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i am in portland [20 Jul 2007|10:45pm]
i am tired and content and stealing wireless from, i'm sure, one of the lovely little houses on my tree-lined block. i'm sure i seem like some travelling vagrant but, i assure you, i just care very little about livejournal
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[10 Apr 2007|10:22am]
i'm in san francisco


10:15 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJOw6QBqzt8
9 comments|post comment

[06 Feb 2007|09:47pm]
portland can't come soon enough



and it's way too close
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it's hard to reconcile part 7 [24 Jan 2007|11:56pm]
i passively considered mourning the passing of my abusive captor and the only girl that ever let me kiss her in front of her parents, but, sometimes practicality outweighs emotion and taking care of this body was a big fuckin' issue. so i grabbed her by her pale wrists and drug her suprisingly heavy body to the window. suffering my body's aches and pains, i pulled open the window and strained and strove to push her corpse out the 2nd story. it made a wet thump as it hit the concrete and i nervously looked to see if it caught anyone's attention. my nerves were all shot and my experience shot from that session of electrode torture. goddamn it. i walked over to the closet and pulled out of my meal ticket from it's cigar box. it had a comforting weight in my right hand and i knew then that i'd never let it leave me again, even if i had to stick it in the elastic band of my underwear. i put on jeans and a t-shirt and casually strode down the stairs to the front door. as i pulled open the front door, the wind hit me with a refreshing blast of atmosphere and it tasted like metal.

i walked to the apartment building next door and made my way up to the second floor and the room who's window mirrored my own, the only witness to this soon-to-be cover up. i kicked open the door and in the kitchen i saw a couple loudly and breathily fucking, drowing out even my violent entrance. i sighed and considered letting them finish but really. this was an ideal situation. i cast my eyes around the apartment and my eyes lit upon a letter opener sitting on a mantle and i strode over to the man who just happened to be on top. the woman, while in paroxysms of ecstasy, managed to open her eyes and saw me poised over the two of them and she readied to scream. a silence "thwip" from my guy and half her face dissolved. the man pulled his torso back in horror at the gory mess before him. another silent noise in his neck and he writhed for a few seconds and then dropped dead on top of his paramour. i was trying to make this look like a lover's kill but now it just looked...odd. i really am out of touch with this sort of thing. i grabbed the knife and walked back to the alleyway. there, i stabbed the corpse with the letter opener. at the very least, this will confuse the hell out of the homicide detectives and making cops jobs more difficult was one of the many reasons i still loved my job.


now it was time to get the fuck out of dodge and find out who wanted me to think they wanted me dead.
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it's difficult to reconcile(part...6?) [20 Jan 2007|11:46pm]
i'd rather not talk about that. let's talk about the time i woke from my sleep and when my feet hit the floor, it wasan't a sound of lonelyness but a sound of joy. i had a dream i slept, obese and covered in bedsores. when i woke from this dream, i slowly ran my hands over my torso and felt it whole and lithe, each nerve as reactive and sheathed in anxiety as it always was. when i rotated 90 degrees in the bed and my legs hung suspended over my floor, i made sure my toes wiggled sufficently and i even went as far as picking up an old sock and tossing it backwards with just those animated toes. the sock landed on my face and i couldn't help but laugh. that laughter carried me off the bed and made that hollow slapping sound of flesh on hardwood harmless. it made the coffee i brewed less bitter and the shower i took more refreshing. it made the naked dead girl suspended in my shower by only length of wire and a knot more absurd than horrific. of course i had to take her down before i took that refreshing shower, which was somewhat of a sobering activity. sobering enough that that laughter that overtook my dour nature receeded into the distance and left me only with a slight caffiene buzz and a dead girl.

now this wouldn't be the first time i've ever had to deal with the logistics of getting rid of a dead body, much less seeing one. but unlike just about every other time, i didn't want to chop it up and feed it to my company's over-developed racing horses or take it to a abaondened tenement in the slums and soak it lovingly in lye. no, this time, i just wanted to figure out why the fuck it was in my bathroom and how did it get there. the fact that it was the very same girl who nearly tortured me to death just a few weeks ago implied that maybe i had a guardian angel with a very sick sense of humor or maybe someone who thought they were sending me a tough threat but didn't get the memo. the memo whose subject line read "re: she attached electrodes to my testicles". either way, it was clearly designed to be a message but i just didn't know about what. i examined her body and, while she was hung up in my bathroom, she seemed to die of two paralelle stab wounds in her lower back, each at the location where her kidneys would be. the imagery of the shower and kidneys brought to mind an old urban legend but she wasan't sown up from any exploratory surgery, so, she must've just died from, well, having her kidneys stabbed. quite a cruel way to go, maybe even more cruel than being hung. however, i didn't see any blood stains in or around where she was, so, i assume she was brought here dead. i don't think they could've snuck her in alive with those wounds, her screams would've been audible in just about any situations. sedated, perhaps? i'm getting ahead of myself. let's sum this up. primero, i know someone brought my ex-girlfriend into my house, dying or dead, and strung her up like a piece of meat in my bathroom. secundo, i know that i either wasan't at home or this was purely a message and they didn't want to do anything with me, not yet at least.

however, the kicker was i've been in bed for the last two weeks, nursing my wounds and the only other person to see me has been my personal doctor and surgeon. so, not only does this mean this must've been when i was asleep, it means they were able to bypass my security system to get in. without waking me. i did a quick sweep of my apartment and found no evidence of either forced entry or anyone's presence other than my own. so now i also know i am dealing with either ghosts or very, very professional hitmen that, thank god, left me alone. frankly, at this point, i'd rather it was the former.
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[09 Jan 2007|08:38pm]
nabokov said, or implied, that the essence of writing was utilizing the passion of nostalgia to look at our current experiences the same way we do at our past. to see things as we will see them days, months, years hence.



so this street is lined with green-rotted trees and new decay and the sun dazzles, like an ancestral treasure, off the hood of parked cars. as we walk down the boulevard, we see storefronts dark, lit within by the dulling light of new year emptiness. the entire city rings with this apathy, it's very streets are coated in new-model emptiness. 2006 doesn't matter anymore, but the neurosis of this year of Our Lord has an awfully similiar sibilance to it's hum. it's hard to keep your head up when you consider this ponderous depression, so instead, we peer into our half-drunk coffee cups and our half-read newspapers and our half-burnt cylinders and we repeat the same phrases. oh yeah, oh yes, oh cool oh dear oh love oh shy oh polyanna! these sentences strung together are gossamer poetry, some cruel spider's idea of a joke. to eat that turkish delight, foolish edmund. to betray ourselves and our compatriots to that cruel queen, all for a minor desire that was denied to us by our wiser peers. it's certainly not all bad, though. those words taste sweet and familiar on our tounges and it's reassuring to know that every member of the trustfund generation follows these rules to a t, that we would all sell each other up the river to pretend that we're doing something with our lives.


oh no don't get me wrong. your bachelor's degree in english does mean something, like a bird flying into a window. let's not kid ourselves though. we're in this city, this state, this level of dante's underground to try to make a point by simply existing. we are, therefore we matter, says our too-long strides and cheap beers and pouty looks. l'enfant irritable. instead of marx and coca-cola, we've got absentee ballots and sparks or sparx or jus d'orange putréfié or whatever it is


retroactive nostalgia isn't as easy as it sounds.
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they said i would never find my way to playland! [31 Dec 2006|12:04pm]
okay, so, i get home and i pull into the driveway and i see a van parked next door. now, this is not any old sort of van. it's a giant, ford econoline delivery van with a busted tail-light, a note written on yellowing paper in a childish scrawl pasted on the back window with a poorly-lit carpeted interior and what appears to be a kid's backpack on the front seat.





i have a rape van next to my house.
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some say i got devil [24 Dec 2006|08:52pm]
will oldham really has the incredible ability to affect my moods directly. i started listenting to his cover of "the calvary cross" and i started tearing up a bit. fuck man


i am also drunk. this should be clarified.


but seriously. awesome. i realized this evening i absoutley hate a few certain people. sorry man. you must be a fuckhead :(


happy holidays! and if you're someone i hate, i hope you die unloved in a fire! and i hope when your mother finds out, she says "well it was no big suprise"
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what would the oddsmakers say [21 Dec 2006|01:57pm]
so fuck man. i guess i've been busy. i'm good.

but the more IMPORTANT question is how you is? how's work? how's your girlfriend/boyfriend? they seem cool. it can be tough to keep a relationship together during the holidays, all that eggnog really can get your cranky on. sorry i haven't been returning your calls, it's nothing personal, i just haven't had the time to chat. i did call you back a couple times but you didn't get back to m e either so i guess things are the same with you. well anyway i should probably get going but it was good talking to you and hopefully we can hang out sometime soon. i miss our little talks.
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look out young son [09 Dec 2006|07:20am]
it's a fuck-you three day weekend.


be sure to be surly to all and sundry.
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hip hop and you don't stop [05 Dec 2006|02:52pm]




i serve only the emperor, i hear only the commands of my chaplain.
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and don't call me pretty baby [29 Nov 2006|11:54am]
so now that i'm free of that responsiblity


i have to look at my life for what it is, not what it could be or what it should be. damn. that's probably what i was avoiding the most.
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each year for thirteen years [28 Nov 2006|11:32am]
smoking cuban cigars, thoughtfully appropriated by camille, and wondering where the hell my life is going.



not to say that i'm a whiner. i'm pretty happy with the way things are, but, i'm not and that's why i'm leaving. but what am i gonna do there? am i going to crash and burn and profess my love to someone who has no use for it? suceed and become a local "figure of interest"? or, maybe, just maybe, lead a life of similiar mundanity but with a different view?


i think the last one is the least likely.
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quick question [24 Nov 2006|03:29pm]
and hollie this isn't a dig at you so don't get mad:



but am i the only one, other than my close group of friends, who thinks eli roth is a stupid hack? because even people who's film opinions i respect, dearly in fact, seem to think he's just awesome. i think he's a snuff director with a horrible sense of humour and a big budget and a really, really creepy misogynistic/homophobic bent.


come on, anyone else see it?
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[23 Nov 2006|10:41am]
what i am thankful for:

my job

camille

ali

breanne

justin

my bike

my music

my shoes

aaaaaaaaaaand

MY MOMMY AND DADDY YAAAAAAY
3 comments|post comment

[19 Nov 2006|10:34pm]
must...resist...drunk-dial...urge...
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these waters are too well chartered, these tragedies too well timed [18 Nov 2006|05:02pm]
i feel myself as a sea captain exploring familiar waters, waters charted by billions before him. he has the maps before him, the annotated comments filling up every margin, the landmarks and treacherous schoals underlined and highlighted for him, and yet everything is a suprise. every island on the horizon a new discovery, every storm and illwind a shocking blow. my destination is already well-inhabited and the route i take is already well-known, but still i play the role of discoverer and trail-blazer.
10 comments|post comment

rise up and live a full life [16 Nov 2006|10:18pm]
i consider myself somewhat of an independent and serious person. i don't have the love for throwaway fun and debauchery that alot of those that i associate with do. i tend to find myself close-lipped and stoic around those i do not know and only gregarious and social when i trust those around me. for a very long time, i found these traits not only to be acceptable but desriable, indications of a refined and mature personality, someone who was happy with his own traits but, not too late and not too soon, i realize that alot of that behavior is simply a defense to deal with things i do not understand and, frankly, scare me. boisterous, immediately open and accesible people frighten me to my core because they make me question the very tenents upon which i erected my personality. if these people are so happy and open all the time, why can't i be, or more pressingly, why AREN'T i?

what marks the difference between those people and i? perhaps it's my scholarly nature that keeps my more bubbly personality traits buried, subsumed in a desire to play the role of the consumate intellectual that i see in myself. i think it's also an issue of self-esteem. i play a role as much as i am myself. i drink my coffee black, i drink my whiskey straight and i look upon most people with a disdainful eye and perhaps not because i enjoy it but it's something that i would like to see in myself. a detached scholar with a penchant for extremes of flavor and subtlety of personality. i don't really know if that is me, though.


i am going to a post critical mass group bike ride called "the electric warriors" tomorrow and that has prompted this line of thought. they promise "boisterous and loud fun". the very phrase makes me quake with neurosis. i am scared of losing my friends in the crowd and being ignored and lost and getting run over by an 200 ton suv with blood in it's grille.

that having been said, i'm still going. i'll be goddamned if i'm going to get my social anxiety get in the way of having a good time and hanging out with hot fixie-riding hipster bike chicks. i have no chance with them, but, they're still fun to look at.
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[16 Nov 2006|04:34pm]
my american history knowledge is sorely lacking and i am just now getting a full breadth of the american revoloution and the times that preceeded it. it really is an astonishing tale and, as much as it has said before and as much as it will be said in the future, it depresses the hell out of me to see our country switch from a nation, from the start, designed to be the "city on the hill" to what it is now. to imagine that something as fundemental and human as ideological difference could be one of the main reasons for an entire nation to turn to arms and rebel against it's leaders, when now we are stale in our actions. it hurts.
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a brief update [15 Nov 2006|10:20am]
you may think i've been really busy lately, and that's true, but, you may have missed me out and about because you thought i was a bum. but, no, i assure you. the guy with the ratty wool overcoat, beanie, gross beard and beat up shoes is me. you probably looked at him and said "hahaha that bum looks like ben dunbar fallen on hard times". no.


that's me.
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