Another stoned rambling, akin to that of the day before yesterday though this time, far less external stimuli and more internal. This is the third attempt to write something rational. Structure of any sort has decided to fuck off from my brain for a moment back there. I tried to say something meaningful in regards to a recent passing, but all that came out was a jumbled non-sequitar that frankly, was more insulting than of having any meaning. Suffice to say he obeyed the rules of the road to the end.
That was a surprisingly difficult half paragraph to write. Holy shit. I had this whole spiel set out earlier and now I can’t remember any of that.
Okay, so there’s this guy I don’t know. He’s kind of a weird guy. He’s kinda opal-y. He’s the kind of fellow that would tell the disctray to “shhhh!” A rather silly wanker. Did it just taste British in here for a second? 1 Anywho, this I guy that I don’t know has been hanging out a lot with guns and fireworks.
Fuck. Everything I write starts to sound like some sort of kid friendly delivery system. I think I’m going to erase most of this and then just paste whatever comes out from this point on. Because this is getting a tad excessive.
A gentleman scholar once said that it takes two hundred something – I can’t remember I wasn’t paying attention – iron nails to sink a paper boat made out of cardboard. To that his equally as gentlemanly scholar friend responded that it was completely retarded. Firstly, it was absurd that a paper boat could be made of both paper and of cardboard, their similar molecular structures notwithstanding. Second of all, it only takes one flaming tissue in the right place to sink a cardboard ship. Thirdly of all; fuck you.
Drunk as they were, they killed each other in the ensuing argument. It should be noted that the second’s death was due to sheer stupidity as he continued to thrash the first’s body resulting in the ground giving way underneath. Their bodies washed up down river where a young virgin maiden not made of iron was taking her bath. She was hot I guess, if you’re into prude chicks. Needless to say, God then told her that He was totally in on helping her give those England fuckers a good what for. 2
You know what show is really good? I mean, not really good, but probably one of the best shows of all time? Battlestar Galactica. I mean damn, man. It’s fucking good.
1 – The Beast with a Billion Backs gets a billion thumbs up back.
2 – Thusly the expression “God works in mysterious ways” was born upon the Western Globe.
Destination; I don’t care.
June 25, 2008
It’s not that I haven’t been myself, it’s been that I put myself on the shelf in a jar like preserves for a while. Like a displaced limb my has mind sat inactive for about a year now. I figured that maybe instead of being an outsider I’d put myself into the inside. It didn’t exactly work out that way. I found out that regardless of the situation I’m bound to sit on the side and toss out witty potshots.
Call it a social experiment or an exercise in the absurd, whichever so pleases you. I didn’t know that there albums out that I should’ve known about. I haven’t read a new book in Christ knows how long. Not that I’m complaining, I’ve spent the better part of the last year pleasantly inebriated.
Good times.
Haven’t been around here in a while. Hey. How’s it going?
I think a retro look would be nice here.
There’s two songs that are quite the tune to listen to whilst tuned. The Angel and the One off Weezer’s Red Album and The Pilgrim off Mr. Sam Roberts’ Love at the End of the World. So tonight I’m off on a walk, as I’ve been known to do from time to time. They were my excuse to indulge in whatever secret I was hauling into my lungs.
When I was in high school, the walks were a front for my time spent as a secret smoker of nicotine sticks. Now my walks are a front for my time spent as a kinda-but-not-really secret smoker of tetrahydrocannabinol sticks.
This night that is now the next morning, I decide to wonder from my usual path from the park straight home and head down some street I’ve never fucking seen before. It’s dark and full of trees and there’s no sidewalk and the fucking lamp posts are far apart. As I’m walking I see a cop car flash his lights momentarily as he turned down a cul-de-sac I would walk by soon enough. Smart guy that is me, opens up his pack of Belmonts and quickly grabs both a cigarette and the roach. Somehow I manage to drop the roach while trying to put the smoke in between my lips, but that’s cool ‘cos that was pretty much the plan anyways.
So with Mr. Roberts in my ears I keep pressing onwards. Because, what the fuck, I’m harmless. Having gifted my Zippo, Obi-Wan Kenobi, in an ill-advisedly noble going away gesture I’m forced to light the smoke with a convenience store variety of lighter fluid. The smoker that is me, starts to cross the road that is the cul-de-sac just as another cop car turns in, this time, the lights are going balls out. He’s shinning one of those spotlights into my red eyes and I have to squint. I look towards the other cop car parked in the cul-de-sac then back to Mr. Bright Flashing Lights and wait for him to make his move.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but the strobing lights are matching the drums in my ears. Mr. Bright Flashing Lights makes his move, he takes his left down into the cul-de-sac and I start walking forwards. Soon enough I’m walking down a main street back towards the apartment. There’s this shape that’s hunched over the garbage in front of someone’s house and for a second I just think it’s a loose bag. Getting closer, I realize it’s a fucking person and when I’m about ten strides away I see that it’s a woman about my age leafing through the garbage. And there’s a fucking open box of kitty litter next to the garbage.
That blows my fucking mind and I’m coming up on a left and then a right turn home. I take the left towards the darker side street and lo and behold there’s a goddamn cop car driving through the intersection down the street I need to turn onto. But the cop’s nowhere in sight when I turn.
That’s how I almost didn’t go to jail but for a second thought I was.
the backporch blog 