Vincent

I've been having a bit of a Vincent Price marathon this weekend and it reminded me of one of my all time favorite shorts. This is Vincent, narrated by Vincent Price and directed by Tim Burton. You really can't top that combination.

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Pumpkin Pi

Well my little sister and I did some pumpkin carving last night. I thought I was so clever and building up my nerd cred with this Pumpkin Pi effort.

 

Until I saw this anyway: 

Oh well, guess I'm just a poser.

My sister went with the Jack Skellington look:

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The Endless Run

It feels like I have been running all of my life. My whole body aches but I can't stop, I can't slow down, they'll get me. This is like a terrible nightmare. Why won't they stop chasing me!? I want to break down and cry.

There, I can hide there! I duck into a stairwell and remain completely silent. Three of them run by. God they smell awful. How many of them can there be? I close my eyes for 30 seconds and it feels like years. I have thoughts racing through my head. Thoughts of fear and terror. Thoughts of the coming struggle. Thoughts of giving up and letting them fulfill their diabolical plans for me. I open my eyes and look around.

I bang the back of my head against the concrete wall. "Jesus Christ! Whose cock do I have to suck to get a fucking cigarette?"

You're losing it Stella, they're going to hear you. I realize the mistake I just made, I sit in complete silence. I hold my breath, terrified to make a sound. I hear a branch break. Then the sounds of footsteps. My heart begins to race. My only hope is to go into this building, what the hell is this place? The plaque next to the door reads St. Augustine's Cathedral. The footsteps become louder, I have to chance it. I throw all of my weight against the door and it bursts open.

I enter a long, dark, desolate corridor that seems like it stretches on for miles. I run. I run like I've been running my entire life, ever since this damned ordeal started, ever since they took her. I've been scared for so long that I rarely panic anymore. I have learned to take the most grotesque and horrific sights in stride. Funny the things you can learn to do when you've faced death day after day, night after night, year after year.

They stole my baby girl. Murderers! She was innocent, she never did anything to anyone. She was just a baby! Now she is gone. Gone forever. How could you take her from me? I loved her so. Now they want me. God knows what they want me for. Doesn't matter, they'll never get me! I'll never give up. I have to fight, I have to fight for my little girl.

I can hear them gaining on me. Those yellow freaks! Finally, the end of the corridor. I slam into the door and it opens into a beautiful church Sanctuary. For a moment I look up in awe. How did this get here? This is something you see in Italy or France. Not here in Jersey. That momentary pause, that slip of the mind cost me. A powerful force strikes my back and I fall to the floor. I look up and see beautiful murals of fallen angels and Him, Satan. I'm groggy, I can barely see. Then I realized what has happened. The three yellow men are standing above me.

I scream! "You took my little girl! You Godless bastards! Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"We are the truth Stella. We didn't take your little girl, Stella. We didn't kill her either. How long will you run from us? You'll never escape your own madness, Stella. Admit the truth to yourself and this nightmare will finally end."

The way they talk, all in unison, it sounds otherworldly. It feels like sandpaper scraping my soul. I kick one between the legs and manage to wriggle myself free from their grasp. I begin to run again.

Always running, always.
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The janitor pushes his mop down the hall. He hears screams of terror coming from one of the cells. He peeks into the window and sees a restrained woman thrashing violently on her bed. For a moment he looks into her eyes and he is almost hypnotized. He snaps out of it and looks at the clipboard hanging on the door.

Stella Howard

Condition: Suffers from severe hysteria.

Length of stay: Indefinite. Convicted of murdering her own infant by asphyxiation.
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Originally written in 2007. Thought I'd dig it up and keep the Halloween mood going.

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Knock... knock...

It was a blustery day that turned into a blustery night. The head of a Pooh Bear doll rolled in front of my feet. Did I kick it? Did the wind take it? Did I rip it off?

This world scares me. I feel a lot more comfortable in the virtual world. In tron-space at least I can log off after the blood drips out. Here. Here, it leaves a trail. I've watched Dexter too much to believe I won't get caught.

Unless...

Unless, I have an alibi. I can't go down for this crime if I've got an alibi. If I commit a crime right after this one I can do 5 years instead of 20. I just need to take her face off and bury mine in another's. The girl down the street....

She's beautiful.

So beautiful.

I'll turn her into the living dead. She'll be my zombie princess, I'll eat her... brains.

My palms were sweaty when I knocked on the last door. Now they're clammy and calm. I'm learning. Classic conditioning at it's best, although, my tongue still wags...

Wait...

What's that? Is it the mushrooms? Is it the police? Is it my hunger knocking on the inside of my stomach?

The door creaks. It's off the hinge, these people don't care.

I smile.

She falls...

I have my alibi.

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Image taken from: http://epic4life.com/kent/2009/03/door-knocking/

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A New Low

Aren't the tea-party people always calling Democrats pussies? At a political rally in Kentucky for Republican Senate candidate Paul Rand they really proved that by holding a peaceful young woman down while another tea-bagger stomped on her head. Fucking disgusting.

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The Klepto

Never in the world has there been a lover as famed as he. The Klepto stole hearts and robbed minds from young ladies that were oh so lovely. But that was not all he took, you see, listen closely for this is the key: they called him The Klepto not because he stole innocence and love but because he took from these girls what they were most proud of.

The first girl in this allegory was a young woman of noble birth and glory. She was spoiled and wretched and getting what she wanted at all times summed up her life story. She had fine gowns, lavish balls and many male suitors that would come in and out of her life without much thought, all of them faceless commuters.

When she first saw The Klepto she was in denial. For the first time in her life she was attracted to a man's smile. He seduced her with his charms and before long she was embraced in his arms. In the princess's quarters they made love, they were animals, every climax she felt possessed by the power of hundred pound mortars.

Hours went by and soon her eyes, blue as the skies, were closed as the young princess drifted off to sleep. This is the time when The Klepto would decide what to keep. He looked at her body, glowing and satisfied, and then looked to her face and discovered that which she most glorified.

Into her arm he inserted a needle to make her sleep deeper and then a cold stare emerged that would terrify the grim reaper. He looked down at her face at what she most prized. She used them to look down in contempt at those she despised. One first, then the other our Klepto plucked out both of her eyes.
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Originally written in February, 2007. I was going for a Dr. Seuss meets Roald Dahl's more adult work sort of vibe.

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Hmmm

I once cared what people thought. Then I stopped, I decided they weren't worth it. They weren't smart enough. How could I compare them to me? Then after a while I shed my arrogance. Just because I read about what happened between Augustus and Antony it doesn't mean that I'm smarter than Alfred and Alfredo. It is easy to despise the ignorant because they don't know any better. It takes elegance to educate the idiotic and let your own intelligence flounder in the name of expansion.

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Nobody Protests Quite Like The French

 I wish we would protest so enthusiastically, it looks like so much fun

Click here to see some great photos of the pension reform protests in France.

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Seven Deadly Sins

"I can't believe those ungrateful bastards fired me! After everything I did for them! They've reduced me to an angry drunkard afraid to leave the house."

A car door slams outside and he rushes to the window, tripping over old gin bottles in the process.

"Fuck! It's a fucking mess in here. Look at him off to work in his nice suit and his fancy car. If I had a silver spoon in my mouth I'd have a hot wife and nice things too. God, his wife. The things I would do to her. I'd like to wrap my fingers around her throat and show her who the better man really is. I fucking wish I had his life. No, I couldn't live with myself if I was him, spoiled rich brat.

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I'm Illegal

Well, sort of, one of my direct ancestors is. Some sleuthing by one of my family members recently uncovered that my great-great-grandparents were born in Finland, traveled to Canada and snuck into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. After a couple years they had my (great) grandma Lil.

Yes ladies and gentleman, my sweet (actually really mean), 4'11", born in 1909 and died at age 93 great grandma Lil was in fact, an anchor baby.

Being the American (or is it Finnish?) patriot that I am I walked straight into my local Immigration and Naturalization Services building and told them the entire embarrassing story. As I indignantly stomped my feet and demanded to be deported to Finland immediately (hey airfare for a European vacation is expensive) the pompous bureaucrats did nothing but laugh and told me to fill out some form. Perturbed, I sat down next to a pregnant woman of Hispanic descent trying to hold back her tears. It really touched my heart, obviously she really wanted her free trip to some tropical resort in Costa Rica or Bermuda. She didn't speak any English so I just put my arm around her to console her. I told her she was lucky that she hadn't had her baby yet or she'd have to jump through bureaucratic hoops like me. She smiled a little and held me tight. Us illegals have to stick together.
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Image taken from: http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/directory/a/anchor.asp

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Something Wicked This Way Comes: A Review

I'm always the most nostalgic in autumn, particularly October. I'm always running around too much in the summer to sit back and reminisce about what summer was like when I was just a boy. Now that the leaves are turning and the northern hemisphere is cooling off I've been slowing down a lot. Cooking chili, reading more, writing more and reflecting on what it was like to jump into piles of leaves, TP houses in the neighborhood and dress up in homemade costumes that didn't look anything like what they were supposed to.

Ray Bradbury (when he isn't writing about book burning or aliens) inspires a sense of nostalgia like no other writer I've ever encountered. Something Wicked This Way Comes almost makes me feel like I'm ten again, running around town and getting into adventures with friends. The story is about an evil and magical carnival coming to town near Halloween and causing all sorts of macabre mayhem. I can't think of any book I'd rather read at this time of year. Bradbury was obviously feeling pretty nostalgic when he wrote this because the plot centers around the longing people have to become young and free again and has some really deep insights into life. It's much more than just a story for kids, although they would love it too.

I'm going to go sit on the stoop and reminisce. I wonder if I can find any Affy Tapples at the corner store.

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People Watching

She was sitting on a park bench singing Turning Japanese, and it didn't even seem ironic, even though she was Japanese. She seemed natural, normal, fragile and strong. She made me think in paradoxes. I wanted to approach her but the impact of her smile was so forceful and inviting that I couldn't build up the nerve to say hello. I could tell she was an art student, they always have a certain look. I call it the eye of the hurricane look. Calm and content and in the present because they are living the dream and doing what they love, yet there is a nervous paranoia in their eyes that is always looking out for the proverbial ton of bricks. Bricks, hurricanes and mice, Florida's biggest exports.

Looks like someone is going to try his luck with her. He's wearing sunglasses to block her smile, smart. Why couldn't I think of that? He's smiling way too much though, maybe he's gay. Aren't art students supposed to like the dark and brooding types? He has to be gay, rookie mistake. He just put his hand on her thigh and she didn't even flinch! Definitely the gay friend. I wonder if he'd let me borrow his sunglasses if I flirted with him? Who am I kidding? He's too pretty for me. I'll have to go in blind, well, blinded. Remember, dark and brooding, dark and brooding. Shit they're leaving!

Meh, she wasn't really my type anyway.
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Image taken from: http://bookxcessblog.com/?p=2850

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Midterms

To the Democrats: 

The 2010 Congressional elections are nearly upon us and it isn't looking good for the Democrats. It looks like we'll lose the House and there is a long shot we could also lose the Senate. What does it all mean? Probably not too much to be honest. Historically, after a President's first year in office is over it is always hard to get any big domestic policy through. Obama and the Democrats have passed legislation on a scale not seen since right after JFK was shot. Now the challenge becomes more a matter of implementation and governance than passing big legislation. If I were him, I'd focus more on making sure the personnel are in place to make the health care reform bill work as well as possible. This however, is pretty boring and doesn't exactly get people excited but it is probably more important than arguing with a Republican Congress that isn't going to really look to do anything anyway. Also, I think the most unheralded thing about the Obama Administration is how well his foreign policy has been working. For the most part, there has been no controversy and plenty of accolades for Obama's foreign policy. Spend this down time in the legislative branch to highlight that, especially considering his competition in 2012 might be Sarah Palin who can't even find Russia on a map.

To the Republicans: 

Be careful what you wish for. The Republican party is pretty riled up at the moment since they've been sitting on the political sidelines for the last couple years. It is very possible that they could sweep to power and take a narrow lead in the House and Senate. In the long run, they won't get anything done and they'll give Obama a clear target to fight against. We've all seen how inept the Republican party is at domestic policy, why do the Republicans think that is going to change any? They don't have any ideas, they just want to stop things. That is all well and good when you're on the sidelines but not when you're in power. They won't be able to repeal big ticket items like health care reform because of Obama's veto power and they won't be able to pass any small ticket items without cooperation from the Democrats which will leave them with nothing accomplished by the time the 2012 elections roll around, leaving the Democrats plenty of targets to win back Congress and elect Obama to another term.

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Questions

Originally written in September of 2007.

Have you ever sat there and watched a woman cry? Sat there and watched tears pour down her eyes. Not a lover, not a friend. She is no one to you. You look at her and sit there. Feeling nothing while she feels everything. Call it indifference, apathy or frigid detachment. Sometimes a person just doesn't care.

She just hit a little kid with her truck. She thought it was her own. The child was run off to the hospital. She was left there to wonder and wait. Her boyfriend is trying to soothe her but she is inconsolable. Her friends are there. Hugging her from time to time. Saying sweet things. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have done anything differently. He ran right out in front of you.

Still she cried.

And I look at her, at them. I watch. Fascinated by the scene in front of me.

The police have just arrived. They ask questions. They make her relive her hell. She sobs hysterically throughout. They ask me a few questions. I didn't see it happen, I only heard it. I tell them that. They leave me alone and interview her friends. Have you ever noticed the way that women speak much louder than they normally do when being questioned by the police and men speak much more softly? I sit and wonder about that for just a moment before the thought escapes me.

Thousands of thoughts come and go. Questions fly up into the air. Answers reign down. I forget them all. All of those insights into the present that seem so deep and so profound but are never written down.

Blood curdling squeals suddenly fill the air. Another child has appeared. The women all scream. I grab his hand on instinct and sit him down next to me. He has no idea what is going on. He was sleeping in the house. He looks a bit like I do, I suppose. Apart from the things around him. He has just woken up surrounded by a scene so odd that I wonder if he is a Roald Dahl protagonist.

Some woman comes over and lectures him. In one ear, out the other. I tell him to chill. Stay out of the street and you'll be okay. He looked both ways and went back in the house.

***

I turn back to the woman with the wet face. She is sniffling now. And moaning. Moaning awful, awful sounds. She looks disgusting. She was kind of cute when I met her. I even flirted with her a bit. Now I sit there wondering why. I'm normally turned on by raw emotion, no matter which one. Fear, anger, suffering, and frustration are all things I look for in a woman. I enjoy a roller coaster. This felt more like a plummet to the earth. I should be enjoying studying this woman.

But instead this is abhorrent to me. Am I disgusted with her or myself? How can I be so callous? How can I be so loathsome? Perhaps in another life I was a war photographer.

Then I see two guys slyly sneak out of the scene with three giggling girls and I suddenly feel better about myself.

***

The news returns. The kid is OK. The scene disbands. She is still crying. I stop wondering.

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First 250

This is for Elle's first 250 word blogfest. This is something I've been leaving and coming back to for a few years now. It's supposed to be the beginning of my dystopian novel but we'll see if it ever gets farther. Click here to see the rest of the entrants.
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"Oh, Fariha, my dear, you look stunning tonight. The only thing more impressive than your beauty is your biting wit."
    "Richard you're terribly charming and the only thing more impressive than that sly grin of yours is the way you pucker up every time my husband's backside needs a soft, soothing smooch." Fariha said as Richard Bottombrook kissed the soft, unblemished, caramel skin of her hand. After quickly disposing of his tiresome niceties she continued gliding around the room dispensing fawners, flatterers, and grotesque grovelers of all sorts in a perverted sort of flippant waltz that no one in the room, maybe in the entire world, could understand but our darling Fariha Apollo.
    Fariha is the kind of beauty one comes across but once in a lifetime. Her long, lustrous, silky black hair flowed like waves towards a calm beach in the middle of the night. It was said that she could soften the hearts of the most hardened men with her enchanting, mocha colored eyes. In fact the prior statement is unarguably certain. The most manipulative, calculating and ruthless man in all of The Corporation had fallen madly in love with Fariha despite her many eccentricities. There is a well-worn line that lucid drunkards would use on attractive girls before The Great Merger, that consisted of something similar to “when God created you he broke the mold”. Well, when Mr. Apollo created Fariha he did indeed break the mold, not to mention shoot the engineer that designed her.

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One Man's Trash...

In my alley yesterday evening there were two boys, maybe 7 or 8, standing by my garage and looking very suspicious. I got out of my car to unlock and open my garage when they started making small talk in a casual manner that belied their obviously mischievous intentions. They asked if I lived here. I said "yes". They said "oh, it's a nice place". I said "thanks" and with a raised eyebrow went to pull my car into the garage, fully expecting to see my garage door egged the next time I returned to it. Once I got my car settled and went to close the garage door I looked across the alley to see the two boys on their hands and knees greedily digging into something. Curious, I went for a closer look and when I did I startled them out of their ravenous digging. They knew they'd been caught red-handed now and we're in deep trouble. I looked over their shoulders and saw a torn garbage bag filled with at least 50 action figures. They guiltily asked if they were mine. I said "no, but that was some score they came across". Relieved they both exhaled and said "I know right?" and I walked away smiling and wishing I'd found a treasure trove like that when I was their age. As I closed up the garage I heard "Oh man, look Spider-Man! And Mario, YES!!!

Below is what remained of the stash when I got home today. I guess stegosaurus isn't as cool as he was when I was a kid.

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The Stranger: A Review

Side Note: I've become obsessed with Netflix over the last couple years, particularly the instant streaming Netflix movies and shows that just beam right to my TV. IT IS SO AWESOME!!! Sadly, not enough of my friends have this yet so I have no one to talk to about all the crazy shit I come across in my Instant Queue. I decided, like all people that have no one to talk to, to blog about it. So, if you share my obsession with Netflix or are even just a really big movie person check out my new blog (click here). My first review of Shotgun Stories will be going up tomorrow. Now, back to your regularly scheduled blogging...

The Stranger: A Review

Have you ever been a witness to your own life? There are moments when I just feel detached from what is going on around me. Moments when I'm there, but I'm not. I sometimes feel more like an observer than an active part of my own life. Consciously I know that I'm walking around, doing things, talking to people but none of it really seems real. It feels almost like I'm driving my body Being John Malkovich style. The Stranger, by Albert Camus, gives you that feeling. The main character seems to live like that all the time, completely detached from life.

The philosophical question that this book centers around (in my opinion anyway, you could teach a class on this book) is how far a person should go in order to fit into society's norms. The protagonist does not make any effort to live up to the expectations of others and is completely honest in all situations. On its face this seems admirable and an ideal we all strive to, in practice and in this novel it can at times make him seem like a monster. I try to tell myself I'm an absolutist when it comes to being honest and not hurting feelings but this novel made it clear to me that it's not true at all.

Even though it's a philosophical book it really doesn't feel like it, Camus is wonderful in that way. The book isn't that long and moves along very quickly. Give it a read, I'm sure you'll get totally different lessons out of it than I will.

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More Religion in Schools

I was watching a documentary last night and Dale Dennett was one of the speakers. He's a philosopher and atheist and had an interesting thought on religion in schools that had never really crossed my mind. He is in favor, not of eliminating religion from schools, but mandating that all religions be taught in schools. Imagine if every child, in every school, all around the world was taught about each major religion and what the consequences would be. Children in Arkansas could learn that not all Muslims are terrorists and the wee ones in Iran could learn that the Jews in Israel aren't Satan. Imagine the dialogue that could be opened up internationally if we all knew the history, plight and tenets of each nation's religions.

I think it's a wonderful idea that becomes impractical when you imagine the PTA meeting this is brought up at. People, I suppose, would be afraid that their children would find out that the religion they were born into isn't the one true religion. But really, if your religion is true why would you be worried about your child learning about false ones? It wouldn't be indoctrination, it would be education. Religion has been a major force throughout the history of mankind and should be  put into context from a historical perspective. It would take an enlightened world populace to enact such a program but we do need to start somewhere. We can all make it a priority on our own to teach our children, and those around us, about the world's religions and see if it spreads. It's a lot harder to hate someone when you know who they are.
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Image taken from: http://www.atheistmedia.com/2008_03_01_archive.html

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Gangster Disciples v. The Taliban

The other night I was browsing through my DVR looking for something interesting to watch. On a side note, I wonder what a psychological profile of my recorded programs list would look like. Eventually, I came to "Need to Know" which is a weekly news show on PBS that takes an in depth look at stories dominating the headlines. It is usually a very good program and I always feel a bit smarter having watched it. That being said, I had a  queue of 9 episodes saved up (give me a break as interesting as it is it's still hard to get pumped for a PBS news show). The first segment (watch it here) was on the Afghan's we are training to eventually take over the country (fingers crossed).

It's nice to meet, in a sense, the people that are over there everyday risking there lives trying to secure a fledgling country. The part that fascinated me the most was when the film crew was with an Afghan military unit on the border with Pakistan. On the other side of the border there was a Taliban outpost that they couldn't attack because it's in Pakistan's territory. The soldiers all seemed very bored and eventually decided they'd give the Taliban a call to see what was going on and try to egg them into a fight. He pulled out his phone and just called his Taliban counterpart up, seriously. How crazy is that? This guy had been fighting the Taliban for 16 years prior to our involvement and he seems pretty used to it. It's all very laid back and almost cordial. At one point he says that he has more in common with the Taliban than he does with the Americans. It was all very strange and surreal and reminded me of the gang problems we have here in Chicago.

Think about the south side of Chicago instead of Afghanistan. Imagine the ANA (the Afghan force we are training) as the Gangster Disciples (GD's) and the Taliban as the Vice Lords (VL's). At some point the Chicago Police Department decides it has had enough of the VL's so it enlists the GD's to train them and finally take them out forever. The police arm the GD's, train them and give them logistical support. Eventually the GD's take out the VL's and the cops can claim victory. But, what have we really won? Instead of two untrained, still wild gangs we have one highly trained gang that knows the same techniques the police do. What is really safer? I'm starting to think it's better to let these amateur forces do battle for another hundred years than to teach them to fight like us.

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Cat's Cradle: A Review

Kurt Vonnegut, the author of  Cat's Cradle, was a man with perspective. A very unique perspective, but perspective nonetheless. Out of any writer I’ve ever read I’d have to say that his mind works in a manner I've never encountered (except maybe Douglas Adams). His stories are somehow completely surreal and out of this world while at the same time grounded in fundamental human needs, fears and aspirations.

This is the third Vonnegut novel I’ve read (Slaughterhouse V; Player Piano the others) and I think it’s my favorite but I only just finished it so you have to give that time. The writing was hilarious, the characters were caricatures of caricatures, yet somehow through all the craziness you end up feeling like you learned something about something. Life, religion, society and many more topics are all covered here with a wry smile and clever wit. Give it a read.  The absurdity of this novel really shows you the absurdity of life in all its meaningless glory.

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Playing to Market

I was watching this Jimi Hendrix documentary last night (which you can find streaming on Netflix by typing in Jimi Hendrix) from 1973 that got me thinking about a few things. The first being how face-meltingly awesome that man really was. He was the definition of  a prodigy in my book. Second, I thought about how awful of a singer Bob Dylan really was. Hendrix was ten times the singer Dylan was and Hendrix really was a pretty shitty singer himself. Who really notices their shortcomings anyway? One is probably the best guitar player of all time, the other the greatest song writer of all time. Which kind of brings me to the third thing it made me think about: once you define yourself you're kind of stuck in that role.

There was a lot of talk in the documentary about how once Jimi got famous people expected the same thing of him over and over again. They expected him to wear the wild outfits, play with his teeth and light his guitar on fire. I'm not sure if he was ever sober long enough to notice or not but a number of people that knew him said it had gotten dangerously close to stifling his creativity. Here is this genius musician and we were trying to stifle his musical growth. Sadly, barbiturates and vomit beat us to the punch.

It's rather easy to look at outliers (which Hendrix most certainly was) and condemn society. Are any of our positions really that different though? People that know me well, know that I have an extremely quick tongue (sorry ladies) and can at times alternate on a dime between being an asshole and gut-bustingly hilarious. If I'm having an off-day people automatically assume that something is wrong. Sometimes, I just might be in a quiet and reflective mood but, rather than say that it's easier to just come up with some witty comeback.

Can I really blame everyone else for stifling me though? Isn't it my fault? Didn't I come up with an image of myself and perpetuate it over the years? The world only sees what we want it to. Burning guitars and dressing wild was Jimi's style, if he didn't want to be known for it he wouldn't have done it. My blog is portraying an image to all of you. A much more entertaining version of myself I might add. What my life might be like without all the clutter of a 9-5 and all the day-to-day headaches life throws at you. In a way, we're all sell-outs just trying to seem more interesting than we actually are. Or, is it that we are all incredibly fascinating and just looking for ways to show the world? Who knows? Kick back and listen to some "The Wind Cries Mary" and worry about it later.

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Tourette's

I told her I didn't mean to yell at her, that I am prone to sudden outbursts of tourette's syndrome when under stress. She said she'd never heard of the affliction and with a tone that told of a singular sincerity she instructed me to go fuck myself.

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One Foot

I'm shivering. The wife won't let me smoke in the house. Fall is here. There are a few leaves sprinkled throughout the lawn. Plants are dying out. I haven't even mowed the grass in a few weeks. I've gotta deal with all this bullshit yard work. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Eight missed calls. I can't take the fucking nagging. I wouldn't be out all night if she would just treat me like a fucking man. What the hell even happened? I exhale a puff of smoke up into the heavens. It's a clear night and I can only see half of the big dipper. I hate this fucking city. Now I have to somehow sneak into bed reeking of beer and whiskey without getting bitched at. I need to leave.
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Image taken from: http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2007/06/03/1940880.htm

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