Laughter is inner-jogging

End of college brain spit (read: procrastination)

And that cute girl that was always staring at you like you were the north star and she desperately needed to go further north finished her final seconds after yours and your walking in this jaunt out of there half asleep because its 9 am and that’s early mind you. And she is at a half-jog and she catches up and says: nothing. You part ways after two seconds and never see her again.

For all we know she was after him or she was sped up on some caffeine or prescribed speed and just on to the next objective of the day hormones unengaged.

  The sad part of it is were all just here to make them and then, all too quickly mind you, release them, these hormones. That chemical reaction in my body will (obviously after initial ecstasy, and then a long chain of events that take place over 9 some odd months) make a little version of me that runs around and calls me pops. I am learning all this in health class. I am studying for this final as we speak, well by the time you read this I’ll most likely have aced my final and graduated from undergrad at Baylor University.

I graduate in nine days. It has not sunk in. I want to do college for the rest of my life. I want to change the past and mix things up a bit. I want to non-linear edit my life on final cut pro and add saturation and slow motion effects to all the pretty girls to make them prettier, and make all the fat girls skinner and all the boring girls smarter. And make me taller and say the right things and most of all capture all those fun moments I will never remember. “Oh, the joys of post production these days, my my how it has changed from ‘65,” He muses to himself quietly.

But in all reality its unrealistic, and heres why: because theoretically even if they built a time machine you could only travel back in time to when the first, that initial time machine was built. And, thus, emm hmm,*clears throat* no one has built one yet, no time travel. Its only in the movies kiddos (main reason i want to make films, time travel epics like bill and teds most excellent adventure). I don’t know how I know this maybe I read it somewhere, or a quantum physics documentary. Google it, do some of your own research, can’t hurt forever a learner.

A beautiful brown-eyed girl I knew a ways back after hours of back and forth, really inspiring conversations mind you as we would take bits and pieces from each other as the wine soaked in and mold it into a fantastic whole of utter distrust for humanity. We hated it all together. Well, she told me once, I remember she looked all pretty and beautiful and was serious as hell, “You are a forever learner.” I took this as yes; I should go to law school. I took the LSAT and did average, high GPA so I still have a shot at most sub-100 schools. (Not that that you give a shit about another bottom feeding catfish scum of a lawyer just out to make their next buck. Just kiddin,’ Im not sure about that law path but im sure ill let you know withen the year.)

Anyways, so I took it as I should attempt grad school. But mind you. Right Now, I’m tired. Burnt like a fried onion. All my layers are burnt up, and exhausted outta the atmosphere all the damn way up into space. I’m dried up all outta knowledge juice. My dear neighbor uncle john advised to take a year off in-between school to make room for life. I probley will, i’ll do it my way.  John was a great guy, would tell you stories for hours from doctoring up Jackie Onassis to teaching Hall of Fame Quarterback Joe Namith how to throw the football. He was our ‘Big Fish’ and he died. He taught me guitar at first, the basics that formed a foundation of love for playing and making and writing and listening to music. My father also pointed me in this direction, as well as mom. (My rents are really cool btw, more on that later). I will never forget Dr. John for giving me that. I’d like to be like him when i’m old.

  I told my friend today as I was walking into business school for one of the last times on way to that same final where that cute tridelta and I parted ways for what was most likely forever. I told him, “I am going back to Austin.” And mind you this is a big guy, people give him shit for taking roids. I like him he was in my marketing group and he was a great asset, a smart leader type-A guy. And I continued, “I need to strategically plan my life out first.” He was in our bookend business school class Strategic Management 4385-08 with me so their was a bit of a joke there (I rarely talk to this guy even though he is in my fraternity, now I wish I did a bit more now that its all said and done all most.) You always want to fix things or change things once its too damn late. Its how it goes.

But I really do need to plan some things out, decide on my future and pick something. I am too jack-of-all-tradesy. I enjoy that ‘strat’ class, the professor is a tril (that’s true and real combined) and looks and acts just like Jim Gaffigan who is, indeed, one of the funniest human beings alive today.  Class goes by fast and my long time friend is in that class. She’s cool; she has a black IPAD that matches her black Boston terrier named after batman’s alter ego. The dog is hyper as fuck, but fun to toss the ole ball around with, and when I was drunk the other night it amused the hell outta me for seven or so minutes while she changed. That was a wonderful night, I talked film with real film majors, and to girls that knew who the fuck Wes Anderson was and died at the mentions of lost in translation and Sophia Coppola and the virgin suicides. I could talk to all twelve of them at once (their was probably only six but I was seeing double) and I did. I can B.S. the play-by-play when it comes to art and film and writing what have you, and a couple several drinks in me.

If any of them were virgins and they wanted me too, I’d fuck them before they committed suicide if they were going too. Suicide is too damn fucking sad, and making love might help-a-sista-out (as male chauvinist as that sounds). At least, i’d make someone feel wanted. I’d rather just kiss them, because if I kept running bases the emotions and hormones and everything would explode into a firework show of skin and hair and hands into blood flow and fluids in and out of the body and after awhile it would go wrong eventually. After the firework show goes dim and fascination dies out. I don’t want no serious mate yet. Emotional attachment is frightfully attached at the hip to and gets handsy with commitment. And eventually those hands go hand in hand with rings on their fingers and a big white cake and some kids pop out of her production line because you provided the right inputs, but it’s all fucked because they’re too damn young and their marriage might have worked if they had the money and that they would have had it, had they waited five or so years after both of their careers took off and they both were in the triple digits. (Mind you, these are film majors and the triple digits is few and far between.)

This is one thing I don’t have right now to waste my energy on:  L O V E  . Even though it would complete me and fix me all up for the time being, temporary-style. Its always nice having someone drooling over your next word or move and you’re curious as hell to what words are going to come out of their ruby rojo lips. And their eyes are all big and green or blue beautiful and they smile at you and they begin to laugh; and freeze-frame. Thats really when it all starts to hit you. You are making this wonderful human being happy. And, in that one instant you’re as close to perfection as you can get on this tiny tiny rock.

Its all about them conversations.

 If I am going to fly, I need to fly and fly fast. If I am going to move, I just gotta move and move fast. And If I’ma gonna love I gonna love and love too fast. And when it ends I’ll either fly or move at the speed of light 671 million miles per hour outta there. Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat.

Oh, shit I hafta get back to studying.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LayQ98lR8I

4 years ago the future was hard to forecast; i am still in the same boat

The future is hard to forecast, and really appears to be so far away. But, then again, High School blew away before my eyes, when I was a freshman it looked so far away from a freshmen college. It had been four short years, and it’s over, and it’s on to the next step of life. Just like that, it hit me abruptly, but I’m still standing and it’s already been five-or-so weeks. But, out of the past into the future, the point of the essay, out of the frying pan into the fire, how well am I going to do in the real world. Six to ten years, let me think I would be the age twenty-nine at the most, wow almost thirty. I hope to have a sustained career; in what profession I really don’t know yet, I hope it’s interesting. These personality career tests point me in more of a communications direction, so I guess I’ll see. But as goals go, I don’t really care about the money, I mean at least enough to live a pleasurable life, but there are so many other ways to find one’s self, ones happiness. I just want a job that I enjoy. I look around, and I see way to many people past and present,”working for the money” torturing themselves in a job they don’t enjoy. So hope to I will not see myself in this situation. Let’s hop on to the question of family. Married with children by twenty-nine I doubt it; married without children maybe. But I would like to have a nice career set up before any family situation manifests itself. Hopefully a career with travel, and all that jazz, and with a family I feel I would be lacking in department, so staying as a bachelor would be best; at least in my early future, ie., the next ten or so years. Not putting that out of the question though, family is one of the most important things in life, “furthering your seed,” new dimensions in ones character can be seen by having a family, an important aspect of life. But I’m in no hurry; I just would enjoy seeing what the rest of world has to offer first.As for organizations, affiliations, and the like, I hope to be a member of several. I hope to keep golfing, playing tennis and squash, competitively, staying fit, staying active is key. I trust I will be participating as a member of church where ever I am, but exploring all religious aspects or faith at the same time, taking each for what their worth. But as for establishing an organization, I really do not know as of right now, it really depends on where I am and what I am doing. I would enjoy maybe starting something political, some loose-based libertarian group of some kind, to find likeminded thinkers. (Cliché comment incoming) “Last but not least”, how will I know if I am happy or fulfilled? When I can honestly look into the mirror and smile at the past and present, and look forward to a rewarding future. Knowing what I have done to this point has served as a base for something great, someone great at that, and then I know it only gets better from this point on.

Jeff Dunham: The Puppet Master.

He took a quick look at his watch and glanced upward. It was a calculator watch, a Casio one from what I could tell. I hear they have a lifetime warranty. Maybe he’s the type of investor who is in it for the long haul. Doubt it. He probably just wants to make calculations on his calculator watch. He kept on glancing at it though; his body language spoke urgency. Maybe, he is late for a very important date? Let it be a professor, classmate, or maybe even a young hot thing in a red dress. I doubt it was the ladder because it was 3:30 in the afternoon (and no one wears a red mini skirt in the afternoon. Well maybe movie stars, but even movie stars get uncomfortable and want to wear sweat pants sometimes.)

15 minutes later in a non-descript boring sedan

“The guy behind me in my management class kept lookin’ over my shoulder, kept lookin’ at my watch,” he said.

“You think he knows?” she said.

“No, just he gave me the creeps.”

“Maybe, he is a writer and observes people you know, human psychology. I find it interesting,” she said.

“That’s the oddest conclusion I’ve ever heard, he’s probably a no-good creep,” he said. He was angry.

“I wonder if he likes puppets?”

“Maybe I’ll make a skin puppet outa him also”

“Maybe you will!”

The 20-year-old calculating male with the black Casio calculator watch drove off into the distance. He had nowhere to be, and no one to see or even throw words at. No one was riding with him because he had no one. All he did was drive to school and back and do the work required of him. A mediocre cubical job was certain to be his future. Yet, he is content with it all because he will earn a paycheck to support his hobby.

You know the hobby of ventriloquism and wearing his skin suit puppets. His name is Jeff Dunham and he is famous for his day job. But no one really knows what gets him going at night.

Winchester Model 97

The street took off like a run way for miles in both directions. The sky was red, and forced the slick spots on the pavement to form black prisms. The place tasted and smelt like corn; not like the grilled corn from the BBQ daddy use to make, but raw unripe vegetable.

I was surrounded by these unripe green apparti and they clouded the senses. I had been walking for days with the same landscape picture. It all blurred together. I’d like to think I wasn’t in Kansas any more, but I most likely still was. 

A mile ahead in his direction was a place where all the road rats hung out and drank. Crashing from there own amphetamine binges and riding it down with whisky was commonplace here. This was a place to wind down from a 1000 mile treck, and sit down with your fellow comrade and have a drink and bitch about all your blue collar woes. 

But in all honesty thats besides the point.

I left in a stolen ‘99 chevy Silverado. I knew it was the first year they started makin’ that model because it’s owner had told me inside, and I knew it was stolen because, well, I had just borrowed it without permission.

The point was I needed transportation and now I had a solution.

There is an interesting human psychology the first time you jump into grand theft auto. You don’t use the pool stairs or any kind of pool railing. It’s a jump off the tall diving board and once your in the air you have to be committed to make a big ole’ splash. I’d explain it as unbridled excitement trying its best to shove and lock up any nervousness or apprehension.

Yeah… that excitement wears off 20 miles or so down the road, and then all your left with is nervousness and apprehension.

Don’t ask me how I stole the damn thing, well you can ask my laywer later, but right now I need to drive as far away from here as possible.

I found a map in the assortment of junk that you could tell had accumulated over at-least six months. The car was trashed. I triangulated my position, by using the process of deduction seen here:

1. I am on farm to market road 15.
2. The map shows 15 heads north or south.
3. Road signs all point south. 
4. I am headed south to Wichita.  

Pure logic right there.

The problem was I was in a situation filled by emotion. Thats how this whole thing started. I was pissed off and sad at the same time, all yellin’ and cryin’ in unison. It was the last and final straw, and now I’m stealing cars. But guess what?

What?

This was the most excitment I’d had in years. By saying: Fuck the bills! Fuck the 9 to 5! and Fuck responsibility! I just became a free man! (Although it was ironic that he saw himself as free because he would be behind bars in exactly 41 hours when the law would finally catch up with him just south of Witcha. He will have used his credit card to pay for a motel, big mistake there buddy.) But, thats besides the point because he was finally alive and living.

He found a cigarette in the car. He lit it up with the car lighter (odd that the car lighter still worked after all these years, usually thats the first thing to fizzle out.) He hadn’t smoked since college, and that was only after sex because his girlfriend always did. And if she was going to smoke he might as well light one up, so he wasn’t the only one tasting ashtray. (He was selfish like that.)

He ended up marrying her, and then subsequently finding her smoking one in there master bedroom with his best-friend. She was tired of his cock and needed something new that was easily assessable i.e his best friend. 

He pulled out the 12 gauge that was his daddies and his daddies before him and loaded it with steel shot. The gun was happy to finally get some action; it was board and tired of always sitting stagnate in the closet. (Our main character had not used it since he went hunting 8 years ago. He missed every shot he took.)

He didn’t miss this time. It would have been hard to miss, actually, it was point blank.

And thats where this story ends and begins. He started running after that. Didn’t stop for a couple of miles, actually. Ran like the wind until his tears froze to his face.

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

(Just kidding I really hope not.)

(Also I apologize for any sudden changes in tense and/or point of view. But thats just how it goes)

You can turn back the clocks, but you can’t turn back time

YOU can turn back the clocks, but you can’t turn back time on November 6, 2011 of which happens to be the vary day I write these selected words into some sort of haphazard meaning. (I got an extra hour of sleep so the meanings may be more transparent and less clumsy or haphazard than the usual)

IF I could turn back time I would change one singular facet of my life.
I would love more (and really let them know).
Not just because I can but because they all deserve it.

ALL this self-love gets old after awhile.

CATCH-TWENTYTWOTWENTYTWO

“What do people want to become of this blank page?

Suspense, humor, factual information,” he thought.

“No.

People want to forget. They want to forget about their life for just a slight brief moment and relive something else through your words, your words you put on this blank page right here in front of them. Let the blank ink bleed,” she said to me. She was clever, and the rosy red wine matched her lips and her cocktail dress.

“Yet…

That’s where the problem presents itself. How are my words good enough, tasteful enough, humorous enough to please you?” I said.

“Some say, find one person to write for and write exactly how they’d want it. Some say write for yourself, and if you’re a perfectionist it ought to be the least bit functional.

But…

I’d say I am just going to fill up this blank digital page just for you, who ever you may be. And, consider yourself lucky at that because its getting late and I’m somewhat tired as I’ve been on the river all day and it sure is a pain for me to be writing these silly words in specific order in order to create some sort of haphazard meaning out of all this. “But, really my dear, It’s really just all for you,” I said.

She smiled back and we both took our last bite out of the second bottle of rosy red malbec that matched her purse and my tie and went on our merry little way.

 “Do you ever watch people?” I said to her, while speeding down a little winding road called 2222 away from all those Austin city lights.

“Like just take the time to sit on a bench for just a minute and watch people. They move and they move lighting fast, although the attractive girls seem to move-in-slow-motion sometimes (but that’s because my mind just does that), nonetheless as a general rule its all-just point A to point B.” I answered.

“And the question is, I mean it’s the question of all questions, is point B worth it?” I kept talking.

“Isn’t it about the adventure getting there, the journey?” I continued to talk.

“Because honestly the goal is never as great as you imaged it to be, it’s never what you see in your wildest imagination, and we become sad, and unenthused with life because of this.” I answered my own question, and kept going. “But if we’d just see it, I swear, especially in the big city, its just all A to B. And all the while, those who take the time to catch the journey in full course see it with wide-open eyes. It’s the slow walk during the day, that stranger, and the eye contact, the subtle smile and the smile back, the conversation in which they remember your name, and you remember their eyes and also their name, and the fact that you weren’t to busy to forget after. That is what makes it all worth it.” I said, then got off my soap box.

It is the people we meet that make this world, not your next toy or HDTV or guitar or amp or car or tattoo or video game or pool or house or yacht or album or (n-1) etc on and on ad infinitum.

Subtle Sounds

Subtle sounds leak through the cracks in the door.

“I can’t translate the vibrations… their voices trail off to fast,” she said to me.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. 

Morning light leaks in through the window. We found out later it wasn’t morning light at all, but the early afternoon sun adjusting with the hands of the clock to make one hour past twelve.

It was ESPN and football carrying on in the background. The sound of whistles being blown and cheeky announces bull-shitting there way through the play-by-play. In that industry silence was killer. In my industry in this position, I welcome silence with open arms. 

There was always something serine about a faucet dripping and breathing next to you.

The days passed by. We were both busy with the day to day mucky muck. It’s been awhile now, and nothing is subtle anymore. The times and places we live in are so harsh and forward, and its lacking the subtle beauty in what was once playful curiosity. You can call it honesty, but sometimes when you try honesty on for size it fits a bit too tight, and can be uncomfortable. 

In the end were all just a bunch of human animals exploring our half empty maps, and it is curiosity that helps fill in the blanks to make it a full picture. Yet, from point A to B we can’t sacrifice ourselves along the way. The majority of the fun comes from filling it out, because once its done it is done; and that’s it. I’d say I ought to make subtle movements with my decisions, because if curiosity killed the cat it might kill something inside of me. (but then again cats have 9 lives)