Monday, June 30, 2014

I will follow you into the dark

When I finally do sleep, I have a dream of you.  I wake in the dream lying in a ditch, with my truck next to me, in Winchester.  Why am I in Winchester?  I must have been heading to work. So in this  world I must still work in Lexington, maybe I was falling asleep and needed to rest, which makes as much sense as anything else in my dream. I gather my stuff out of the ditch as a paperboy delivers the Lexington Herald.  Somebody follows behind him, stealing them, before I take off.

For whatever reason, I have to get home and shower.  It is nighttime, and my clothes are muddy, or perhaps I'm only in my underwear.  I head for home.  For some reason I have to sneak into my family's apartment, which means going through a back way through yours and Tony's place.  Yes, in this world, we live in the same apartment building.  Dream logic.

I remember thinking you were still not really talking to me.  It was 4 am, and my mind was incorporating stuff about you that you'd told me... you worked first shift, but it was early enough that you wouldn't be awake.  I could sneak through and not bother you.  Of course that didn't happen.  As I was about to reach the front of your apartment, I see Tony.  I've never had a dream with him in it to my knowledge.  He is in your living room, I think sorting through vinyl?  I'm not sure.  He recognizes me immediately and I can tell he doesn't understand what you saw in me.  But I just give what I'm assuming is a look pleading for him to not say anything and he doesn't.  I can make my escape.

Of course this is where you walk in, talking to him about something.  You don't see me at first and when you do you're not sure what to make of it.  Oddly you react kind of like John Watson, ask Tony if he left the door open again (double reference, Sherlock and Shaun of the Dead.)  Tony leaves the room and you resign to let me pass through, but you follow along to my family's apartment.

The scene changes.  I say my family's apartment because it's not my parents', as Dad has passed on.  Kelly is here, younger and not talking much.  Mom is here, older and kind of grumpy.  Keith is here, fat.  One has returned from the grave, little Miko.  As I set up the shower, which I guess is in the living room for some reason, you play with Miko.  I try to tell you not to, because I don't have your allergy medicine, which I remember tossing away.  It was one of the only things you left behind that I did toss.  You say it's okay, so I go to the shower.  

Mom brings the body wash, my big rust-colored towel, and a washcloth.  I don't want to use the washcloth.  The body wash comes out with a Jell-o like consistency.  It is difficult to use in my beard.  But I wash off and dry off.  I try to get my clothes on as quick as possible, because I have no idea what you're thinking right then.  Why you followed me back.  Why aren't you mad.  And when my mind asks these questions it's using your nickname, not your actual one.  I've never used your nickname, not often anyway.

I begin panicking because in the hoarder's delight of an apartment, I can't find any socks.  You ask what's wrong and I mention that I need socks, where are the fucking socks.  Then I see that I'm wearing them already.  You laugh that laugh of yours and smile, saying "I was wondering when you'd finally notice that."  I begin to be relieved.  Then you say, "Well I guess if you could drop me off at work..." meaning the Winchester Walmart.  Keith says to you, "Hey, you work at the Walmart's don't you?"  We laugh again and I begin to believe that we might be friends again after all.

There is a thunderclap and a blast of white light that pulls me out of the dream.  Right then my phone is playing this song, a cover by Amanda Palmer of a Death Cab for Cutie song.  When I heard the original, I hated it.  It is almost a happy song about losing the person you love the most.  Literally losing them to death, and how you'd rather take a chance on what's past that with them than without them.  Amanda covers it with just the sad bits.  So I got up, listened to her version, cried, and wrote this dream blog.  I don't know if you still have this bookmarked on your browser.  I know you did once.  This is my way of being passive-aggressive.  A lot of these posts do have references about you.  Sometimes they are sad, sometimes angry.  Mostly they just miss you.

And now I guess I'll do laundry.

Friday, June 20, 2014

Spider-Man: a comedy

Getting ready for my doctor's appointment this morning was a bit humiliating.

Showered, shaved (well, trimmed), wanting to look good for my doctor in case I get lucky.  Today show running in the background, it's mindless flotsam of morning television the best encouragement to leave.  I sat on the bed, pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, my shorts, and started to put a sock on.... and then I felt it.

A spider.  slowly crawling down my back.

I'm not icked out by spiders.  I think they're fascinating.  I watch TV nature shows about them.  I wrote a short story about one once that lived on the door frame of my first apartment in Dallas.  I considered one my "pet" in the house I grew up in, feeding it lightning bugs (or fireflies) completely convinced that the spider would suck out the phosphorescent liquid and begin glowing.  Hey, I was six.  And a science nerd.  And I guess kind of stupid.

I like spiders.  But I don't want them on me.

After being very still for a second that lasted a week, feeling the spider crawl down my back, I freaked out and began flailing about with my hands, trying to swat the spider away before IT BIT ME AND EATED ME AND THEN SHIT OUT MY CORPSE AND THEN RAPED MY SHIT-CORPSE WITH WHATEVER KIND OF GOD AWFUL SCARY BODY PART A FUCKING SPIDER CALLS ITS PENIS GODDAMN GET IT OFF

Yeah.  I had not dried my hair properly, it was a little drop of water running down my back.

So excuse me, I have to go turn in my penis to the Man Store.

Thursday, June 19, 2014


Last night the Dayton area got hit with some quite heavy thunderstorms.  Maybe that's what made me go to sleep.  I've noticed Leo and Barbarella both get all nappytime when it's raining.  I don't think it was even 11 because I didn't watch Jon Stewart.  Pretty unusual.

Slept like a baby.  Woke up at 5 this morning to a message that has made my day. 

Back to work.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Perfume Genius - Sister Song

sick punk

A friend rightly pointed out that I should consult my doctor before taking anything else to deal with allergies, since the two could conflict.  Just like, I can't take boner pills because of my high blood pressure meds, because it could kill me.  Oh the irony.  Well I had to go see her soon anyway so I'm on for this Friday morning.


I've given up on hearing from Ex again.  I wrote him, told him so.  Apologized for being crazy, maybe I never should have stopped the anti-dep pills, but if I don't give up I will obsess about it til it drives us both insane.  He's got a new life and I already caused him too much pain for this one.  He probably regrets contacting me at all now.  I will probably never know.  It doesn't matter, I can't replace him and I can't have him, so it's better to give him up and watch from afar.

I wonder if he ever did that with me.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Dreams of crashing

As if to get revenge on me for getting a good night's sleep recently, my body went into full allergy mode yesterday when I woke up.  Runny disgusting nose, sneezing, the works.  Then I swallowed some spit and gagged on it and wound up coughing so hard I thought I was going to puke.   Unfortunately I didn't, so I came on into work despite sounding like a frog.  I am kind of grumpy and wondering if I can get the part-timer to come in and cover me for the rest of the day and take half-a-sick day.

I'm gonna have to see my doctor again soon for blood pressure meds, so I might as well ask about allergy meds if it's kicking my ass this hard.  Apparently I have to do something funky to just purchase Benadryl because I look like I cook meth or something.  Please.  I won't even cook ramen noodles when I get home tonight, imagine me cooking up a big batch of meth, somebody put the sign out on the front porch, "hair doos and p-nuts."

Orphan Black continues to be really good but how many times are they going to let Kira get kidnapped?  That shit is getting old.

I'm about to sneeze my nose off so I might just ask the boss if we can call the part-timer in.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Sleepless in Dayton

Ack, maybe that's not the best idea for a title right now.

Anyway.  I was having my regular sleep troubles, not related to anything personal... it's just what happens to me.  Around 4:30 this morning I sent Ex a Facebook message (well, messages technically) asking two questions I really needed to know the answer to:

Why now?-- Why contact me now?  Or send signals that you wanted to contact me?  For a few months now I'd finally come to accept that he was gone from my life forever, that I'd never hear from him again.  And even before that, I knew the only person responsible for driving him off was me.  I couldn't handle adult life.  But I'm doing so much better now.  Almost never late for work anymore, and everybody loves me there.  Everything about my life is better, but one thing is missing.

And... what now?  Are we friends?  Is it safe to "like" a picture he posts, or make a comment?  I can't even write more on that because I really don't know what I'm asking.  Maybe... did you just need to tell me that for whatever reason, and now we go back to having nothing to do with each other?

Because if that turns out to be the case... ah.  I'm not going down that road.

He has my number, if he forgot it.  Maybe I'll hear from him eventually and I can apologize like a normal person, instead of a crazy person.  

Surprisingly, last night, I had pretty great sleep.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


So Ex contacted me.

Out of the blue he looked at one of my profiles.  I guess it wasn't really out of the blue.  He'd looked at other ones, over the past few months.  But this time I checked his profile out in return.  Nothing had changed, so I thought it was just one of those things.  I showed up on his viewer and he was like, "oh yeah him."  I mean I've done it myself, with Larry, Dave.  Even that kid who was a furry and looked like Harry Potter.

But after looking at his profile, he checked mine out again.  So.... that meant something.  At first I thought, "What the hell is so interesting about my profile?"  So I looked at it and saw that it was painfully maudlin.  I changed it to reflect my current attitude towards life.  Then checked his profile again.

And later, he checked mine again.

I think we tagged each other again one last time and I could feel that Shadow Me starting to lurk, ask questions.  I've learned to accept this part of me and mostly ignore it.  But he asked that horrible question that, when said, demands an answer:  "Why?"

I thought for a while and sent a fb message asking why we were playing peekaboo profiles.  He said he'd contact me after ten.  My allergies had been on the rampage, and as I knew he stayed up late (usually) I told him if he didn't catch me because of my passing out to try again at 2 or 3 a.m.

We've had brief chats.  He said some stuff that made me feel better, which he must have known he didn't need to say.  I couldn't blame him for leaving.  I'm surprised he gave me a second glance, the way I was.  But I do know that I've made great progress in getting my life together.  Heck, my kitchen is almost clean.  Not spotless, but not the mildewed science experiment that it was.

I've sent him my phone number.  I hope to hear from him.  Hopefully when my allergies aren't making me sound like a walking bag of snot.  It would just be good to hear his voice again.

I told him I still loved him.  He returned it in kind.  Maybe I can start listening to Cutie Boots again without feeling like a heel.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014


this was not what I thought I'd blog about this morning.

you'll notice the lack of punctuation and maybe grammar aside from autocorrect.  this is because back in Portland this is how I wrote.  it was faster.  at the time my thoughts could wander off subject in a moments notice and id forget what I was writing about, which was all about capturing a memory and keeping it,because I knew even back then that memory was a fleeting thing and that most people didn't realize that your brain plays tricks with your memory.

memories aren't like video tape.  you think you remember something precisely how it happened, but you don't.  your brain takes images and feelings and emotions and makes an amalgamation for you, and it's almost never exactly how you remember an event.  this is true of everybody, including me.

so I've been keeping a journal, of sorts, for over 20 years.  it started in college.  at least I think that's 3where it started.  It must have, because I didn't have regular access to computers before that, right?  but it ramped up in Portland.  bought my first computer there.  played quake all night.  aol chats that never went anywhere except for one perv who I almost thought was going to rape me.  general tso's chicken Saturday mornings during laundry with a hangover and mst3k on the tv.  and greg.

I only met him twice.  one night was pretty intense.  by that I mean the sex.  the second meeting was a chance encounter after picking up comics and having lunch at burgerville.  while I really wanted to do a replay of that first night, I was on lunch break and had to go back to work, and greg was heading out of town that night, I can't remember where he was moving to but it was in California.

we had some common online friends and one of them told me, after I'd moved to dallas, that greg died in a car accident.  this made me sad of course, but not despondent, because I mean, it was just one night.  just felt really weird to think that somebody I did that with was dead.  like some kind of retrograde necrophilia.

get to work this morning thinking I'm gonna post something about dale briefly chatting with me last night and during my regular surfing I see greg, naked on a bike, doing portlands naked people riding bikes event.  I'd have written it off as a doppleganger except for the very distinct tattoo, plus I knew greg liked both nudism and biking so it made sense.

there's nothing else here.  I didn't get all weak kneed or tear up or anything, I mean yeah it was good sex but it was just one nihgt.  I'm glad he isn't really dead.  he seemed like a nice guy.

its just a really weird feeling.

Monday, June 9, 2014

My tattoo

My first choice for a tattoo would be the Starbrand.

Starbrand was the first comic in Marvel's New Universe, a failed attempt to make comics seem more grounded in reality, for some reason.  I'm assuming they got the idea from Alan Moore... sorry, I meant The Original Writer, with how he brought ridiculous ideas like Marvel/Miracleman into our world, showing what Supermen among us would be like.  This attempt by Marvel failed, and I think it took less than three years to die (although it lingered on with one-shots like The Pitt, The Draft and The War).  Maybe more.  The private comic book market (non-news-stand) was becoming popular, and releasing limited edition stuff suddenly was profitable.  Starbrand would go on my left shoulder, since I would accept it from the Old Man with my right hand and of course that's where it would go.

My second choice is secret.  But this is a good runner-up.

The barking dog from Faith No More's album, King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime.

Because he looks like Leo.

The third one, which I'd actually get, horrifying my mother because I'd ensured my path to hell with a graven image on my body, would be an alethiometer:

Of course that would also involve hair removal,  but I'm not THAT gay.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Baby Fever 2

First, met Dave's new baby today.  Like all newborns, he is a cute little screaming and pooping tomato.  He seems to like his sister Kylee, whom I also met today, but seems indifferent so far to Maddie, although I'm sure that's because she's not allowed to be hands-on like Kylee is right now.

Second, I thought somebody was playing silly buggers with me regarding some odd activity with one of my online profiles.  It appears this was not the case.  However it is not something I can currently worry about because I am now convinced that I am dying of allergies.  I should note that I am one year (or so) new into this allergy thing, and I don't know how you guys have gone through this year after year and not begun cutting yourselves or at least shopping at Hot Topic and listening to Sisters of Mercy non-stop.

Anyway, Kelly suggests two Benadryls, but cautions that after he gets relief he usually passes out.  Given that I haven't had more than an hour's sleep at a time for nearly two weeks, I'm going to forego that cautionary tale and pop these liqui-gels.  I should probably consult my doctor first but I'm a walking bag of stuffed up snot at this point, almost Walking-Dead-esque, so good night.

Hopefully I'll be up in a few hours and can post a pic of the awesome t-shirt I bought yesterday.

(edit) never mind, here it is, found it online, only mine has more distortion in the image:

Thursday, June 5, 2014

[REDACTED]...the Next Next Generation

Just had a dust-up sissyfight slapfest on facebook with a former colleague turned flaming retard uber-conservative ultra-right dickless asshole, and discovered a job opening might be possible soon in a pretty big market I'm very familiar with.  The problem is, I'm not sure of whether I should take it, if it becomes available.

There's nothing wrong with Dayton, aside from being pretty boring.  Which it is.  The nerds here have an odd fixation on gaming, like, CCD and Warhammer and all that stuff.  Never seen that before.  It's paying my bills and I'm getting back out of debt.  Commercial production is boring but I'm good at it.

But also, I don't really have any friends up here.  I had a problem with a lot of the friends from my past and haven't really made any here,  I'd like to say I'm shy, and that would be true, but I know the real reason is because I'm scared of failure, again.

In fact, I'm so scared of failure that I routinely turn down offers for random sex.  I don't know what has happened recently, perhaps it's my growing my daddybear beard out, but I get messages much more than I ever have in years.  Usually I just ignore them and don't respond.  When I do, nothing ever happens.  I don't know why.  I used to be an absolute horn-dog.  So even the probable dating pool increase doesn't really sway me.  

I guess I know that deep inside I am craving affection like I used to get from Dale, but after failing him I don't feel like I deserve even sex, much less a relatinship or even friendship with anybody.  So this possible job probably wouldn't change that.

I still don't know what I'd do if this becomes real.  Maybe I'll be lucky, and they'd try to low-ball me and I'd not have to actually think about it much to turn them down.  I'm just worried that they would offer me enough to tempt me.

I like living close to home.  That's the best thing about Dayton.  

B411 chat openers

"Mmmmmm daddy need some tight boy hole today?"

First, thanks for the generous offer, but I'm good.

Second, proper punctuation and grammar are sexier than your "tight boy hole."

Third, go away.