the gasoline choir: May 2003 Archives

two hours? almost three. just the worst feeling, alone & helpless & isolated & all manner of neurotic thoughts attacking me in the adrenal glands & sending that wirebrush feeling up the back of my neck & through my hair. hyperbole? not enough to matter, or to bring my reaction to the DSL going down this afternoon anywhere near the realm of normal.

as i was pacing around the parking lot attempting to coax the connection back into the building with my inattentiveness, i thought at least an hour's worth of thoughts in about four minutes, oddly enough beginning with the unfortunate side effect of my devout agnosticism, which is that i cannot pacify myself with prayer; i do understand why humankind is compelled to invent one deity after another & believe in them with that blind faith, which i wish i had the capacity for, but no. then i thought about sex, & this recent survey i saw that asked is sex the ultimate communication & i thought about that for a very spinny minute indeed, but even that couldn't distract me from the disconnectedness at hand & from there, i veered off on a strange tangent to the unrealistic nature of my postapocalyptic dreams of kicking ass, when truth is i'd be holed up in some abandoned ISP somewhere trying to connect with something & my god what would i do without this website i mean what the fuck would i do without the internet? do junkies even think this way about heroin? do they try to imagine life without it & conjure only a nightmare in which any projection of a normal life is simply absorbed into the horrible howling void?

thinking of suggesting i step away from the computer? bite me.

i would like to rant about the way the morning went but i would have to either invent new words or perhaps just illustrate old ones in a new way, say, by setting something on fire & pointing to it while smiling vapidly like one of those weather bimbos on channel whatever. exaggerating of course put the phone down it's fine. nothing burning here unless it's my creative energy, oh if only you could feel all the adrenaline flowing through my veins & arteries right now. so tingly!

and speaking of arteries in a way designed to douse the matters at hand & leave them smoldering & move on already (kidding! nothing's on fire at all!) last night i did something i hadn't done in years, that is i picked up an ink-filled writing device & used it in conjunction with some sheets of a thin, papery substance in order to arrange words & thoughts in what was hopefully a rather creative manner. i went about this somewhat clumsily, discovering my fingers had almost forgotten how, which is terribly odd considering that i've done enough writing, obsessively enough over a period of enough decades that there is a distinct ridge in the bone of the finger the pen rests on. the bone remembers, how did the rest forget?

my attempted fumblings with this old medium & my chagrin over the deterioration of my penmanship were interrupted by an email invitation to join something. reaction was instinctively no, who has time? i clicked the link out of curiosity & lo & behold, pretty much exactly almost what i was sitting there already doing, only different. how could i say no? & so now i need to go & contribute something. something light hearted & life affirming, she said, sounding suspiciously like molars being ground down to nothing. talk about your creative writing exercise! (kidding! everything's peachy! and the peaches aren't on fire! trust me!)

we have to keep our stories straight. if they ask you, you say, yeah, she meant to do that. & then twirl your hair a little & chew on a corner of your lip as you give them that oblique up-over-the-glasses look. trust me on this.

so this is the after/before hair:
 

this is my daughter. she needed several rides places, but wasn't much help otherwise:

and so the beauty supply dude who wasn't very helpful either said don't do any more lightening. so i settled for temporary to maybe almost sort of blend things in. amusing, the words 'blend in' being mentioned in conjunction with my haircolor.

eye protection is advised before clicking the thumbnail:

it's still seventeen different shades underneath, & i hate hair on my neck so i wear it up most of the time.

i think it's time for that retro haircut.

i spent a significant amount of time & anger this morning flaming spammers. capital letters were involved. felt as good as any totally pointless gesture ever does.

surprisingly, one of them even wrote back: Thank you for your encouraging words. You have been removed from any opportunities. May Life return to you 10 fold what you wish upon others. May God Bless you! David (incidentally, i wished boils upon him. big ones. in sensitive places.) which i feel is perfectly appropriate for the sort of spammer who uses "Re: [NAME] - Follow up to yesterday!" as a subject line in a rather transparent & pathetic attempt to trick the recipient into opening it. the more i think of it, david needs more than boils, i'd say the boy could really benefit from a serious bout of bleeding hemorrhoids brought on by an attack of highly acidic projectile diarrhea. i could go on, even get graphic, but i won't.

the burgeoning curmudgeon in me is itching to rip through the latest batch of scumfuckers cluttering up that inbox, & see if i can provoke some more pompous windbaggery out of any of 'em. & yes i know i'm giving away self-righeous victim points with every ounce of invective that spews forth & in doing so make this even worse & if i were to let that spin a bit i'd be way gone in no time. as it stands, i have plans; one day i will be ready to give up my main mail account, which is at this point 90% spam (& never, ever opted into anything). & when that day comes, she's gonna blow, oh you betcha.

becasuse i know that at least some of it will be read. yes. who cares if it's pointles to the point of counterproductivity? what matters is that it feels just fantastic.