Monday, January 13, 2003

that is bullshit; hare krishna

yeah, what can you do.
you know you're in trouble when you're licking a bag.
like the kitty is licking one.

or smelling a flower.
in someone's ass.
more mary jane please.

today, the 49ers got stomped by tampa bay and the raiders beat the Jets.
can't you tell how joyful i am?
good heavens miss sakamoto, you're beautiful.
taster's choice is the best way to think about these things.

there is no more Happy.
he does not exist anymore.
we are happy.
that happy is gone.
it seems much emptier. the kitties are noticeably pleased, i.e. extremely curious about all this new open space they never were able to enjoy ever before.
yes it is true.
Happy is gone.

it is a happy day.
we didn't leave on a sour note, though we are glad to see him go.
frightful, he live with.
just a slob.
Ol' Happy doesn't even have a job in LA, where he's heading.
something in my armpit hurts.
my left armpit.
fucking bullshit, that's what that is.

i am stronger, faster and more spirited than your average template.
a year ago today i was working for aka euro rscg or was it mvbms partners?
i can never remember which.
feeling antisocial of least...more so than usual.
need to take a step back, reassess shit.
you know?
you know.

Baal is watching. and he is waiting. for you.
don't be blue. wear a screw. your hair is new.
planet earth is blue and there's nothing i can do.
i should change my page now santa.
i should change my page.

i should do a lot of things.
piles of books i'm always "going to read."
piles of shit everywhere, shit i at some point deemed essential enough to stay.
but see, i never want to be immediate about my clean-up.
present tense tim doesn't want to deal with the hassle. present tense tim is all about the NOW, hence the name.
but see, future tim gets pissed at present tense tim because future tim isn't necessarily any more organized than present tense tim, or, in this particular reference, past tim.
but you see what i'm saying.

yes, indeed.
or there are the times like today, in which present tense tim helps out future tim, such as purchasing enough shoe strings to last this current situation (two shoes with fucked up laces for several weeks - yes, i am extremely lazy).
i'm good at it too.
hold on while i take another hit off this lazy-making pipe.
lit courageously and defiantly (fuck you femi-nazis...even though i kind of admire femi-nazis, until they're mean to me personally..then they suck).
fuck you america and your puny laws!

you can't stop me!

yet, i will sit for an hour obsessing about the cleanliness of said pipe(s) - glass, thank you... REAL pot conossieurs only smoke out of glass accessories.
they ARE the easiest to keep clean. plus, very handy this for the concert-going public, they don't set off metal detector machines.
not that that many clubs in SF actually have metal detectors,,,but in this time of extreme overprotection from potential terrorist attacks (usually the guys that live down the street with their big families, loud dogs, screaming kids and various temporary "guests" drinking beer till 4am on their front lawn), it's always good to be, uh, wise about how overt you are about your drug use.

which, took a bit of getting used to after moving to SF.
i mean, shit, living in midwest, you come to expect people to speak in very very hushed tones when speaking about illegal activity such as this.
i definitely remembered the difference between michigan and the bay area regarding permissiveness of open drug use when i sparked up a pipe stuffed with smuggled california green (because, as a pot snob, i cannot and will not smoke the skanky-ass twig-heavy "mexican" (i.e. homegrown) brick shit commonly available in the great lakes area) in the middle of the Planet E party in Detroit at the DEMF 02 with tamara p.
we argued with the guys who busted us for a good 10 minutes that we weren't leaving. luckily we had press passes so we just wandered next door over at richie hawtin's tactile/scary for fucked up tweakers party...totally drenched in darkness, with thick ass fog everywhere. you would randomly have your hand run into somebody's face, breast, shoulder, neck, etc.
couldn't be helped.
copping a feel wouldn't be as easy as some pervs might think. (see, i wouldnt' actually DO this, me not being a perv or anything...but thinking about what other dorks who in fact ARE pervs, and what they might do in a situation such as that), because.....your natural instinct is to put your hands out in front of you, to protect your face, your head, your brain, eyes, chest (heart) and shit like that you really need, yo.

so you're not doing a lot of random ass grabbing or cootchie scrumping, especially when, at a party such as richie hawtin's, you're more likely to run into a guy than a girl....guys usually out number women at virtually all social events that involve dancing, drinking alcohol, taking illegal(and legal) drugs, and such sundries.

song now playing: Seefeel's "Time to Find Me" (AFX - aphex twin - slow mix) old old old..
good good good.
minimal minimal minimal.

minimal is good.
so was manimal.
maybe not.

back to what i was saying.
which was.

smoke more, um, green plates.

oh joy of joys.
joy of cake.

hare krishna

durutti column is playing. i really don't know them that well. i probably should know them better than i do.
thing is, there are probably a lot of bands that i SHOULD know more shit about.
but who gives a shit at the end of the day.
it's not like i got a guy i gotta check in with each day before i go to bed, before i punch out for the day, who quizzes me on the latest music gossip, the latest musical genres springing forth, and the hot shit as it were.
i mean, i wish i did, because it would keep me sharp.
you know.
fuck satan.

speaking of...satan.
but first, i should finish my thought i was going to finish, the reason i opened this damn blog thingie back open (procrastinating YET AGAIN, story of my posse life isn't it? aol's steve case resigned today. see, i predicted it just a few days ago. i'm so fucking prescient, i rule the omniscient scene soon, what you think homes?).
the kitty is sleeping on my left arm. she tends to do that when i type.
could also have something to do with the fact i am smoking mary jane and she really enjoys being around when mary jane is around.
but THE kitty is rather large marge.
and i need an additional beverage, because of my oral fixation (hey, i beat cigarettes. give me a fucking medal), as well as my addiction to mary jane (hey, you can't win 'em all bitch). make that psychological addiction to mary jane. there exists a difference.
it's true.
not that it matters. fuck you.
i am my own person.
i choose.
choose life.
choose a fucking big television.
see, this is what happens to your brain on plugs.
especially with the hat i'm wearing right now.
see, now that reminds me of my goddamn facial hair that i'm sporting right now.
which still isn't talking about what i planned on talking about...the damn porn lighters of tina's.
but now it's 12:20 am and the kitty is getting heavier on my left arm as i type and i still need that drink of liquid. fuck pig.

fucking kitty is a constant licker of everything.
someday i'll get my shit together. as soon as i fuck myself up more.
good idea don't you think.
the kitty is licking my right hand now.
first, satan.

rosemary's baby, like so many films from that era (i call it the "olden times"), the scariness seemed forced and stilted, almost uncomfortable.
in fact, i often feel uncomfortable and jostled about conversation-wise when viewing old films. the dialogue just doesn'
seems, forced.
not real.

but even when people from olden times (like back in the 30s and before that)...are interviewed for real, people often come off as really stiff,,,more formal...though it was a new medium,,people weren't saturated like we are today.
we can't ever go back though.

something calming about Miles Davis. as i get older, i realize it takes a certain, specific sort of mindset to even sort of get miles.
and i don't pretend to KNOW miles. fuck that.
only miles knew miles.
but that's a whole other issue.

so fuck satan too.
but funny in a kitschy, gloriously odd way.
mia farrow was odd. cute. strange. very wide-eyed intellectual sorta-hippie wannabe. at least she was then.
john cassavetes' character, her husband, who was obviously much older, i guess was supposed to be a cold and callous hollywood type but i wasn't buying it.
i liked him in that film "tempest" though with molly ringwald and gena something.

so yeah, the porn lighters.
tina's christmas craft.
i like this christmas craft.
a highlight of my holiday season this year, which, proved to me more than anything else, i can have an enjoyable holiday season as long as i concentrate on not trying too hard to do anything.
flying by the seat of my pants as it were, rocked this year, more for new year's than xmas...but it was interesting to NOT be at home on christmas day for the first time in my life.
a stupid turning point in a life, sure, but then again, i'm the only one that really has to give a shit.
and i do give a shit.
so fuck you.

fuck chew.
fu chew.

these pretzels are making me thirsty.
too bad i'm not eating pretzels.

ok this has to end.
i have to do my shit.
like, my jobby job shit.

damn right.

cake for some.

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