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  1.  (2866.1)
    Saturday Night Open Mic: Klaatu barada nikto, you bastards. Klaatu barada nikto.

    For those newcomers who don't know the drill, Saturday Night Open Mic is for venting, posing, talking about your future, and enumerating the many and vile ways in which you love me.

    Tell me what and who is pissing you off this week. Explain to me why the world is shit. Confess your sins. Get something off your chest. Tell me a plan. Tell me what's in your head. I want to know. On Saturday nights I am your ear and your confessor and your audience.

    I am also drinking and locked in a small room with you.

    Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful. Tell me of new things, or old secrets. Thrill me, chill me, fulfil me, creatures of the night.

    Remember, pictures are good, for I am senile and don't always remember all umpty-thousand of you.

    Speak to me now. I am Internet Jesus, your personal Invisible Space Daddy, and I love you all.

    Yes. In that way.

    -- W
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    Everything is pissing me off. Adverts, people, government policies, combovers, how thick people are, cars, buses, trains, the cost of a train ticket, charity workers who're standing in the most inconvenient places and looking at you like its your fault there's starving kids in africa...if I wanted to give you money (if I had any money) I would, but I'm not am I? I'm passing by, so stop shaking that collection-bottle-thing in my direction. Just don't look at me. I walk the Earth out of necessity, not because I like the outside world...beggars, specifically those that think its a job and are like crap grifters and who'll be in the nearest of-license buying cigs and booze after their 'hard work'....

    ..and much more...
      CommentAuthorBexx B.S.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    lets see.. I woke up in a friends bathtub - I might still be drunk. I hurt in places I didn't know I had.
  2.  (2866.4)
    Fuck it. My girlfriend is a crackwhore. We are both currently homeless. I am trying to fix this situation but she can't take the goddamn glass dick out of her gob long enough to help me fill out required paperwork. I would have dumped her last week if not for two things: she is going into treatment in august and for reasons that on occasion elude me I love her. I can only think of one solution: whiskey and lots of it. Or I could mail myself to Pakistan. That might be interesting.
  3.  (2866.5)

    That picture describes my trip to France a few week ago quite well.
    That's the side of a 2600 meter mountain. So not that high up in the scheme of things. The river is about 1100 meters above sea level. I started a few hours before this picture was taken at the river. That picture is probably me at my most physically exhausted. I'm going to make a serious effort to start running on Monday.
    It'll make my pain less next time.
    There will be a next time.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    Get something off your chest.
    Out of my chest would be better. Specifically the eggs that I seem to have inhaled at WWC that are hatching sentient nanogoo and trying to escape through my throat, nose, and ears.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    Work is pissing me off--having to deal with people's personal shit as a consequence of me getting money puts me off of my feed--but it's inspiring me to get creative.

    What I really need is a deadline. I need a project.

    I need a drink. A drink and a smoke.

    I also had to cancel my Comic-Con trip and that really pisses me off. It was supposed to be the thing to make me feel like a human being after these last two shitbird fuckbag years, and I went and fucked it all up.

    Next year.

    I might take a stroke by then.

    Tonight I am having a fleshmeal, however (the heathen Southron hinterland is good for one thing, and that is meat), which will go a long way to salving my butthurt. I also have Monday away from the miserable harridans I work with.

    And I still have my week's vacation the week of San Diego. In the meanwhile: who wants to box? Five rounds, bare-knuckle, le'ts get our ya-yas out!
  4.  (2866.8)
    US politics are pissing me off. As usual. This time it's people eulogizing Jesse Helms. Like he wasn't scum of the earth.

    But we're playing Call of Cthulhu later. Yay for mayhem, madness and unspeakable evil!
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    It's been a very interesting week of being socially inept.
    Quick, disastrous trip to San Francisco.
    Two 4th of July pool parties.
    Compliments given, taken as Complaints.

    It's probably a good thing that I don't drink,
    I can only imagine how that would be.

    Elmo Martin, offending the masses, one mass at at time.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    Currently rethinking my sprawling graphic novel because of your comments in another thread. Going to take a look at how Mignola did it with Hellboy. Of course, he had years of Marvel work under his belt before he got that going... god damnit.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    I have too much music lined up for my label, and people are going to give it to me all at once and I'm going to drown in a sea of frequency and pitch and awesome aaaaaa. I'm 15 minutes through my album / megamix. This pleases me. Today I put on the new Portishead album and then it started raining. I'm going to be taking 7 (!!!) classes at the University of Victoria this year, and it may destroy my mind. I just got up and am not drinking. Yet.

    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    The plan; I'm going to let go of the rope... I need some time to think, see where I want to go, what I want to do and set things in motion... Vague? Yes, but any fecker could be reading this! ;)

    Bolton have been linked with Joey Barton?!? What the hell?!?!?!?!?

    Still, at least Sainsbury's have started selling "Monkey Shoulder" again, the fire-bomb threat worked, mwahahaha!
    • CommentAuthorPookieMan
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    My wife and seven year old daughter have taken off out of state for the weekend leaving me home alone with nothing but soda and vodka for company. I spent all of yesterday afternoon with my buddy and his girlfriend, the buddy spending the whole time trying to show his girl how balanced and normal he is using me as a counterbalance. For God's sake, don't mention how fucked up the buddy is in front of the girl he wants to spend forever with- she'll never know.
    I got home, got hammered, leashed up the dog and wandered over to the drug dealer's place around the corner. I'm sure I was charming. Sure.
    I don't remember coming home.
    This morning- I'm in bed, my glasses are in the bathroom sink- there's a stray bottle of Corona on the computer desk. I have no idea what went down last night. Must be okay, as I'm home.
    Today I'm not doing the big chores I had scheduled. I'm not getting together with the friends that said they'd call and we'd hook up, because they didn't call and we don't appear to be hooking up.
    Today I'm finishing my fifth and telling Warren Ellis about my waste of pseudo-bachelorhood instead of doing anything else.
    And even that's over now.
  5.  (2866.14)
    Best. Saturday. EVER. I'm packing up my stuff in preparation to move out. This is happening in stages--I've taken next Tues. off to schlep some furniture, but will be actually shifting what I call home at the end of the month. And I still have to figure out what I need now, what I should store, and what I ought dump. OH HEY LOOK A BOX FULL OF CONGRATS CARDS FROM OUR WEDDING

    Mister This Relationship Isn't Doing It For Me, I Want Swingin' Bachelor Time In The City? Has not packed so much as a spare toothbrush. I don't know if he's expecting it all to magically appear in boxes, or what. But the house is still a clutter and it's still not on the market and and the housing market is still tanking and there's a limit to how long I'm going to permit this to be my problem. I'm doing my bit, and if he can't do his, I'm not going to wait around nor yet do it for him--he done fired me outa that job. I don't want it to get confrontational and I still want to be able to hang out & be good friends with him, but I'm not going to keep contributing to a big-ass mortgage just because he is indescribably lame.

    On the credit side of the ledger:
    * an old college friend has just swung back through town, and with his Unerring Club-Sense he found Goth clubs where none existed, and we shall be checkin' them out over the next month.
    * I'm going down shore next weekend, for happy relaxing beach time. (And don't I just deserve it.)
    * Work is sending me to a conference in Orlando, in October. I can haz career!
    * I've found out just how many friends I truly have. Their name is Legion, for they are many.
      CommentAuthorGreg SBB!
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    I really need a fucking holiday.

    Or, failing that, a new life without the constant baseline level of angst, lurgee, over-thinking and self-sabotage because the current one feels like being stuck on a fun-free conveyor belt towards disappointment, old age and death.
  6.  (2866.16)
    I am now 40. As the world has not exploded today, as I expected it would, perhaps this will work out. I remain skeptical.

    I am giving very serious consideration to putting on an editor's hat and starting up a genre pdf magazine. I'm talking to artists and a web designer, and may start considering submissions in a week or so. This both frightens and excites me. But where does one go to announce such a thing and to start asking for said submissions? Much pondering to do.

    Found out some friends are getting married in October, very happy for them.

    Found out another friend is getting divorced. Sad for her.

    Last night, I have confirmed my earlier observation that fireworks are senseless things and that I'd rather sit and sip my bourbon while everyone hoots and hollers at the beach. Fuck 'em.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    Quiet on this front. Had surgery at the start of May that I'm still healing from, limiting my work to stadium A/V production and... well, healing. I'll be producing a live sports broadcast or five this coming school year, and I need to start thinking about that.

    There's a short Fringe-ish multimedia experimental play that's trying to cough its way out of my head right now. I've run into my classic problem: I've got the nifty stuff down, the conceits, the gimmicks and gewgaws that will make it visually interesting to watch, but the plot hasn't come together yet. There are characters, but they aren't doing anything. I need to start thinking about that, too.

    As soon as this weekend is over.
  7.  (2866.18)
    Some time ago a pigeon flew into the side of my head. It hurt. That pigeon pisses me off. Even now.
    • CommentTimeJul 5th 2008
    My life is wonderous. What sucks is that need for money that means I need a job that means I have to stop enjoying the wonderment and start doing shit I hate. But enough about that.

    Yesterday aboard the elevated 7 train from Queens into Manhattan a trio of busking huapangueros took up a space in front of young Aryan lads doing the Lord's work as missionaries for the Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (they had badges) who stood in the space between a seat holding a sleeping Korean woman and some very confused looking German tourists. The musicians played about a minute and a half of a song about betrayed love, passed a hat and then jumped off at the next stop. I think I'm falling in love with this town.

    Last night I dreamed about interviewing Russian kinksters who disciplined each other roughly with insertion toys. I was working as part of an investigation into allegations stemming from an appearance in a porn movie of a girl who was looking more forced than usual. Of course, they said she was acting. Later on I dreamed about being back in LA and leaving a Mexican restaurant to find a friend of mine because it was New Years and she was needed a ride to a party. I rode along with other friends and then screamed in horror as up ahead - approximately over West Hollywood - a big bomb went off. A cloud billowed out along the ground, enveloped us and kept going. The rest of the dream was about trying to find a news station on the radio and freaking about what could have been in the cloud, about the dead, about the lost neighborhood....

    Ever wake up distressed and then even when you realize it was just a dream you then just become angry with your subconcious for freaking you out?

    (Something that pisses me off every week: people who hate on Los Angeles. I love that city. It's like my family. It's where I come from and how my blood and my breath came to be. I take jokes about destroying LA personally. I don't defend Hollywood, though, and I think a lot of the hate is mis-aimed because the complaints always seem to really be about Hwood. In any case, I'm annoyed with my dream factory and no, I don't want to hear about how any one else may feel that LA has such destruction coming.)
  8.  (2866.20)
    hating the fact that all the jobs I have all the qualifications for that're being posted all require a degree in something I don't have. And it's not even something that'd be relevant to getting the job done. (eg, the music place wants a degree in music, the science place wants a degree in science of some sort - when the actual job is an advanced form of admin.)

    Wanting to go back to Cornwall because I started feeling slightly ill on sucking up the pollution after two days back in London. Problem being that there are no jobs there. And that it takes five hours to get back to any form of civilisation.