a multiple of three...
enveloped by five...
separated by seven...
i present 6.

i remember this time of my life like it was yesterday.
the good old rock bottom days.
enter series of haikus.

tears of sadness flow
searing flesh, burning dark souls
pain is how we grow

life begins with love
torture is the heart of man
death is no exit

will the meek be loved?
is righteoousness a reward?
is heaven lonely?

speak not wit your mouth
the soul is multilingual
GOD hears the sincere

answer my prayers lord
pain is reserved for the loved
i hear jesus wept

i cry in the dark
must my soul be afflicted
tears release pain

why am i a bad blogger

why?
am i a bad blogger?
why am i a bad blogger.

i just learned what a blog was after my first tour in iraq.
it has totally changed the way i view the internet.
i was told that would happen beforehand.
i expected it.

i learned of what a blog was from someine who's blog address i inadvertantly discovered through browsing the net, probably looking for pics of naked women. i discovered a site that linked several peoples blogs together. one blog took me by suprise...

this blog was raw in essence.
it captured a view of a person that i had never been exposed to.
it was like looking into a persons eyes
and not seeing their thoughts
but
their soul.
this blog represented a person who was a work in progress
striving for the essense of perfection
while recognizing the flaws of humanity.
this blog represented the internal struggle
of moral presence and
the desire to live in extravagance and decadance.
this blog was for the sexy grown folks.
i was hooked.
i responded to the blog:
how do you bear your soul
without being embarrased.
she responded:
something along the effects,
do you, fuck the world...

i was hooked on this blog.
i read it everyday.
when i was at work
i couldn't stop thinking of this blog.
its essence made me masturbate.
it was nudity with no shame.
it was farting in a crowded elevator.
it was accepted public indecency.
it was cussing your boss out.
it was what i wanted to be.

i started writing my own blog then.
as most virgins
the biggest problem i had,
was
am i doing it right?
i thought there was no right way.
do you, fuck the world...

i did.
i wrote as if no one was looking.
i wrote if no one else existed.
i looked at my creation.
it was good.

i desired for someone,
anyone,
everyone,
give my existance validity!
look what i done did!
isn't it pretty!
then i realized,
the mona lisa really has a busted ass grill.
it is cool to smile in the mirror
with sincerity
even if you have spinach in your teeth.
the second someone else sees it....
that's the end of,
do you, fuck the world...

this has to get better.

being intimate
sharing your soul
is easier with stangers than friends.
at this point,
the virgin recognizes to cover herself with a fig leaf.

then i realized that people will respond
in ways
that embarrass me
more than i embarrass myself.
it's almost like whipping out your dick
for an evening of intimacy
to get greeted with a chuckle.
you wish you didn't whip it out...
but
at the same time you want to prove its might!
intimate blogging is not a contest.
what do i know?

i started surfing blogs more...
especially the blogs of those with similar interests
or those who responded to my blog.
i recognized that there are rules and etiquette
and styles
to how you should blog.
people do things like:
blog tag
post pictures
cross link
respond to individual posts
form networks
memes (which i dont know what that is yet)
lists
surveys
videos
commentary
critique
i then realized that blogging is a wonderful thing.
blogging is a diverse thing.
i will never blog correctly.
i wish i couldjust scream,
do you, fuck the world...

i want everyone to look at me
give me validity
tell me i am worthy of something.
but it is hard to look at ones self at times.
even if you already believe you are the shit.
i am not good at being pretentious.

what i do know is:
people may read your blog and know you better.
some things you dont want to reveal to all people.
i refuse to edit or proofread this post.
it really is for my audience of one.
blackcaesar,
do you, fuck the world...

what would tyler durden do (WWTDD)?

life is stranger than fiction.
life is fiction.
who died and made you the one to determine...
well,
how about a long blog for the short attention spanned.
LoL.

looking over the last group of my postings,
i recognize an ongoing theme.
alcohol is an issue in my environment
and
I like the movie, "fight club".
tonight,
they meet.
You know, fight club was conceived in the parking lot of the bar.
she was born in the same basement.
(words in italics are quotes from the movie... except these words here)

the only difference is,
i am not blackcaesar...
i am jack.
in fact,
I am jack's white knuckles.

scene: sitting at a seedy bar....
several guys sitting on stools
the jukebox plays an unknown stevie ray vaughn song.
one guy scrawls desperately onto a notebook...

(Tyler Durden leans over guy's shoulder, looking onto his notebook, squinting, then laughs)
jack: what’s so fucking funny?
TD: Where would Jesus be if no one had written the gospels?
jack: do you always quote movies?
TD: only fight club. only here...
narrator: what?
TD: The first rule about fight club is you don't talk about fight club.
The second rule about fight club is you don't talk about fight club.
You don't say anything because fight club exists only in the hours between when fight club starts and when fight club ends.
... that's the third rule of fight club....
jack: i know the fucking rules! STFU! do you know netspeak? then we're even....
(holding up money, signaling the bartender) Thank you, sir, may I have another!
Thank you sir, may I have another... !
the night goes on like that for what seems forever. i drink tequila until my insides rebel. i drink shot after shot after shot. single servings. everything in my life is single serving. Single-serving sugar, single-serving cream, single pat of butter. The microwave Cordon Bleu hobby kit. Shampoo-conditioner combos, sample-packaged mouthwash, tiny bars of soap. The people I meet on each flight? They're single-serving friends. i don't need no one as long as i have a drink. i need another single serving of tequila. i think i'm dying.
jack: [reading] I am Jack's colon.
Tyler Durden: I get cancer, I kill Jack.
i look at my tequila
jack: (talking to the tequila)you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I've ever met...


scene: jack's work desk, the next day. jack sits.

(jack's voice over)
today, i went to work.
my boss comes in.
he says, your subordinate went to jail for illegal alcohol possession.
he must be punished.
jack: what did he do?
boss: check the report (hands me report)
i'm thinking...
it reads, ... got caught possessing alcohol while being underage. hmmm. is this serious? no! not really... fuck it in fact. let him drink until his pores ooze ethanol for all i care. fucking soldiers drink. I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. it broke the rules. what the fuck!?!? i hate it when the rules get broken. i was angry. in wanted to strangle that guy. I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke. i am angry at my boss as well. bitch. i give him back the paper.

boss: Pretend you're me, make a managerial decision: you find this, what would you do?
jack: [pauses] Well, I gotta tell you: I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that... is dangerous.
[Gets up from the chair]
jack: [Talking slowly] And this ... psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you've known for years. Someone very, very close to you.
jack: [Voice-over] Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.
[Snatches the piece of paper from boss' hands]
jack: [Voice-over] And I used to be such a nice guy.
I am Jack's broken heart.
jack: Tyler only says this to make me feel better. The truth is I like my boss. Besides, I'm enlightened now. You know, only Buddha-style-behavior. Spider chrysanthemums. The Diamon Sutra and the Blue Cliff Record. Hari Rama, you know, Krishna, Krishna. You know, Enlightened.

anyhow... i don't know what to make of it
so i do what i do when i need to think....
I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more. thats what i like about my job. running is in the job desription. that is all the therapy a man needs. you get on the track. you get on the road. you run til you think you are going to die, then take one more step. you lose yourself. It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything. that is the path to truth.

the answer has yet to come. i ponder saving this young man from hitting rock bottom and destroying his life for the pursuit of alcohol. it was a mistake. once in a lifetime.i think a minute of perfection is worth the effort. A moment is the most you could ever expect from perfection.
who am i to say how a guy should improve? i am not perfect. Self-improvement is masturbation. Now self-destruction.." [might be the answer] besides i drink too.

i pull out my cell phone.
everyone has a fucking cell phone.
they are the microchips of society
tracking your every movement
at every moment
we look into the camera phone
and smile for big brother
while some virgin number cruncher
compiles a six degrees of separation
to every woman
that you ever gave a dirty sanchez...
i dial Tyler’s phone number.

If you asked me now,
I couldn't tell you
why I called him.

It
RINGS...
and RINGS
and RINGS.
Jack sighs and hangs up the
phone.
A moment, then the phone RINGS.
JACK: Hello?
TYLER'S VOICE: Who's this?
JACK: Tyler?
TYLER'S VOICE: Who's this?
JACK: Uh... I'm sorry.
I'm... you know, the clever guy.
TYLER'S VOICE
Oh, yeah.
JACK
I just called a second ago. There
was no answer. I'm at a payphone.
TYLER'S VOICE
I star-sixty-nined you. I never pick
up my phone. What's up?
JACK
Well... let me see... here's the
thing...

I tell him about the guy at work and the boss and all of that…
everything that has happened to me all day. i needed someone to talk to.
see, when i talk to someone i go into conversation drama mode.
i just want to hear myself speak and need the validity of a listener. in this mode,
i am overdramatic as if the world revolves around me. i am the nucleus. nothing revolves without me pulling it together. for life to go on for anyone, i must exist.
When people think you're dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just...
TD: - instead of just waiting for their turn to speak? i do it and i hate when people do it to me.
tyler asks: what would you wish you'd done before you died?
You have to know the answer to this question! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?
jack: i would have wanted to create the worlds best hip hop album. and album that is a complete representation of myself that is easy to undersatnd and wide recieved and enjoyable. i want the context of my songs to stand the test of time... if i died right now. i would have felt that i done pretty much all that i wanted to do almost. i never chased women the way that i feel i should have. i feel as if i would have missed an opportunity to be a truly sexual being, and i longed for a non shallow relationship with a woman who i was attracted to in a shallow fashion.
Tyler: Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
jack: i thought you were going to say something about being a self sacrifice.... about living your own life... about seizing the motherfucking day! i remember what you did to raymond Kessel! I want my fucking breakast to taste like angelic vaginal fluid! this is such a fucking rip off! why can't that be me?!?! i wanna be raymond kessel! i always am robert paulsen!
TD:I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?"
Why did I cause so much pain?
Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?
Can't I see that we're all manifestations of love?
I look at God behid his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong.
We are not special.
We are not crap or trash either. We just are.
We just are, and what happens just happens.
And God says, "No, that's not right."
Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.
jack: fuck you very much, tyler. when i see you again, imma fuck you up.

i've come to the conclusion:
alcohol is-
the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.

and no i have not seen the movie more than 5 times...

People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.

Guys, what would you wish you'd done before you died?
You have to know the answer to this question! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?

imperfection

i feel sick.
maybe not sick,
but uncomfortable...
my position in life is less than favorable,
but,
the determination of what is favorable is relative....

there is a perfect someone
for everyone
somewhere-
is what i have always been lead to believe....
how can perfection be found in someone and it be reciprocal?
are you satisfied with less than perfect?
do you demand perfection from others?
are you perfect yourself?
to settle for a relationship between imperfect people
is no way to strive for perfection;
unless there are perfect levels of imperfection.

the leaning tower of pisa
the parthenon
those leaning heads at easter island...
all imperfect.

i always think that it is not supposed to be this way.
what if it is?

i dont even want to be perfect.
there is character in my flaws.
is being comfortable with myself
selling myself short?

i ran 3 miles this morning
@ 16 degrees farenheit.
between the burn of the run
and
the cold of the environment,
i felt comfort in the torture of life...

maybe this is how it is supposed to be.
tomorrow i will be faster
tomorrow i will be stronger
tomorrow will i be more perfect?
tomorrow is today according to yesterday.

one month of fortune cookies

i lost one fortune cookie but here go the other three:

1. in love, you could shine as brilliant as a star.
2. dare to dream, hope, believe, seek, feel, find, and love.
3. a leader is a person that you will follow to a place you wouldn't go by yourself.

have you ever done something that was personnaly fulfilling, leaving you with a sense of satisfaction, only to have someone tell you that your work was subpar?