Smuggling Grapes

Xanex is funny.
Everytime I take it I feel like I'm in the movie Memento, where every half hour I have to look for clues as to why I'm doing what I'm doing.
"Why is this man chasing me?"
"Why am I getting kicked off the train?"
"Why am I running across 128?"
So many questions come to mind that I feel like I might drop to the floor and melt there. But due to my body's natural inclanation to perservere, I continue to breath freely though. That's kind of amazing. While my mind is being peeled and spat on, my body somehow knows to keep breathing.
Incredible.
I'm relaxed. Made my way through another 24 hours of American mind rape. I feel kinda brave. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?
Pillars of fire?
Fetus Air Karate?
Toilet Paper Microphones?
I don't know about you but I'm fucking excited!
Today a car full of girls called me a sexy boy out the window of their car.
No bullshit....? This is the fifth time this has happened to me in a month. I have no idea what the fuck is going on.
In the past month I have been walking around in a sweaty South Quincy stupor, and girls are calling me sexy?
Never in my entire life has a woman on the street said a word to me. Now all of a sudden I'm like Grunge Daddy Kane.
"Long live the Kane."
Here's something else. I'm just gonna throw you guys this little uhh....mental milkbone.
I hate fast sex.
There I said it.
Me and Jimmy Flynn talked about it the other day and he used the analogy that having sex fast is like eating food fast.
Sometimes you girls just get on and start, like smashing my head against your chest and trying your hardest to rip my dick off. I can't feel a thing. It's like I start focusing on breathing exercises and who the fuck wants to do THAT naked? You'd be Sting. And I'll tell you right now, I don't wanna be Sting. Ever.
What the fuck am I even saying tonight? I have no point. I just ran out of movies to watch and figured I might as well go tell everybody in the world how I'm doing. That's the thing with these fucking blogs. Everytime I write one I'm like, " Why the fuck did I just say that? Everybody's gonna see it." You can't take it back and tuck it under your mattress like your journals. Everybody's in your buisness and your reality takes on a whole new shape.
I'm having one of those weeks where I'm feeling strange to be a human being. Or anything at all really.
"Isn't it strange to be anything at all?" Neutral Milk Hotel.
One time, probaly about 97, I was smoking weed with Beakey and his Mom. I had never smoked weed with someones parent before, let alone Beakey's Mom. He had just told her that he had only had sex with 2 girls at the time. She started to call him a pussy and then immediately started to talk about Robert Palmer and the grapes he was smuggling. Or was it Tom Jones? Whatever, I just took a Xanex so fuck off.
Anyway....The more weed I smoked, the stranger she started to look. Not like ugly but like as if her whole human form was something I had never seen. She looked like an alien with a thick Dorcester accent. I started to freak out on the inside. She kept saying, "Oh yaaaa! Oh yaaaaa!"
Over and over again. I don't know why.
Ever since then I've looked at the human form different. It seems strange to be this thing. My hands look weird. I feel like dust trapped in a flesh vessel. No offense to Beakey's Mom by the way. He looked kinda weird too.
Let's see....
I could fly in my dream the other night. That was kinda cool.
Uhhh....what else?
Oh yeah. Has anyone else noticed that the Zakim Bridge is the same shape as the Mason symbol? Am I being paranoid? Moving on.
I've made a decision. Some of you might think this decision is kinda extreme, but I will tell you that I feel very strongly about it. Today I went to the gas station near my work to buy cigarettes. I asked for Camel Filters. He put them in my hand and then quickly pulled them out.
"I need to see your ID."
"I don't have an ID on me."
"Then I can't sell to you, my friend."
I was pissed. I said, " Buddy, I know you have a job to do but take a look at my face. Do I look fucking 17 to you?"
"Those are the rules man sorry."
"Yeah, but use your common sense. I'm obviously not 17. Would a 17 year old have this type of sophistication? Would he stand before you with the decisive intellect of a full grown man, such as I do? Would women crack his Beck's for him? No. Look at my face, you fucking peasant."
He wouldn't budge. I've decided that once I hit 30 in three months, I'm never showing anyone my ID again. I feel like it's becoming beneath me. I've earned my rights with age. Use your common sense you fucking crumbs.
Anyway I'm gonna go. This is boring the piss out of me. I got nothing else to say.
Later.
Oh yeah,by the way, I got jumped by 5 kids this weekend in South Quincy, and I had to drown one of my cats in the bathtub yesterday. But I just don't have the energy to tell those stories right now.
'

29th Round Knockout

I'm frustrated. But when am I not?
Ten years ago, I may have thrown myself into a filthy river. Waters overflowing with styrofoam cups and dirty needles just to prove my self worth. Today I would do no such thing. Is it because there is no need? Or is it because I have turned coward?
I'll go with the former. Today, with 30 staring me in the face, I have no need to prove myself to anyone. Only myself. I'm my harshest critic. When I went out to see Tik Tok the other night, I said to myself, "Fuck this band. I'm gonna start a new band and show these fucks what's what. They are going DOWN."
Of course I wouldn't even think that if I didn't think they were a great band. So kudos. But in my own juvenile Darwinian mind, I feel I need to destroy you. That's how I sike(is that spelled right?) myself up to become a rock god. I have to veiw you as competition, otherwise what the fuck am I doing?
I played with this kid Andrew last night and it was really spectacular. Good solid aggressive drummer. Fucked my head up. Perfect. Slow Pussy coming soon, fucks.
My life is strange lately. I'm happy with myself. Proud even. I've overcome major obstacles and life is starting to seem interesting again. Cold crisp air floods my body with the changing of the seasons. People seem decent. Women look beautiful. I feel the wind as a friend that I've long forgot about.
When me and Liz die we'll find each other somehow. I'll be a mist drifting through the atmosphere waiting for her to receive me and we'll be intertwined forever. Intoxicated on our own self worth. I love her and I can't wait to see her up in the sky somewhere. She'll be floating in a baby blue mist that'll make my unconscious mind quiver. I can't wait to die. It'll be nice.
Anyway. Suboxone detox has been terrible this week. Anxiety and sweat riddles my 5foot 9 frame. But I'm drug free. I'm starting to think that's cool. Sober mind. Hope I continue to think it's cool.
I want music and love. I've gone hippie. Fuck it. I still love Flipper. HAHAHAHAHA. I'm so tired. I haven't slept a wink. I'm so tired. My mind is on the blink.
"You've got no conscience when you're on your own."
I'm sending this one out to my man Beakey. You're hilarious and brilliant. Whatever keeps you going, don't lose it.
"I heard these foul slouch ass niggers talking shit about you on the corner of the boulevard last night but I didn't know you enough to defend you, right? I won the title a couple of times, did right."
Peace everybody. All three of you who read this. I might jump in traffic. Who knows?
"It's just a ride." Bill Hicks