Breaking Down on a Bulgarian Street Corner

More to come.....

Honoring Michael Jackson

Earlier tonight I tried to pay tribute to the great deceased pop
singer by torrrenting some of his best songs onto my ipod, which
I then connected to an expensive boom box my dad bought me. I stepped
out onto the streets of San Francisco and clicked on the song
"Rock With You." Then I accidentally dropped the stereo, and then
I accidentally dropped the 40 oz St Ides I was holding in my other hand.
It shattered everywhere. I ran home.

Macho!

Write What You Know

1. Fearing that one's Dad will cancel one's credit card
2. Diagnosing oneself with mental illnesses on Wikipedia
3. Fearing that one's food looks junky and unimaginative alongside
roommates' exotic and nutritious groceries
4. The names of San Francisco Giants past and present
5. Arrested Development (TV series and early 90s rap collective)
6. RBI Baseball '94 for Sega Genesis (Bonds is the best hitter)
7. Feeling one's organs for signs of failure
8. Pretending to know what existentialism is
9. After five years and thousands of dollars, I still have no idea
how to smoke a cigarette
10. Dreams of armed black men with vengeance on their minds

The Grand Experiment

Our potential is infinite yet we insist on being simply human.
We live out our lives without ever testing the boundaries of what that means.
We spend our lives searching for those things which can never be truly attained.
We hurt, hurt, hurt.
Ourselves and all of those around us.
It's only conscious some of the time.
How can we learn how to love?
Or should love as we know it be forgotten, stricken from the language of our lives?

Advice Notebook

Last night, in a fit of something (bipolar disorder?) I bought a
notebook and a pen from a small bodega with the intent of writing
down people's advice. I asked the two clerks in the bodega what I
should do with my life. The younger Mexican guy was clearly
uncomfortable and had nothing, and in retrospect I don't blame
him. The older Chinese guy thought it over and said, basically,
I could continue down my current path (he's seen me before) or
do like him and get a fucking job. I then rushed over to the
Scottish-themed pub across the street because my real mission
was to ask for the advice of the Glaswegian who tends bar there.
I thought bitterly to myself, "Fuck you, Chinese guy, I don't
want to be a liquor store clerk, I want to be Scottish!"

Now two nights ago I had spent several hours shouting at this
bloke about the Associates, Aztec Camera, Celtic F.C., and Irvine
Welsh. In my imagination,I was the son he never had. This is a
pattern here, basing my entire self-esteem on the approval of a
single person. This is what is scrawled across the pages of my
notebook from last night:

"Fuck. My hero just left. I bought this notebok because I
wanted him to tell me something wise. He just shook my hand
and disappeared. He's Scottish. He probably doesn't want to be
bothered. He grew up on the streets of Glasgow. He's a writer.
I gave him some of my shit. I gave him some prose and poetry.
He said I had talent. But he also implied I was a drunken loser
who couldn't pick him out of a lineup. He asked me what I wanted
to do with said talent. He said I should probably write a
novel if I want to get my point across. What's my point? That life
in the U.S.A. sucks? He suggested that it might fly in the U.K."

My tub is half empty

The Don'ts of Avoiding Suicide

From Night Train, by Martin Amis:

"Don't work around around death. Don't work
around pharmaceuticals.

Don't be an immigrant. Don't be a German, fresh
of the boat.

Don't be Romanian. Don't be Japanese.

Don't live where the sun doesn't shine.

Don't be an adolescent homosexual: One in three
will attempt.

Don't be a nonagerian Los Angelean.

Don't be an alcoholic. It's suicide on the installment plan,
anyway.

Don't be a schizophrenic. Disobey those voices in your head.

Don't be depressed. Lighten up.

And don't be a man. Don't be a man, whatever you do."