flagrant disregard

tide pools and shells on a rocky cliff-- [additional photographs]
shell beach-- ellen browning scripps park, la jolla

i spent my gloomy afternoon trying to detail in type that one person swimming and trudging through a life-sized mixing bowl of triple-thick chocolate brownie batter sounds similar to a human bleeding to death but it only resulted in oversold drama of a metallic tanged cheek and my uncomfortable car washes.

talk talk talk to myself about myself
but i am secretly unthreading
the triple-stitched costumes of others.

i am not a chatty black cat wearing my approachable velvet hat
so when i start my awkward tedious wordy work
people silently listen to the poetry
lose themselves in the romance of the riddle
and are impervious to my sharp invasion.

directed chuckled chat chat chat.
loudest soundless
strategic flagrant snip snip snip.

walk walk walk i am blameless in bed
and they are relieved to be alone
when their mask unravels and falls
revealing the undeveloped form.

blind to the secret
everyone sees clumsily stitched handi-work
and exposure written by the insomnia pen.

there are no new posts.

eye'll kill myflagrantself one of these days for certain but eye'm unsure why because eye killed myflagrantself a few weeks back but neglected to escape flagrantme. eye'm still flagrantme, just dead.

eye despise how eye dote endlessly about acting clueless and unable to locate reasons to be, while trawling cement efficiently in dark secret to a popscene beat, stacking bricks immediately behind the walls it will appear eye am successful in destroying the next day. blocking off people and communication, occasionally eye get flagged but eye can easily feign disinterest and wave off their concerns by mentioning that myflagrant feet can be blatantly examined on wet morning sidewalks. here eye am. see flagrantme. eye was around and available plus eye have photographs. your unfashionable watch was just slow and you agree but are blind to flagrantme and blind to see you've been snowed again because eye ran a different route knowing the new license to change myflagrant mind will soon be snipped or revoked.

eye have to connect to people sooner than six months later and know eye need not be magnificent- eye just need be. two sentences of effort now or in less than three days is better, they say, than seventeen pages of construction and care on the fourth month after the initial fact and eye agree and disagree because eye am usually both.

my loudmouthed cat is excited to see cracked ice in his fishy drink dish and as eye look at my e-mail cache eye have possibly had the most normal thought of myflagrant quarter century: why don't eye just call these scarypeople? eye talk to bloggers on the telephone, so why not now? stop! knock it off. eye cannot add normal today to myflagrant strangeways as normal erases myflagrant depressed state and conceals leather sacks of boredom which upon unbuckling can only direct my high tolerance for drama underground towards uncharted depths and myflagrant comfort tip-toes nearby in an old looking pair of new suede shoes.

because/eye'm ashamed of the person eye am
because/in a high building there is so much to do
because/one little star fell alone


taps feet: no better way, no other time...

loneliness is such a sad affair...
but you will not find any love songs written here.

fact #16: if you have sex on a sailboat you will regret it for up to three days.

what the hell am i supposed to do about this? it is not even five in the morning! it is not even light outside! someone is going to steal my weights i dropped before i return to retrieve them! what am i supposed to do with all of this adrenaline right this very minute? this is all alan greenspan's fault for lowering the interest rates and enabling scary trash to purchase property and spread further west. that's it, i'm moving. i need one hundred acres, to live where i can run without the threat of being harassed, and to acquire stronger biceps that look smaller in the mirror. i need a paintball gun and dead accurate aim. i need sparkling bottled water. i need a bodyguard who can keep up with me, brush off my sarcasm, and occasionally drop off a package or two at the post office.

i'm moving back to santa barbara. it's final. i need a five bedroom house, a husband who has a physician's income, his own apartment, a great dog, and i also need someone to feed, water, and walk the great dog.

brain says: "you need to come back down to earth."

i saw a four million dollar estate listed on marina drive and it wasn't even close to what i aspire to own.

brain says: "hello?!"

i need to finish today's run and other exercise routines.

brain says: "you own a treadmill."

i want a quieter treadmill, a flat-screen wall-mounted high definition lcd television, and a personally programmed satellite channel called "good stuff guaranteed."

brain says: "you own a treadmill, never use the huge television, and the bookcase contains a stack of unopened dvds."

see, try moving all that to santa barbara.

well, hell froze over. i want more, bigger, better, tastier and it damn well better be new, redesigned, for immediate delivery, and i also need someone to bring it to me in a big shiny car and i have no intention of signing for anything.

a four million dollar property in santa barbara county-- i had better get to work.

three scary nights out of three walking nights:

one:
i knocked a man down by squarely landing my feet on his chest.
two:
i ducked under a car, darted, climbed over a fence and snuck home.
three:
i dropped my weights on the sidewalk and won the race.

the love of my life (he said) remains in a rehabilitation center
palace?
spa retreat?
on manicured grounds which overlook the pacific ocean.

it's not all your fault.
drug abuse is associated with biochemical imbalances in the brain.
money makes people do bad things.

what luxury. what a complete waste of space.
drug detoxification.
healing.
renewal.
family therapy sessions.
equine therapy.
pedicures?

you do realize that this place costs just under $50,000 a month
and they do not take our your health insurance!?

now, now. the love of our life he said is sick.

what is the worst that could happen if i shove?
he could leave...
leave where? we do not live together.
he could die...
he has been on hyperal twice and he was supposed to die then and again.

what happens when i direct history?
you shouldn't be writing any of this down...

next time i see him, i will:
-make him feel left out, and later, left behind.
-have done things for myself that i know he would not want me to do.
-appear to not be sitting around in the short term waiting for him.
-appear to have made long-term plans for myself that may not include him.

hold the notion i have started to write him off as a loss:
"it's alright" because "i've made options for myself now" and "you can live here or whatever you want to do... you could come back next year too. they'd be glad to have you back." act as though he is predictable.

then the next time i visit, i'll act fine, but slightly annoyed... possibly act a tinge embarrassed to be there... leave early... maybe i'll make up having to meet someone for something banal and act much more interested in the boring activity than sticking around a hospital.

the third time i'll text him and seem put off by having to go out of my way to "not really do anything but sit around there and talk to you when i could just send you e-mail" and if he cannot yet go out for an afternoon i will act as though his situation is completely fucked up and "why would i want to go be around that?"

terrible. i don't care. it could only get better. competition worked damn fine to get me out of the netherworld so i want to see what happens if i hand him an illusion... if it returns to bite me in the ass, well then i'll learn something new.

i'm bored and angry.
private rehabilitation is non-adaptive regarding d/Deaf abilities.
i can't even paint. what should i paint?
why do they make rehab look so comfortable?
s'always cartoon fish or big sheets of nothing.
i should paint the bathroom is what i should do.

is it cheating if i move the center of balance to match my present situation? what was the point? what was i striving for? to find a balance within the population? first of all, the population of what? ...and how do i know what that balance is?

i feel sick enough to remain in bed all day but i don't have any experience with that- i might just learn.

what started off as me illustrating to the love of my life (he said) that he is seemingly useless to me, ended an hour later with him telling me that i should just transfer his funds around and go buy that little roadster today.

99% of the population would probably find him useful but i don't see a reason to keep him around and i should probably watch my mouth with what i say to him. don't say anything bad! don't make life better! people close down! different is different! oh no! nobody changes, it appears, so when things change they are only for the bad or the changes are done for them... so change is different and historically bad for some people. bad. bad. yeah, yeah, look at the situation or get a pill and then please get away from me.

then i have to repeat myself again and reinforce what has happened: change has been pretty fantastic over here and i know my situation cannot get any worse if i tend to it because i am going to make changes and i will make them my own way- so where's the problem? none. i have been held captive for a long time under the threats of nervousness and recently i am trying to not allow the anxiety in my life. it is easy for me to say an anxious reaction to simple changes is invalid because i know that i would be totally in charge of making any changes i could be nervous about. me, i am doing it. it is my way. to my liking. no compromises. no problem as long as i follow through. i can allow no anxiety disorders or habits when i can see the worst possible scenario i have for myself is to remain in my ordinary comfort zone.

stock is up.
stock is down.
up.
down.

that is true, but not. the stock i bought is only up or down pennies during the day but i have purchased so many shares that i am essentially up hundreds of dollars or have broken even throughout any moment of the day. like everything else, when this stock moves in a few weeks, this is going to become one of the smartest or stupidest moves i ever make. actually i would hold this stock in my main portfolio at the price i have paid, but i just made a few hundred dollars yesterday and then more today by trading a stock that basically isn't moving. i feel like i am working at a job from 6:00am - 7:30am though it isn't exactly practice for real life... i have to get my exercise done early, put my water by the desk, research online for a half hour, and be available to trade for the opening bell. tough work.

then i have two hours of hell called that little publishing thing i'm doing, which should be called three trips to the post office, an hour of my time, and a lot of guilt.

- shouldn't have forced the purge last night.
- happy to feel better.
- scared i may have turned on the horrible part of eating disorder.
- if so, i'm throwing up something better than rice next time.

invalid friend stopped by, discovered i was in the midst of an allergic reaction, and then questioned whether or not i needed to go to the emergency room. no! sheesh! it's going to take more than fortified rice to kill me off. then he asks, as if it is my most obvious solution in the world, why i don't just throw it up. perhaps because i am trying to keep anorexia and bulimia in line and it is bad enough to deal with as it is? he does have a point. forcing myself to throw up at the first sign of a food intolerance has always trumped pharmaceutical relief. who needs to keep antihistamines on hand when one has the three finger solution?

"yeah vomit... well i, but uh, see..."

*ding*

"well, then i need ice cream because the rice is--"
and he was gone- off to vons grocery store.
"...a few hours deep."
i never saw him move that fast before.

now what do i do? of course i still know how to throw up. this is strange. how can i make myself throw up after time off? do i want to bring that portion of illness any attention? if i do this won't it automatically take control of every instance of food for the next year? i put my fingers where? how many? twist rock knees dream caress and dissociate... what do you mean dream? caress where? like old times? is this purging just a giddy romance or more like rough sex? what do you mean that is only a cup of blood? what do you mean my hearing will clear up later? what do you mean this is the correct answer?

is my attitude toward this afternoon's food miscalculated? one of the underlying issues is related to childhood poverty, and i believe this awareness should help to shelve this particular situation:

i am currently experiencing an allergic reaction from ingesting one cup of plain, but fortified, rice. its assault on my body is disgusting and uncomfortable, but i cannot bring myself to throw the remaining bag of rice down the garbage shoot.

what is this experience and why is it happening?
this food only consisted of plain brown rice.
it was boiled in ordinary water and was "drained and rinsed" several times during the cooking process.

is there an issue with cross contamination?:
where was the rice grown?
how was it harvested?
how was the rice cleaned?
how was it packaged?

might there be a minuscule instance of casein, corn, or gluten found in this bag of rice? am i allergic to the plastic bag it came in? might it be coated or contain latex? perhaps, in the production and packaging of the rice, a small amount of a substance (for instance a powder thought to be benign to the population) was used on a conveyor belt system?

how am i allergic to the process of fortification?

i have double and flitty-eyed vision, strong yawns, and a racing heartbeat. negative inversed color images remain before my eyes after blinking. are my lungs suddenly filled with liquid? if i could breathe deeper, too much coughing would accompany these pus-filled, stringy eyes. sweat is running down my back due to this allergic reaction, even though i am sitting indoors in a darkened, air-conditioned room.

this allergic reaction is senseless because rice is one of the most abundant, inexpensive, and hypoallergenic foods available. am i sensitive at this level? i believe i would promote the sensitivity by avoiding certain ingredients which i know cause a reaction.

it feels as though i may lose consciousness at any moment. i keep falling asleep only to have lucid dreams right here at this desk-- but i am not sleeping for any longer than a few seconds at a time.

this would be an exceptional opportunity or excuse to purge my food but my brain's pathways do not automatically run that way anymore. my body would feel better if i could either purge (or fall off of this chair and just heap right there on the floor for a longer nap). one big heap of me. my bass guitar is under my chair and i would dent my head.

breathe. i don't want to breathe. i would rather not take an antihistamine, either.
excipient ingredients and artificial colors found in antihistamine capsules have been bothering me, too.

watery eyes. oh, i'm too sick to map this out-- and this reaction also seems to be providing access to a future high rpm anxiety attack.

the answer is to throw the bag of uncooked rice away and restrict access to another instance of intolerance. the conflict is in how i will not throw away any accumulation of food. it doesn't matter that the value of the edible is less than one dollar. it is still five pounds of food.

consider: this depression era mentality and whether or not it is useful.

how do i go about giving the food away? here, have this rice. i can't have it because i am allergic. it made my eyes, nose, and mouth snotty. actually, i'd thought i'd die. it's good rice, though. i immediately thought of you.

do many people lack the superstitious poke to the point they could write: today was a good day. never will that be written here, unless typed out during the seconds prior to the end of the day-- at that instance of technicality which stands before the minute at midnight. since the sentiment of "why today has the potential to be good" might be the only nod allowed to the calm, it could be said...

this morning, between the thirty seconds it took to execute a stock trade and then refresh the window to show its particular account balance, my 'new favorite stock' had earned a few hundred dollars.

good.
thrilled-- in the sky.

good.
good.
too much stress-- the account could have been down $1000.
good.

consider:
- an episode of cardio / this physical exhaustion
- exercise merely from swing trading on the stock market?
- loving the stress

trouble tries to love me, but i love how the combination of endless research, painstakingly careful consideration, and luck is a much more lucrative affair.

that adrenaline is some good stuff.
happy.
just bought thousands of shares of my new favorite stock.
nervous.
nutcase.

this stock has not moved in weeks.
it will.
thousands of shares!
what am i doing?
calm down.

i think i pulled a muscle in my chest.

by 6:00am this morning i had:

-walked six miles.
-physically vaulted my body over a volkswagen jetta.
-didn't think twice about taking down a man before he assaulted me.
-succeeded.
-ran six adrenaline-fueled fun miles home.

i will come back down to earth now.
mumble...mumble...
i may even answer e-mail.

"...now i've been walking through the night and the day
'til my eyes get weary and my head turns gray.
and sometimes it seems maybe god's gone away
forgetting the promise that we heard him say
and we're lost out here in the stars..."

singing showtunes full-voiced with an exuberant outstretched arm while driving in the car with a pissed off passenger does not help bond friendships but if it potentially keeps people from visiting me again in the future, i am all for it.

three or four days after chuck signs over his paycheck for me to manage, he goes through some type of brutal premenstrual episode, and unfortunately, is usually spending the day at my home when his emotional slingshot snaps. can you imagine that lately he thinks this continual breathless sucking of my dick deserves not only acknowledgements, but accolades too!

invalid-friend: "bitch."
flagrantme: "who is my bitch? oh. oh that's right."
- and then i genuinely laughed until i thought he might cry.

you know, you can be a loser, or stupid, or both, but when you come selling your open case at my doorstep you have to know that i saw you walk into the trap as you walked up the path. your candy is dandy but i assume you are one motherfucker of a sucker. it's terrible- this wrong side of balance but it feels so fun.

when the spotlight shines, writing proves impossible:

- invalid friend chuck is here in his omnipresent slack-jaw state of annoying-ness. i am not only tormenting his ability to tolerate afternoon television, but in particular, the oprah winfrey show.

- had i not the pleasure of his visit, it never would have been noticed that oprah's featured guest is a man i once chatted with on an airline flight.

- the cat ate all of my "today's food" while i attended whoknowswhat.

- what's this? has chuck been charged a $200 service fee for the time i spent to arrange his trip itinerary and secure the airline tickets? yes, it appears to be true.

- the knitting factory in los angeles beckons for my blue bass guitar, but not a chance. well, perhaps. no way. i don't know.

- the love of my life (he said) continues to deteriorate.

i dumped a twenty pound bag of jasmine rice down the sink once during an anorexic rage. nothing i can do will ever counter or rectify that action. once, in a fit of ocd rage, i threw a different twenty pound bag of jasmine rice across the apartment. that wasn't very effective. those rice incidents are five years gone and about "twelve vacuum cleaners later" but i could find some jasmine rice in this room if i searched hard enough. also not recommended: writing on the refrigerator or the wall with a sharpie magic marker. "lettuce equals nothing" it had said, which was ridiculous, but the entire situation was bizarre and therefore the sentiment did compute. "lettuce equals something."

change the topic: all of my plants are dying and i have double vision.

ring ring:
flagrant: hello, merry christmas!

now motherfigure wants to know my best stock picks.
i should record this...

.
.

so motherfigure has:

1) insomnia.
2) financial concerns.
3) recently purchased a new car.
.....a) car was moderately priced=financial concerns not vehicle related.
.....b) car should be mechanically sound=in case dad kicks off.
4) referred to dad possibly kicking off as kicking off..
5) asked about four times if i am coming home in august.

bad things ahead, i'm sure.

[los angeles]
this headache might possibly be externally visible.
very bad: something is going on.
which is why i wrote about it: unusual.
which is why i wrote the previous post: unusual.

[seattle, washington]

how many people in the world are awake right now, up watching the television infomercial where ron popeil shoots up a roast with his flavor injector?

i took the cell phone out for a walk, decided to turn it on at 2:00am, and at exactly 2:01am, the caller id panel flashed: motherfigure.

hmmmm... hmm...

oh no. i mentioned in the previous post that motherfigure had called earlier. in all honesty, an uncomfortable conversation with my grandparents was all that was expected. it's summer. they visit. ha, not falling for it this time! the problem is, a call at this time of night only signals a problem.

oh, guilt.

an after midnight call, of course, only can mean that my father is dead. i have spent all free time avoiding earlier calls by exercising to 'reduced to clear' 12" mixes from omd, a few selected they might be giants songs, and, mortiis. essentially, sadness of my father's death may have been postponed, but this distraction will buy a red-faced memory.


hold on a minute, this situation has the potential to be worse:

scratch the 'grandparents are visiting' and 'we are going to be forced to talk' idea. my dad was probably taken to a hospital earlier in the day. my mother subsequently telephoned me. i saw it was her in the caller id window and abruptly turned off the phone. [so far this isn't sounding good.] she continued calling while i strapped on a bass guitar and prayed for my fingers to work. after work, i put on uncomfortable prostitute shoes only to go out with unappreciable people... where i immediately became antisocial, and ducked out early to avoid additional sociality or incident. here, motherfigure became frazzled that i was not receiving her calls. upon returning to my hotel, i accidentally threw up my stress in the bathtub. [note: this was not a purge.] by now, motherfigure is frantic because the 'love of my life (he said)' is also unreachable since he is in a hospital. meanwhile, to relieve swimminess, i went out for a walk... listening to crap music and thinking mostly about count grishnackh-- stop. this is not going to be a good memory. this can't happen. stop. stop.

flagrant: hello?
motherfigure: where are you?
flagrant: in seattle.

motherfigure: i knew you weren't home. what are you doing?
flagrant: speed.
motherfigure: you don't need anymore speed.

flagrant: mm-hmm, it's four in the morning there.
motherfigure: yeah. i'm up. aren't you up? you're always up.
flagrant: i'm up.
motherfigure: me too.
flagrant: did somebody die?
motherfigure: no?!?!

flagrant: are you sure?
motherfigure: yes, why? who do you think died?
flagrant: did you understand the question?
motherfigure: yes. who died?
flagrant: no one died?
motherfigure: no...????

flagrant: then, why are you calling me at two in the morning?
motherfigure: because you're up to something, and i caught you.

there must be something terribly wrong at the family home-- add to the mess how my intentions tonight were screwed up, how people on television are air-kissing each other in front of shoddy juicing contraptions, and how these inane infomercials are airing on two different television channels.

[seattle, washington]
since i am an airplane flight away from my house again, motherfigure's sixth sense automatically kicked on. what the hell? my private telephone never rings, and when it does, everyone in the room stops and gives it full attention as very, very few people have the number. time stops when that phone rings and i immediately consider the encyclopedia length list of possibilities as to what could be the matter... and i usually imagine the person on the other end of the phone looking to the ceiling and muttering to mary for me not to connect. motherfigure's number showed in the caller ID window. this can mean one of only three things:

1) i am flying distance from home and did not tell my family.
2) it is the obligatory christmas eve phone call.
3) my grandparents are visiting her and i am about to have the yearly forced conversation with relatives that i do not know very well.

a) my grandmother will talk about the weather.
b) my grandfather will talk about the weather.

- my grandfather will be crotchety but funny towards me:

1) i must line up two exhibits of my paintings by the end of the year.
2) it's great my book has gone to a third printing but it is meaningless since it isn't great literature.
3) try getting a real job.
4) why can't you just travel to florida like a normal person?
5) who wants to watch your independent film about the ottoman empire?
6) we've known all along bunbury does drugs.

i am also convinced that this year i will get the old maid speech.
- phone gets switched off.

[diluted blogging]

...just pointing out that i said awhile ago that come the time i was 'about well' but strolling the side-streets instead of the freeway, everyone would kick off.

i
told
me
so.

okay, that isn't helping.
but i knew so i'm prepared.

this is where my tightrope life gets reinforced by my perception of fate's task tablet.

[diluted blogging]

eye'm downloading dance music, christmas songs, and mmm-hm-hmming, while waiting, waiting for a lot, waiting for the final no nothing ever again. nine lives he has, they say, but this is ten. eye have four minutes to zone before eye walk again, again, wake up and smell the cat food, again, again... true, eye already walked once today for two hours and it's only three.

flippant, with clouded dairy eyes, eye type: he'll probably die soon.
so eye'll put on myflagrant sarcastic mask for a few weeks and wear it with myflagrant prosthetic forehead and red prada sport sneakers when eye have to use myflagrant power of attorney.

note: power of attorney smells good, sounds like wifey, and wears well with shrugs. now let's toast the sad cold fact our love's (he said) never coming back and we'll race to the bottom of the glass.

had i decided to live in life in the right lane, haribo brand gels could be skewered. note the validity of fat free excitement. did you determine today was maniacally aligned and could entertain the stabbing of gummy bears? did you sense the thwarting of general anxiety and imagine a northerly drive to a strickly rinky dink candy store? did you know that my first choice was to remain insecure? did you know you were an inadvertent ass as The Rule states there will be no caloric entertainment unless hypnogogic and standing in the computing singapore kiosk?

in changi, the selection had best be orange, and what i am saying is how there will be no lighthearted playfulness. there will be no candy. there will be no frills. no extra. no superfluous or gratuitous filler. no motherfigures which try to bend GREED into suggestions of "dark chocolate is good for you." everything counts in all amounts and every zero must therefore rank as one. no calorie, plus no calorie, plus no calorie, is one hell of a lot of something. it is certainly not nothing. c-c-candy is not allowed in the same city as my anorexia. if you allow a strawberry city, well... no doubt i can restrict adobe photoshop, too. no one would question as to whether or not my photograph is sleekest.

a rinky dink candy store could supply the roller coaster but not the sentiment. i once bought retro candy to reminisce of stale lightheartedness but regretted the smothering bubble. when i reluctantly fell for the zeitgeist, wholesomeness appeared to not be cobbler, but instead a pot of hot smuckers.

confirmation: fun is dead.
RULE: it can no longer exist.

"jesus christ, your spine is sticking out like a whole inch out from your back up between your shoulder blades." the candy man had yammed a lot -- but haven't we all swallowed our chewing gum at one time or another? serve a purpose. choke on a caramel and teach us how to save you.

consider: when everyone else starts speaking chipmunk, cancel the hysteria, pick up an acorn, and marvel at its significance.

after returning home under the threat of such gigantic reversal, i found haribo strawberry candy bits jammed into a foreign package. the order requested meadow house imported vinyl to be played on a chrome turntable-- but instead i found perfectly spun sugar.

flagrant on eca stacks:

what i said to chuck today:
just remember, you are one of my idiot monkey boys. you will give me anything i ever ask for and if you don't like it, you can move home immediately and have your mother help pick out your new living arrangement and buy you a salvation army couch.

what i said to a store clerk:
compared to me, you're invalid. so, shut up.

flagrant on water and broccoli:

(meekly) yes, sir... also i should work harder for myself and be a good person. everyone should love each other. let's all hold hands and sing.

-

"we are familiar with the notion that the reality of travel is not what we anticipate. the pessimistic school, of which des esseintes might be an honorary patron, therefore argues that reality must always be disappointing. it may be truer and more rewarding to suggest that it is primarily different... i traveled in spite of des esseintes. and yet there were times when i, too, felt that there might be no finer journeys than those provoked in the imagination by remaining at home slowly turning the bible-paper pages of the british airways worldwide timetable."
-the art of travel

[deleted ramblings about painting naked, living in the same complex as jon lovitz, ice, walking, addressing 100 bubble mailers daily, and the purchase of another international airline ticket.]

i have no reason.

it's always the same language
entertaining yourself
looking through worn novelty
we see you in your sulking place.

maybe i'll go fishing next month.

[los angeles]
today eye am home and might just melt from myflagrant uninvited fear of those outside BRIGHTLIGHTS. the last few days have been filled with not only four convenient alaska airlines flights, myflagrant-squinting, and secondhand cigarette smoke, but watercolor paintings of cartoon landscapes, two psychedelic stained-glass window designs, and research to document illicit drug demographics in the united states. for the sake of film, eye now know far too much about chasing and scoring a $12 hit in the los angeles megalopolis.

eye am nervous and much too worried about an impending bill possibly charging flagrantme for thirty plus hours of inadvertent long distance which was spent online. perhaps, perhaps not-- it isn't clearly a panic. seattle defines any lack of excuse. is this misappropriated fretting? eye truly sparkle and laugh that myflagrant self recently ordered a 7" ashfordaisyak/meadow house single and, after the purchase of a turntable, it is essentially costing $700 to hear. did eye mention the expedited shipping? eye don't even care because eye gotta want but when eye gotta have, eye gotta have it three minutes ago.

currently still experiencing tingling fingers and a numb palm from playing bass. eye know the solution but eye am waiting for someone to allow it. boy says go! am eye waiting for myflagrant doctor to become myflagrant parent and give flagrantme permission to make myflagrant own decisions? eye don't know what to do when eye need to take the highway rather than the paved bike path but eye only have a mountain bike to use even when myflagrant car isn't dirty. eye am stalled with uncertainty when eye know how and can very well and faster than you too thank you is not the best option. eye don't know how to quit without stopping and do-do-do plus do-not-stop echoes twice.

the left of myflagrant face is scrunched up again mornings and eye cannot hear anything but myflagrant hmmming. small thoughts consider lumping left-side finger, left-side face, and left-sided eating disorder history together in a big bucket of this is a substantially big deal. stop. whenever eye hear the thought whisper these neurological problems probably are related to long-term anorexia nervosa, anorexia intervenes and "suggests" that eye thing about something else-- anything other than dysfunction and loss. japanese pop bands? that works. today eye will stop not-thinking about losses anorexia promotes and begin to secretly think carefully. eye go so far but not far enough to ever tell anyone about physical ailments. eye also will soon be a useless encyclopedia of asian pop as it is more comfortable than confronting myflagrantself.

eye just zoned out for ate, no, seven minutes. seven because seven is less than. eye still must be greater than in everything even in less than and that is odd. too odd.

[seattle, we're tired because we spent the whole night wired]

i was talking with my father recently about my brother and his wife and mentioned that i don't even know these people, but, because they are family, "i would give them almost everything that i have." it's true, i would. "but i know they are people who would grab everything i ever offered." he agreed. my dad is a great guy and together we can joke that my brother's orgasms are the reason he got in this mess called marriage.

someday they will divorce...
if they do not beat the crap out of each other and die first.

i refused to go to their wedding.
the world should have divorce receptions.
i'd fly there first class and wear a leather dress.

[seattle, with a needle shooting up into the sky]

their tomorrow is no different than yesterday.

i scored a direct hit but i was i aiming north?

i was trying to slow myself down
build myself up
convince myself to take a break
gotta stop banging myself over the head because i've arrived.

i don't need to do as much as i am...
and to fanatically day trade
and to consider a government job
and to sell all of chuck's stuff on ebay in my spare time.

calm down.
pick and choose.
go to bed every few days.

why am i going so fast?
how did my brother become such an idiot?
why are there only a few people capable enough in the entire world to utilize blog entries directed towards them as ammunition to become phenomenal?

spin dizzy! i forgot to buy a turntable (because i'm buying it new), not a record player (i don't do garage sales), or a phonograph (my grandmother doesn't have an attic anymore and if she did, she wouldn't have a working phonograph and i wouldn't want it anyway) and certainly not a victrola (i spent all day writing that i don't know my great ancestry, weren't you listening?) this is why i don't buy stuff: consumerism breeds consumerism. this stupid-ass renamed meadow house (pfft) but hopefully unchanged weirdo ashfordaisyak vinyl i bought last week (okay, it's not like anyone twisted my arm) is going to cost me not only the price of the disc (do they call records discs...? anorexia doesn't allow the word platter), foreign airmail (small packet, hopefully with british stamps) but it also technically includes the cost of a new digital turntable (no pops for me, not even fizzy), and the shiny deejay case (holy expensive but i'm gonna want and i'm gonna have) to go with it (turntable, digital, new, pay attention).

add up this compulsion (well not really) and the ownership of this 7" import will cost me $700 (oh, now you understand) and i know the record will arrive (if it does in fact arrive intact) long before the turntable/deejay case assortment (shiny, silver) is delivered and it will collect dust (and cat hair, it's 105'F and the cat is shedding) on my shelf before suffering its death (with the legacy of being my most expensive record ever) in that unplayed music netherworld. don't you dare tell me it's on kazaa... no... no...
mmm... hmm... hmmmmm... hm... (i can't hear you.)

one measly dead person does not count for any news around here. if she had been a hit and run victim, or killed and dumped on the road she would have made the media (but if that were the case, she would have been naked and dumped in a rural area or along the side of a freeway). the lack of any coverage lends me to believe she was probably just another addict or epileptic who only happened to die outside in the street.

just another addict.
just another death.
she was probably nobody to anyone except her family.
what do news channels mean she is not worth announcement?
she must have been more than a wife or a daughter or a worker bee.
or, maybe not?
or, maybe that was enough.

which brings my thoughts back to obsessions of legacy. i must do something, anything, immediately and after i am dead i will have shown a worth to have been more than disposable. i do not want the tangibility of life but to be a better example and since i lost my bid for sainthood a long time ago, my goal is to show an honest moral turpitude on a wider and much deeper range than the average slob. should i live much longer, i need to have made a difference in the world and i will be searchable beyond any form of popular industry or media. i will not be one of those confused people who think they make differences just by donating money as i have donated a lot of money in my life and it feels meaningless, a slight effort one step above doing nothing. i only feel generous when i actually do something for people, give things i myself need, or give what could make my life more comfortable.

wellness? over-wellness? attitude? the wrong side of balance? i will admit in the darkness while walking home from seeing the slumped woman in the road, my main thought was "i am too important to die yet." i meant i had more to do before i could die but my thought materialized wrong for a split second as unusual self-importance. it's true. some idiot without an education who would admit is neither a valuable resource nor attribute to the world, one who enjoys excreting saturated and fatty foods, who ordinarily takes the easiest route, patronizes industries that are detrimental to society, and burns useful time watching sitcoms is going to kill me in an automobile accident on the freeway before my history is secured and...

well, at least i know this.

...and who am i to think i can make a difference?
...and where do i get off thinking my way is any better?
...and why will people automatically assume i am on an opposite side?

i do not think my way is better but i see most people working for themselves and since i am not interested in accumulating the biggest pile, i can in a sense work for humanity. this should not offend people, but does. the people who can and choose to do nothing are the unfair objects of jealousy rather than justified scorn.

my relatives piss me off and i have neither met them nor know their names. i mean, who the hell was my great-grandfather and what did he do? whoever he was, he should be in the database of the world aside from dates of birth and death. though not the database of history, google should be able to spell it out for me. at the very least, he should have created something to be remembered or valued. a book, a song, something, or was it just a child and is a child not to be overlooked because the child might construct enough for them both? i only have my own ideas about my great-grandfather's life based on what i know of his offspring: i assume he was a rigid person, hard-working with many anxieties, cold and unemotional, and probably came off as very mean. maybe no one ever acknowledged his legitimate fears. maybe my great-grandfather's demeanor taught or stemmed my grandfather's alcoholism that led to his chronic unemployment. my grandfather's general unavailability, violence, unreliability, and lack of providing security led my own father to overcompensate fears with superstitions and dissociations. he retreated to the depths inside his brain known as mental illness and when i came along i was raised with his constantly switching obsessions and compulsions... fiction and fear as fact for twenty-some years and the ability to cloak my actions in a single snap in case fiction as fact changed to fear and fact and back. i wonder if i could very easily have become a calculated serial killer only for the thrill had i remained in the general locality of my father's reinforcement. what would have happened to me had i not decided recently to try to act out from my known comfortable circle of feardom?

i have a bold streak that runs deep and family members do not mention it or appreciate my utilization of its great power because they do not want to cause disruptions. do not ever rock the boat. i forgot and now stand here with my bold vein and say, "what the fuck is all of this crap and what is wrong with you people?" oh, don't say that... that's bad. i should never question developed and accepted nonsense. people are tentative, sludged and mucked in decades of themselves and their upbringing, and they love complacency as it is safe and predictable. i recently erased the chalkboard for them and me and started over. people admit they are happier but they like to chatter endlessly about the uneasiness of it all and that is fine.

what did my great-grandfather do? obviously nothing upon inspection but would it be too generous to bestow any credit to him if i do something phenomenal? it is not what he did, but how he was which i can see was passed down to make me different.

it ends there. now i could try to find out about my relatives lives through my parents but i would be sure to shoot my mouth off about the dead and their lack of importance... all that concept and fury of non-existence and overwhelming nothingness... i would mention the point of it all... that i feel it is necessary to be on earth for a reason and i need to leave a legacy... that i need and will show value... they will not understand my urgency. they will say i really should find something to do and that i have too much money and time to think of "such things." they will invalidate my concern and fork the conversation towards my fall filming schedule, music, or "that little publishing thing you're doing on the side" because they refuse to understand how those ventures are, if they in fact are anything, my lowest possible contribution. they are tangible, have the availability to be purchased on amazon.com, and are therefore much more important in their eyes than potential influence.

a loose pile of person

unlike the splayed and fallen down drunk
(uncontrolled extended unbroken)

a ziplock bag of water fallen to the floor

i went out for my usual overnight walk and saw a body slumped in the middle of the road.

stuff:

my left hand is again numb from the fingertips to the middle of my palm and while i think this authenticates my bass playing, i am concerned that my physician is an idiot.

play more for less time, he says.
play more for less time, my mother says.
you have this real rockstar guitar that plugs into a wall or a box or something, asked dad once but now he teases me as to whether or not i am still using that fruity fender jazz.

long ago and not oh so far away, my parents told me it was fine with them if i wanted to go out and
do what that alanis morissette girl was doing
because
that'd be alright
and
maybe that would help you
plus
we saw lisa loeb on 'saturday night live' and were thinking about you.

mm... hmm... hmm... hmmm...


other:

the love of my life (he says) recently received his phd in molecular biology.
the love of my life (he says) is spending the summer in drug rehabilitation.
the love of my life (he says) does not understand my embarrassment.
the love of my life (he says) thinks this is perfectly acceptable and expected.

what is that noise?

mmm... hmmmm... hmm... hm... hmm...

[the bay area, california]

glitter red skinny pants
stomachache
minidiscs
and a fizzed-out smartmedia card.

post office part I:

why is the entire concept of 'post office' such a problem for me? i have two post offices within a reasonable distance from where i usually am during the day, and they are both a test of patience. one nearby location has guy smiley behind the counter, who not only remembers my first name and reminds me that it is his favorite, but deepens his voice and recites a similar named character's lines from another favorite of his, the nine year old film legends of the fall. i just stand there and mmm.. hmm.. hm... to myself.

you know when samuel died, i cursed god.
yeah that's, uh, great, annoyed pause. i need priority mail for this one.

fearing a postal friend for life, next time i may answer him:
but samuel was a soldier and soldiers die.

the tarzana post office is even worse and i am usually deluded thinking the line will be less lengthy, but lately it has been snaking out of the front entrance lending the automatic sliding door to not know how to function. not only are there 400 pieces of should-be-interesting faded edgar rice burroughs memorabilia and other scraps of tarzan history on display at this location, but shrek works behind the counter and shrek always looks like she just got out of bed and is having a personal day.

i can help the next person. the next person in line, please. HEY! HEY! next. no, you have to go back over to the counter and fill out this form for your package. when you are ready, then i can help you. the next person in line please! READY PEOPLE! I NEED READY PEOPLE!

i went to pick up a package for someone else the other day... i had the package notice, and asked if she wanted to see my identification. shrek said no because the simple fact that you have the package notice means that you're who that says you are. huh? she's kidding, right!? no, she's not. (apparently i am a tall european guy with addictions and a levi's contract). no wonder i never get any mail, they just hand it out to anyone.

:
:

post office part II:

knowing the risks, i fed the stamp convenience machine a twenty dollar bill:
would you like a receipt?
no.
thank you. please make a selection.

two books of stamps
dropped to the retrieval slot.

two dimes
three susan b. anthony dollars
two golden dollars dropped as change.

known government scam:
usps stamp machines will not accept sba dollar coins for purchases, but they dole them out as change.

i look at other bloggers who now realize after what has been years that their lives are in terrible spots. they can't get up and go anywhere fantastic tomorrow or freely spend tens of thousands of dollars, and it's nothing to do with the greed conflict, rather it's because they were too safe all along and forgot to feed the lonely pig. they admit to overfeeding themselves and yet they complain about being overstuffed. this is why i stopped reading personal blogs several months ago and now only stick to themed writing.

tonight i made a mistake... i know where not to read. looking at situations like theirs, i know to value my nervousness. sitting in the netherworld for a decade and only counting carpet fibers, i at least knew that there might come a time i would want out and when that day arrived, why should i make myself wait any longer than i had been? i knew enough to have the map hidden and tucked into my shoe the day i locked the door, squeezed my nose and dove down. you should always carry the map- even to the mailbox. i see adults, secured and comfortable, in their parent's home, unable to find the front door in the daylight or the back door during the silent of the night.

they should have enormous bank accounts by now if they opted for or put up with that break... reduced rents, reduced lives... they should be able to take their toothbrush and go.

.
.

basically, this post is just the mentally ill laughing that they blew their chances. i wasted ten years. they wasted the same if not more because they are no further along than me, plus on top of that blow to the esteem, they are overweight, and that has got to hurt.

i need a blog where i can speak my mind...

since diet coke is the cigarette of the future and since i know this it ends now.

[blog post about ten years ago tonight deleted.]

rule #522: no diluted blogging.

ten years ago tonight and having quit my job on good terms, i arrived home from work. people in my life (yes there were some back then) thought i had the intention of attending an inpatient eating disorders hospitalization program the following monday morning. my friday night until midnight sunday was empty and exciting on both sides. i drove with ominous music through the spooky seven hour over-night to get to the hospital, watching the view through my windshield change from fog moistened and grey blackness, to deep forests of no one... fragrant farms and endless countrysides... then semi trucks, the city, the morning, and the sounds of daylight. when i arrived to the city of other's hope, i drove through the hospital campus parking lot and instead checked into a nearby best western hotel. for two weeks i waited in that city and:

i water-fasted and lost 16 more pounds.
i was rear-ended while test driving a new car.
i bought a new car.
i got pregnant.
i passed out in a shopping mall.
a friend of mine got three traffic tickets, lost his driving license, and his job.

memorial beach was a much better listen during that time than tonight though hearing cold as stone in the unlit room stirs memories of the long drive. illness then does neither compare nor compute to my history but it would take until this last year for me to stop acting out the wishes of other people. i was not sick enough for myself but i went and waited for time to strike and when it did i was standing.

about an hour ago i was contemplating going to the emergency room because the half hour before that i had considered whether or not i would live through to tomorrow morning.

*shrugs*

on my last day of wait, i finally entered the eating disorder floor and asked to see my doctor only because i wanted my weight recorded in my chart. while i was standing at the front desk, my mother telephoned the hospital and i accepted the call from the receptionist:

oh i'm fine. how are you? ...and to this day i laugh and laugh that it appears i was there all along.

so the point of this post was that exactly ten years tonight i stopped working... and something about my self directed anger- the other day this fact of my life pissed me off, but this minute i find it hysterical. i am sick and exhausted now and will reflect another time.

rule #522: no diluted blogging

i am going to have to be the one to discover how to prevent airline induced lower leg edema except i am going to say swollen airplane legs in my report and use the word wobbly a lot. suddenly i am in a mood brought on by spending fourteen hours in transit with 300 puffy greedy summer vacation children wearing tight london underground mind the gap shirts. yeah, well i don't wear mine unless i'm at home.

need: to stop traveling so far to sit in other people's hempel
designed hotel apartment suites when i could really care less.
want: water.

i should be able to say things to people like, "there is a free show tonight around 8pm at 6719 sabado tarde in isla vista and since i'll be there, you should come seek me out and sit down next to me. we can have a three minute awkward conversation which will surprise you that i am the one sitting there comfortable, watching you play your role as shoegazer as you fumble for your words." i will act aloof, which is a good thing, or turn into a chatty girl. you'd think i was personable. afterwards, at first, i would think it wasn't so bad. on the thirsty drive home and already sick of my cds near montecito, i would get a bad case of why-did-i-do-that and dissociate for the rest of the ride, quickly making the zig-zagged connection from i am feeling uncomfortable to everything i do or have in my life is complete crap and other reasons to stay indoors. since i will be zoned out and mesmerized by the 101 south freeway, the fragments and ideas will all make perfect sense and i can get depressed. after the dim clears and i begin to wake up, i will have to undo the depression which will take up a week that i could have been badgering, condescending, and creating hell for other people instead of accumulating another pile of hell for myself. so never mind about the show.

st. steven morrissey and his terminally maladjusted on tuesday, august 12th, 1997 at lou's records in encinitas, california. that marks the last day i physically got off my butt and paid with my own money for stackable musical entertainment. of course, there was the one time on november 29th, 2000, while wasting time at the world of music in frankfurt, germany (before wasting even more time watching reamonn, morten, and briskeby perform in concert at festhalle arena...) out of mental illness necessity, i found myself having purchased a copy of mountains of time by savoy. i didn't want or mean to be such a consumer, but was unknowingly browsing for briskeby's unreleased and hopefully not clean jeans for onassis and found myself uncomfortable- unable to leave the record shop empty-handed, savoy doesn't count but it must be mentioned. hey harvey, call me obsessed but i enjoy not having to look up those dates. all of that ended a few minutes ago when sitting here in this overpriced hotel suite, i found myself having ordered sound online. for me, by me, on my credit card, and mister rechanged-yet-unnamed musician doesn't even know to be impressed. if mister musician is indeed a he, he indeed would be. strangedays, strangeways, that winter translantic trip to germany to follow a concert tour was an utter failure in which i returned home early... but nobody knows that either.

a strange ten year anniversary arrives this week. is it the traditional tin story or one of modern diamonds? a fashionable hell, perhaps. this blog will get around to it eventually.

feeding the blogstalker:

have you ever been in a car accident?:
once upon the eve of a christmas eve, i was [not at fault] in a 65+ mph automobile accident. the little sports car i was driving ended up flipping over numerous times. after its very abrupt stop, my passenger and i clung to oh-thank-god for a second before rolling down a cliff. of note, the song on the radio played prior to the impact was send me an angel by the band real life. nothing tightens me up more than hearing that song pour out of a car stereo.

what was the last thing someone gave you?:
a glossy stuffed raven (remnant of a halloween decoration) which is currently perched on my computer monitor.


who was the last person you talked to in an airport?:
walter gretzky, father of hockey player wayne gretzky, while queuing at the tsa security checkpoint in terminal two at lax. (northwest airlines). he was returning home to canada and seemed to be a genuinely nice guy.

who was the last person you visited in a hospital?:
a woman who tried to rob my home.

what are you doing at this very moment in time?:
i am currently listening to a cd with a mix of songs by clinic, perfecting a tiny watercolor painting, betting you didn't catch on to the previous answer, and i have my feet up on the desk.

-

trained monkey tended to the cat box this morning.
my life is good. this depression sucks.

trained monkey signed over his paycheck:
pay to the order of flagrant.
my life is good. this depression sucks.

invalid friend spends tomorrow on a mileage run to florida.
my life is good. this depression sucks.

let the record show that on this date:
- flagrant took over her own life
- psychologically imprisoned another person
- began a strategic secret plan to take over the known universe.

the parentfigures have asked if i would like to move home, not because i need to do that or need something of them, rather, they enjoyed my company last month. the visit to their home in nowheresville went well enough the parentfigures now have a clouded notion they can employ me to be their squinted and agreeable basement gimp.

right, that's me. i'll bring the leash and leather collar. sure, i'll be right there. was i supposed to be deluded by the call of mortgage-free living and just say, "yes, sir. what kind of gasoline goes in the lawnmower?"

flagrant, mowing the lawn... uh, no. flagrant's got her own monkey paying her bills and tending to the cat litter box.

random fact: i now have an arm brace to wear specifically while playing bass. is that cool or what? i can be a real hyper hop-around rockstar, just like that guy thonny greenwooth from that old band on a friday. unfortunately i need a gig better than the living room in goleta but who knows. we're playing at a house party and a cafe in the bay area. a house party? that's so hokey! don't roll your eyes because i already did it for us both. it's something... something stupid, but okay... make a big fool out of myself, i'm sure, but i will not be a sit-around fuck-up wondering what could have been... or why it isn't... or how it should be...

[post about impending interview for cable news on-camera position avoided.]

nothing is worse than reading about wheel spinning, idealistic yet complacent massive fuck ups. i only understand too well that the situation is too cushy and why do anything when you've got it made? you have adapted to your environment and it cannot get too much worse. someone will intervene. someone will bail you out, so why bother? what do you have to lose? pride? do you have any to lose? you're used to it. just sit around and complain and make the rest of us who are starting a family or rebuilding our own lives look good.

when i was two or three years old, my first pets were newts: albert and alice and like everything else in my life except for plants, they came horribly pre-named. returning from a conditional freezing february vacation from florida with my irrational parents (where i learned not to sing songs by america in the back of the car, to hate grapefruit juice, to think a life-sized donald duck was a child molester...) we discovered one newt shriveled up on the floor and the other dead behind the refrigerator. my green bird was named lucifer because he was satan in a cage. my parents gave him away to my cousins and their dog ole malley ate him the same day. then i had an orange cat and he lived in a solar heated cat house that my father built out of scraps. one day he got beat up by a badger out in the woods but lived ten years longer and liked to kill rabbits, chew on swatch watch wristbands and barbie doll feet. the last day of university winter vacation i hugged him and told him i would see him some other place and though i have been home many times since that afternoon, i haven't seen him since.

i am having a hard time with the concept of death.
i am a robot and i can remove complete concepts from my life.
you cannot get to me unless i say it is true.
not this one.

so death will come and people and person prepare for it.
person says: you should say what you need to say to me.
person means: tell it like it is and get rid of the anger as this may be your last chance.

if forced.
if twisted.
maybe.
just maybe:

me: i discovered your strange secrets years ago.
him: narrows eyes. widens eyes.
me: yes that one too.

...and then i would remind him that i remember so many memories from before i could speak and let that linger. it really is better to let people create their own hell.

...and then i woke up from the nightmare but it wasn't a dream. returned under the cloak of darkness and drove on by shiny 51. no. absolutely not.

so eye just suck, flip flop for health, vomit a lot, and since eye don't need or want, but need to want, recently eye've been perusing the new car dealerships, yelling at people who spend too much time with flagrantme at myflagrant home, and have been tossing all of myflagrant guilt again in splashing fashion. eye looked at myflagrant first choice of driving excess and found out that while motor trend's the car of the year is in fact slick, it is not slick enough for flagrantme. see, if flagrantme's gonna want, flagrantme's gonna have.

how many weeks do you think eye will need to punish myflagrantself if eye decide to buy a car eye do not need? two? three? four? add that well known fact about being left out of myflagrant father's health problems to myflagrant reasons-to-purge... ten more weeks? fifty? eleventeen? ninety-three? none? one? after chuck and eye looked at the grandma inspired infiniti g35 sport coupe car of the year, we argued all the reasons not to even approach a new audi tt roadster.

1) it is about 44 and eye could arrive anywhere safe by only withdrawing 19.
2) premature wrinkles from the convertible top.
3) eye'd need sunglasses and eye'm scared of lasik.
4) it is ugly enough to be intriguing.
5) eye need substantial low end torque.

we finally did approach the new audi and our reasons were clearly unfounded:

6) 51... as it had many unnecessary dealer added options.

it makes no sense...!
that since eye don't want to spend more than pocket change...!
we did drive the very easily maneuverable...!
agile...!
mini flagrantme size...!
breeze to park roadster.
and:
thought it was good enough but not too ridiculous.
but:
wow that's double what eye want to spend!
and:
this is so much more expensive than a bus pass.
and:
a bus pass would do people-fearing flagrantme some good.
and:
it's simultaneously not-good-enough and perfect.
but:
51!

the true fact of the matter is that this would merely be transportation to and from the plastic 2-liter bottle recycling shack because eye never never go anywhere else unless eye am renting and driving a car in another country:

yes! yes! yes! maybe! maybe not! eye'm not even promising to wash it or change the oil any more often than myflagrant current hideous oldbutnew car. after driving the ugly audi we looked at a new hummer, and even on myflagrant worst food day, eye never needed the grocery capacity of that monster. eye then said the strange words to chuck which will haunt flagrantme forever: whoa, you and eye could certainly deal with this.

tap tap tap...

somewhere in the middle of a to z would be good, right around elemenopea and no more green tea for me. my licorice-lined road to wellville doesn't always lead flat. in fact, today what was left, twisted left. flip flop lemon drop! let's go look at cars!

flip
flop

...but neighbors driving cars that cost more than they have in the bank is not a situation i aspire to be in and compared to the world i have seen over the last years, one hundred thousand dollar cars fall nowhere in the center. if i buy a car this week i now know that i will have been affected by my surroundings, and i will be driving a new car that i truly do not need.

maybe you missed the point? maybe i missed writing it down? maybe you never read my bio? maybe i never posted it:

born in an airplane high above nobody-knows-for-sure but it sure looked like chile, a struldbruggian destiny secured, and raised by one absent and the other a mental patient parent, flagrantsomeone's first words were neither mommy nor daddy, rather they were a sentence informing her parents to immediately change her name to liberty. caged for the first few years of life with chronic bronchitis, flagrant was a bored child who only spoke with adults until her sixth year. she was routinely weak with illness and advanced through school grades. finally flagrant received an invitation to enroll in a faraway university's freshman core curriculum studies of the humanities at only twelve years of age. after running away from home the third time, where flagrant learned how to live on two pounds of carrots a week, her family understood it was essential for her to break free from her uninspiring, inconsistent catholic schooling and was allowed to attend the out of state university at the age of fourteen. rather than studying freedom and its limits and the greek lyrics of sappho, flagrant studied social alienation, loneliness, and sat full time in professor's offices. she was also welcomed into their homes to either be part of a family or to kick their asses during nightly games of trivial pursuit. flagrant barely squeeked by that first year of university due to a lack of weekly food, fortitude, attendance, and with that, during the last week of may in that year, on the last day of exams, she abruptly lost her full scholarship. "...but these people want me here," she knew, and boldly pulled the registrar out of a university meeting. in the hallway and not knowing what would come from it, she informed him she was quitting university only due to financial reasons [and mumbled something about student housing being detrimental to her health, having certainly interfered with success.] within the hour she had several thousand dollars in grant money for invisible summer vacation incidentals, a grant for the following school year, plus a space in a university apartment. now five, six, eleventeen, but seems like one hundred years later, few days pass when blood relatives forget to remind flagrant of this recorded graded first year failure, shame on her family's name, and the loss of their potential good fortune. at eighteen years of age, flagrantsomeone bought a winning lottery ticket. at nineteen she signed fashion contracts worth more than those net lottery winnings and donated the majority of the money to the american leukemia society- much to the horror and greed of her screaming parents. so time flies by... notoriety, an arrested stalker with a tortuous plan, and information that her parents were living on flour and water pancakes while flagrant resided in the land of excess with a drug addicted male model and $10,000+ monthly rents sparked humility. she fled to santa barbara with only what her black sports car could carry, but only knowing excess, continued the extremes by existing in a cold carpeted room without light or furniture. without food, socialization, or any outside information, her new best-friend mental illness stepped in and guarded the door. he allowed her white-colored fat-free foods only occasionally, but not monthly, and slowly he built an army of spectrum disorders to keep flagrant in her place. years later and only after the constant questioning of why her best friend wanted her to hurt so much did flagrant start to slowly return to a life but those friends are still within sight. she had not only lost muscle, but the inability to walk unaccompanied or without a wall for visual guidance and began to sneak outside during the 4am darkness to practice walking. merely two years ago though she could run, flagrant could not manage stepping off from the sidewalk curb to the street without breaking her stride or losing balance. life, pleasure, and health returned slowly and felt illegal, but she has not yet found the bad things lurking outside from which the mental illnesses protected her. currently flagrant has few tangible goods and far too much life. when not getting into fist-fights with mean people over twice her size for the sake of exercise, escaping death with a licorice whip, or donating her time to the causes in war-torn balkan countries with washed up pop stars, flagrantsomeone likes to travel to europe numerous times a year to see mediocre rock concerts. she also spends considerable time painting hyper-technicolor watercolors. life isn't just a bag of chips, and so if she is not fending off the remaining obsessive compulsive food rituals and trying to find small enough pants, flagrant finds herself obsessively spinning her recumbent exercise bicycle while browsing the internet... knowing that people out there have it much, much worse, yet she is accomplishing nothing except for seething at her unjustified fear and current flagrant stagnation.

what's your problem? i'm in LA- why? why do you care? you like me? no you don't. you hate people like me. i know this. you know this- so stop lying. it's only interesting here when things are deadly and right now i am dealing with a different level of psychological torture. it's drilling torture, sure, but one of a completely different plane than usual:

i returned home to la la los angeles to find that my male neighbor has purchased a new hummer. sure, whatever. it's never going to see dirt so it's just as well that he bought this seriously new and purposely unimproved grocery hauler. it's yellow. has he not been paying attention? all together now: "but that's a girl's car!" he can buy whatever he likes but this general motors monstrosity is parked next to my oldbutnew piece of perfectly fine car that i want to replace and now, chalk it up to new car fever, i am having panic sweats and delusions of social degradation. NONSENSE! people might say, but i can't hear them. mmm... i can smell the carbon copy triplicate auto loan forms.

clear my head: i would like to retire soon and though anyone who has read anything i have ever written most likely will have to pick themselves off from the floor when they read that, i am completely serious. i want everything and i am going to get it, but i'm not ever, well maybe, going to work anywhere to get a paycheck. as you can see, i have some problems ahead of me. retire from what? umm? oh shut up.

lunacy spins and starts to make sense when i calculate the cash down payment i will need for a crummy and too-small condo in los angeles... but there is a light. for the same amount of money as a condo down payment, i could buy an entire home somewhere else. the whole thing- like, you know, with land!? i don't know how to 'do' acreage. never mind. tangent, sorry.

so the other neighbor who parks on the other side of my now unacceptable oldbutnew car within the last week has upgraded from a volkswagen to a new bmw. one of the good ones, too. then, i mean what the fuck, this other resident "in my lot" bought a mercedes sl. it's only a 500sl, tsk, and not the 600sl.

so basically i feel i have to get it together faster and nothing is new with that but not wanting to want but needing to want but not wanting to need and needing to stop thinking is twisty, terrible, and i want good shot of heroin right about now. c'mon, right in my thigh, i don't care.

so. same old same old. there have been some shake ups at chuck's workplace and the parolee who was giving chuck a chronic difficult time has been fired... hmm... but so has chuck's immediate superior who was the main store manager and eye didn't mean to make that happen! there is an employee at the store who holds the same associate management level as chuck and she has been placed on indefinite suspension. since chuck not only received a scathing employment review as well as an all bases covered negative write up for not following store policy, eye had money down yesterday that it being the monday after the storm, chuck would arrive home early having been fired. as of now, it has not yet happened. it would be unfortunate if he was fired now that his problematic co-workers are gone, but if something happens eye am more concerned with him getting placed on suspension. eye imagine suspension means he is ineligible to file for unemployment benefits, but eye am not sure. what are those benefits anyhow? $600 a month? he would need the money and that is what eye am thinking about lately. chuck has vacation benefits accruing and is planning on using them when he returns to his family's home to attend his younger sister's wedding in august in an area of the country very close to the town in middle america where eye just spent vacation days in june. if he gets fired or suspended he will need to work a new job, probably not be able to go, and this is a super huge deal as this wedding has been planned for over two years.

idiotchuck must have never met jawdropping lowest fare flagrantme as he already requested his vacation dates from his employer without establishing which travel dates price out to the lowest amount of money. he just assumed tuesdays would work because that is what peter greenberg and other travel journalists laud, but tuesdays are not necessarily always the best deal. it is now myflagrant job to find him an airfare, and it is probably myflagrant job to pay for it. no sweat. his mother has mentioned that she will travel anywhere to scoop him up from the airport and whisk him home to be stuffed into an uncomfortable tuxedo. lucky him. no, lucky flagrantme. lucky us. since eye am a complete nasty bitch, myflagrant brain keeps thinking to forget about airfares and tells flagrantme to send him to the nearest greyhound bus station- since his mom is picking him up and made it crystal clear that she has two weeks off and will drive anywhere to pick him up. okay no, but eye have brought it to his attention that he can watch his foul mouth towards flagrantme or possibly sit on a bus for three days. eye will behave and find an appropriate airport not over six hours away from the wedding destination. a roundtrip airfare to o'hare in chicago at $149 is myflagrant choice for him, but that may be a bit of a stretch at an eight hour drive away. considering eye fly all over the world and just flew home door-to-door on the exact flights that would be the most convenient for idiotchuck and his family, it would not look good on myflagrant part to be cheap.

a year and a half ago, idiotchuck flew to bangkok with less than a seven day advance ticket just to follow and keep tabs on flagrantme because eye was traveling with a famous romantic possibility. idiotchuck got bonus frequent flyer miles from the asian trip but they total just 3500 miles shy from a free ticket to his upcoming wedding destination. eye could give him miles but fees will cost flagrantme almost as much as sending him to minneapolis and that airport is still many hours away from where he needs to go. he could buy his own miles but it is the same circumstance. for the most part, eye figured eye will have to spend about $300 on him and not even get him door-to-door, but then eye found a roundtrip airfare from los angeles to jacksonville, florida for $86 dollars that prices out to $117 after fees, without a saturday night stay, and the flights would earn him the miles he needs to fly home on an award ticket. guess what, idiotchuck? welcome to the wonderful world of mileage runs! you'll be spending your next day off en route to florida and you get to connect in houston not only on the outbound, but the return as well! $117, chuck's going to florida, and straight home to his mother in august. eye'll even chip in lunch money.

okay, next problem...?

"i no longer believe in coincidence."

"i don't believe in coincidence anymore."

one of those statements (or something to the effect) heard while scanning the am dial, has been jacking me around for over a week. specifically, when i think about the sentiment spanning several of these pages.

art bell? george noory? it must have stemmed from coast to coast am, the show which owns the overnight airwaves.