| Rather be forgotten than remembered for giving in |
[07 Jan 2010|09:38pm] |
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Refused |
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i have something important to do and a lot of poignant things to say. so in true Miguel fashion i will procrastinate until the deadline and say absolutely nothing about what i really want to say. i had actually written a whole bunch of the stuff i was going to say and deleted it but i promised i would post SOMETHING whenever i did that. it may have been a drunken promise and i am pretty sure i have the promise wrong.... but, goddamn it, i am going to post something...so, its been half an hour and i haven't been able to come up with anything even remotely interesting to say. my sleeping pattern is going back to how it was in high school. which is REALLY bad. i have been going to bed at around 2. who knows at what time i actually fall asleep. and waking up at 7:20. its kinda bugging me. i have been lucky for a couple naps here and there so i pretty much make it through the day no problem. i just cant help and think this is bad for me. i made it through high school fine so it cant be THAT bad. but really thinking about it as much as i want to sleep im kind of happy im not. i feel like i waste my entire day at work and i have to do shit for myself (which can include doing nothing) all night. i should look up possible repercussions....or i could watch youtube videos of old cartoon shows....FUCK SLEEP!
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[21 Sep 2009|12:07am] |
no jokes, metaphors, or vague bull shit.
i really need to vent/rant.
i sincerely believed i was over gladys and the entire thing. she gave me no other choice but to move on. and i tried. and i thought i did.
but after finally getting to the point where i was feeling like "yeah, i got this in check. im done." for a good amount of time mind you. out of fucking no where! i had some dreams about her that fucked me up all sorts of ways. in one swoop completely brought up EVERYTHING. the good. the bad. the boring. EVERYTHING.
and i have been trying to think of these dreams as nothing more than just that. and trying to not think about them at all. but its not working.
and im freaking the fuck out man.
im seriously scared i might NEVER get over her.
she obviously has no intention of coming back to me.
and its also obvious if two dreams could do this i was/am NOT over her.
its terrifying. because i dont want to be like this.
i dont want to be that fucking guy who is in love with someone who could not possibly care any less about him.
what a fucking pathetic existence.
looking back now really all i was doing was lying to myself. i am still in love.
it just pisses me off because i have NO REASON to be.
i have so many reasons to hate her. and believe me ive tried to and i really wish i did. but i dont. and i cant. and its really fucking me up man.
i feel incredibly alone.
and all the friends in the world, loving family members, and most comforting words wont change that.
if anything. they make it worse. i want to hear them from her. i want her to be there.
the level of pathetic that i am hitting. i am completely aware of. but it really doesn't make any difference. i cant stop myself. being self aware. if anything pisses me off and sadness me more.
im going to keep the tiny little shred of dignity i have and will not contact her no matter how bad i want to. but it seems like all i do is think about doing so.
i honestly dont know man.
im not going to proof read any of this so if it doesnt make sense. sorry. i just had to get this off my chest.
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[12 Jul 2009|12:44am] |
There’s many who’ll tell you they’ll give you their love,
But when they say “give” they mean “take.”
They’ll hang ‘round just like vultures till push comes to shove.
They’ll take flight when the earth starts to shake.
Someone may say that they’ll always be true,
Then slip out the door ‘fore the dawn.
But I won’t leave you hanging on.
Another may stay till they find someone new,
Then before you know they’ll be gone.
But I won’t leave you hanging on;
No, I won’t be that someone.
And come what may, I won’t abandon you or leave you behind
Because love is a loyalty sworn, not a burning for a moment.
And come what may, I will be standing right here by your side;
I won’t run away, though the storm’s getting worse and there’s no end in sight.
Some talk of destiny, others of fate,
But soon they’ll be saying goodbye.
But I won’t leave you high and dry.
Because a ring don’t mean nothing
If you can’t haul the weight,
And some of them won’t even try,
But I won’t leave you high and dry;
I won’t leave you wondering why.
And storms will surely come,
But true love is a choice you must make
And you’re the one that I have set my heart to choose.
As long as I live, I swear I’ll see this through.
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[06 Jul 2009|11:04pm] |
"Nothing is hotter than being intellectually challenged by someone."
Truer words i have not heard.
But where the fuck are the girls that can fucking do that?!?!?!?!?
Seriously!
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[23 Jun 2009|10:03pm] |
I think its common knowledge i hate my job.
BUT! You know what i realized i really like about my job?
all the shits homeless people take.
yeah. i was never much of a down-towner and never really put much thought into what homeless people did when they went brown town. i assumed they just shit in a gas station restroom floor or the walls of a Ross bathroom stall.
but nope.
it seems that they (or one very well fed homeless person) shit around the place hiding fist sized nuggets of depression in bushes all day and night long.
everyday on my walk from my car to and from work its like a twisted stinky egg hunt finding them suckers. you can see me spotting out little piles of shit wheres waldo style...happy as fuck.
except maybe in the morning. sometimes they are fresh and my stomach is still waking up...and yeah... i cant take that smell.
its crazy too when then later in the day i get out and the pile is COVERED in flies. like wing to wing. it makes the shit look like its covered in diamonds. and then they freak out when i pass by and they all get off at the same time. it looks kinda cool. like when they show a flower bloom in fast forward. or like when birds fly out of trees at the same time.
yeah. like that. but with flies....on shit.
the best shit story i got though is i was getting out of work, hot ass day, and im walking behind a lady and we cross the street. im looking down because im going for a little curb hop onto the sidewalk and i can HEAR the lady kick a good palm sized rock out of the way. but then from my peripherals i see the rock breaks. so i look at it quickly because im like "wtf is up with this lady and her rock crushing legs?!"
and guess what i see....
a giant sun hardened. petrified turd!
it was baked for so long in the sun the thing turned into a ROCK!!!
i didnt even know that could happen!!!!!!!
well needless to say i laughed which only fucked me up because it caused me to suck in the pure soul of the turd. which i guess was out for vengeance for being entombed in there because it hit my nostrils so hard the bottom of my eyes fucking stung.
okay i think thats enough shit talk. i was just going to say i didnt like my job. and then this happened. i guess you could say my mind took....a.....SHIT!?!?!?!?!
yeah. im done.
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| ATTENTION: SMALLGUYS! |
[24 Feb 2009|09:11pm] |
my fellow ukulele/girl/beard enthusiast. check this shit out.
All-in-one!
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| Hi, how are ya? |
[06 Feb 2009|11:12pm] |
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Poison the Well - Letter Thing |
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last time i updated was new years? right? i think so.
i dont really have much to say. well i do but not much i want to type up....
i just wanted to update for the sake of updating.
i like the way this year has been going so far though.
"how has it been going?" you say.
"Let me sum it all up in one picture. Its been like this..." i say.
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| Disclaimer: Fuck You. |
[29 Dec 2008|02:42am] |
Now I don't know if it's just me. But it seems that it's always those who don't know what they are talking about will speak the loudest. I don't want to sound like some sort of secret genius child prodigy or some shit but since I was a little kid I have known the following:
stay quiet when I don't know whats going on.
don't talk if I have nothing to say.
ask. understand. think. learn. THEN and ONLY then. speak.
If I HAVE to speak, then at the very fucking least, give a disclaimer of some sort before hand in which my ignorance is stated.
and be open to corrections/hear everyone out.
But sometimes it seems like I actually maybe a secret genius. Because....ala gran PUTA!
I mean....FUCK!...the shit that will flow out of peoples mouths is just like a hot jet-stream of diarrhea. UNSTOPPABLE, UNCOMFORTABLE, and most of the time DISGUSTING.
and all the while they remain freakishly thick headed!
I don't claim to be exempt from doing this. I am no saint. I will talk out of my ass with NO LOVE while verbally shitting my thoughts out. But again (when I'm done or even during) I will take any constructive criticism into consideration, any off-hand opinion openly, and a third alliteration here. where as most these people will close their fucking minds and stand their ground no matter how little they know. and its just...I dont know. STUPID.
I thought after a certain age these people would wise up. but its the opposite. the older they get the MORE sure of themselves they become. and get more aggressive about it all.
And don't even get me started on the sub-category of these know nothing's who then go on to judge other people. JACK ASSES ON HIGH HORSES.
I am sorry if anyone gets butt hurt because of the shit I'm saying I'm just ranting at 4 in the morning. this isn't a classic indirect back handed slap in the face post. but i will say that you probably got offended because deep down you know you have these traits and recognize your assholitude. so ... that is actually your problem. don't get mad at me.
and i take my apology back.
I guess all I really want to say is stop fucking assuming you know everything. hear other people out before your opinion becomes fact. and remember what Socrates said
"All I know is that I know nothing."
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[05 Dec 2008|08:16pm] |
i dont really have anything to say.
but look at this. i liked it. so. fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck it.....?
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[13 Nov 2008|05:50pm] |
MY BRAIN IS CONSTIPATED!!
I seriously need some intellectual diarrhea. and bad. i cant seem to fucking focus on anything! i go through this bullshit non stop! i have tons of things on my mind, ideas i want to share, things i want to say, worries that concern me, just random day dreams i want to materialize in words or fucking drawings and i cant fucking get them out!!!!
you may be asking "Miguel this seems to happen a lot to you from time to time. don't you let it all out eventually?"
well see the best way to answer that and MAYBE even have those who dont know how this feels understand is with a nice analogy.
before i move on i would like to acknowledge the fact that alot, if not all my analogies, involve bowel movements. and would like to defend myself before being judged.
See most of the time i am trying to get someone to understand what i am saying. i want them to connect with my INSTANTLY to be with me 100%. in order to do that i need common ground. SO with that in mind ask yourself this:
What is more universal than shitting?
dont even try to answer that because there isn't. shitting is the only thing that WE ALL DO, WE ALL FEEL, and have such daily interaction with that no matter how weird a shit story you may have the person you are speaking with has at SOME POINT or another gone through EXACTLY the same thing. if not something like it and are still able to heavily relate. so ANY shit story can work to help you get your point across. i mean c'mon we shit so much in our life times its hard for NOT be able to compare things with it. and its always practical. LOOK!
Person A: Hold up i want to go shower before we go out.
Person B: Bro, thats fucking stupid. why would you do that?
Person A: Why not? its just so i can be clean.
Person B: Thats fucing dumb. Shower when we get back!
Person A: WHY!?
HOW can B prove his point quickly and be understood INSTANTLY? using something related to shit/shitting thats how.
Person B: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHY?! taking a shower BEFORE we go out is like wiping your ass BEFORE you shit!
Person A: wow. Miguel you are wise beyond your years.
See.
shit!
so to get back on track here...NO! i dont let all these backed up ideas out.
its like when you have to shit really really bad but you cant so you have no other choice but to grind your teeth, sit with your ass cheeks clenched like a fist, and hold it in. But eventually it just goes like back up your stomach like a suppository or something and then you dont have to shit.
and THEN! it just comes back with a vengeance!
My mind is at that with a vengeance part. BUT NOTHING IS COMING OUT!!!!!! its so fucking frustrating im lashing out at people, i dont want to do anything, when i DO do (lol) something i cant focus because its like everything is trying to come out all at once and i just get even more fucking FRUSTRATED!!!!
that is really all i have to say.....yep.
Hope that all made sense becuase im not going to proof read. that would be like concerning myself with trying to make my turd logs come out straighter. its pointless and i really dont care. i just wanna shit.
livejournal is my toilet.
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[02 Nov 2008|03:02am] |
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sometimes.......someFUCKINGtimes. i wonder.
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[29 Oct 2008|12:07am] |
The ONE thing i hate about this amazing weather.
is my parents love for opening all the fucking windows and making us sleep with them open.
WHY?!
because fucking spiders! that's why!!!!
that and the fact that any joe six pack walking by can hear into my room/house.
how can one sleep when the only thing separating you and some crazy ass old person with nothing to lose is a fucking SCREEN!
not very well that's how.
im going to be found by someone a dead and raped hollowed out husk of a body inhabited by thousands of poisonous spider eggs!
other than that one reason tho... im loving this nice ass weather.
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[08 Oct 2008|01:14pm] |
What do the following events of my life all have in common?
-My funeral
-Every time someone calls to tell me i didn't get the job.
-Every time i have sex
-Every time i remember i owe A LOT of money i DO NOT have.
-When someone calls me something hurtful.
-When people tell me what to do.
-When i win a video game.
-Every time i work out.
-Anytime i fall down or hurt something. i.e. stubbed toe, paper cut, blah blah blah
-When ever i get diarrhea
-When ever i have to pee real bad but have nowhere to go.
and
-Any time i run
what they all have in common is i want the Benny Hill Theme song to play during all of them.
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| The Cannon |
[04 Oct 2008|04:04pm] |
Q: and who will be fired out of the cannon?
A: My brother will be fired out of the cannon.
Q: And what is the name of the cannon?
A: Mons Meg. Dulle Greite. Malik-i-Mydan, Tzar Pooska, Dhool Dhanee, Zufr Bukh. Her nickname is Inevitable. She is also called Sweet Mouth and The Up, Up, And Away. She is known as The Widow for her coloring and because she has had congress with many men. She is also called The Mermaid by her husbands—the men who oil her parts and polish the O of her mouth, and harness her and pull her along from town to town—they say we should release her into the harbor, to see if she swims away. It is their little joke. She is called The Conversation, because she will speak courteously if you address her with a match. She is called The Only Answer, because she only ever gives the same answer, no matter your question.
Q: And what is your brother’s name?
A: I have already forgotten it.
Q: How far will he travel?
A: He will travel so far, he will never come home again. His feet will never touch the ground, not for the rest of his life. He will never see his family again. He will never see the cannon again, but for the rest of his life, he will dream of her round, fixed, roaring black mouth.
Q: Who are these women?
A: They are his wives. After my brother is fired from the cannon, his two youngest wives will take his place in the cannon. They are wearing his luggage on their backs, filled with his belongings, his books, his golf clubs, his correspondences, his record collection, his toiletries, his identification. His wives will climb into the cannon and leave the cannon in much the same way that my brother will leave it, but they won’t go to the same place he is going. Men and women don’t travel to the same place.
Q: Why not?
A: No one knows why.
Q: Will he never come home again?
A: He will never come home again.
Q: Why must the cannon be fired?
A: The cannon must be fired because that is the reason for cannons. Ordnance must be placed in the cannon. Ordnance must be fired out of the cannon. The cannon serves no other purpose. A man may accidentally fall asleep in a cannon, or take shelter from a rainstorm, or hide from his enemies inside a cannon, but in the end, the cannon must be fired.
I once fornicated with a married woman inside the Sweet Mouth. She was agoraphobic. I said I was agnostic.
I said, “Yes, like that, don’t wriggle so much,” and she said, “How do you like this?” and “Watch your head,” and while we were fucking, her husband came up and lit a match, and then we were flying. We sailed out like grappling shot. My lover yelled back at her husband, “Cock her up a bit, master gunner!” and we watched him get smaller and smaller.
I held on to her hips and the tails of her hair and fucked her as we passed over the countryside, and she wrapped her legs around my waist and fucked me back. When we were finished, we flew along side by side, and she remarked that she was grateful to me and the cannon and her husband. The affair had cured her of her agoraphobia. We fucked some more, to celebrate, and then we came to a town and I grabbed on to the steeple of an Episcopal church. She kept on going along. She wasn’t ready to go back down again. I had a long walk home. I haven’t seen her since.
Q: Did your brother have a happy childhood?
A: Why don’t you ask him? He used to sit on my head. Once he set off firecrackers in my closet. He substituted toothpaste-and-cucumber sandwiches for my lunch. He ripped out the last pages of his comics before he gave them to me to read. He saved up his allowance and paid Josepha Howley and her four sisters to chase me around the neighborhood. When they caught me, they took off my shorts and tied them to a tree branch.
Q. Did the cannon have a happy childhood?
A. A long time ago, before all the wars were over and done with, when large artillery still had other uses, there was a master gunner who loved the cannon. Wherever he traveled he took her with him. She was his mascot, his victory, his confidante, his clock. For love of the master gunner she took Odruik. She took Prague, Famagusta, Seringapatam, Bajadoz. She took Cairo, she took dancing lessons, she took Beethoven’s hearing and Napoléon’s arm. She took and took and the master gunner gave and gave. He tickled her with his funis ignarii and his wands and his wormers, he wooed her with Valturio’s patented incendiary shells, with fireworks and grapeshot, lead, granite, and bronze; he anointed her with costly scents—saltpetre, serpentine, sulfur, charcoal, antimony. When the master gunner was old and rich and tired of going to war, he retired to the Riviera and built a castle. He married the cannon and he tied up her muzzle in a bonnet of white silk so that she would look like a lady. On Sundays the master gunner harnessed his wife to four ex-cavalry horses and rode her down the road to the chapel.
His wife was too stout to fit through the doors, though, and when the priest turned down the master gunner’s offer to pay for a new set of doors, the gunner left her tied up next door in the cemetery. The horses cropped the grass and the gunner paid a small boy to watch and make sure that no one took his wife to melt down for scrap. After services, the younger members of the congregation used to go pick through the cemetery for rocks and small bits of masonry, for the master gunner to fire off.
Inside his castle the master gunner built a ramp so that when he went up to bed, the cannon went with him, and when he came down in the mornings for his breakfast, the cannon went too. To their great sorrow, they never had children and when at last the master gunner died, the undertakers dressed him in his traveling clothes and placed him inside his wife, the cannon. This was consummation. But the charge was inadequate, and when the master gunner left his wife at last, he got only as far as the next town over. They found his boots in an irrigation ditch, his johnnie in a lemon tree, his body tumbled over a sheep wall, his head in the shepherd girl’s lap.
His heirs sold his widow to a circus impresario.
Q: Is there such a thing as a happy marriage?
A: Let me answer that question. My name is Venus Shebby. When I was a young girl, they fired me from the cannon one day and when I came down, I was in a different place. A beautiful place, full of beautiful people! The people who live in that beautiful place are hairy in winter and in spring they shed their hair and go naked.
In winter, they catch fish by setting fires on the frozen lakes, but in summer they don’t eat fish. In summer they eat fruit and grains which they ferment in bladders, and those people stay drunk the whole summer long. Summer is the time of ghosts. In winter, ghosts are easy to spot. There are stories about winter ghosts found tangled like lice in their lovers’ hair. Dead people have no hair themselves, which is how they can be recognized in winter. But in summer, the living and dead may pass each other on the street, and no one knows the difference. There are epic comedies, famous tragedies about the misunderstandings that ensue.
Those beautiful people collect their hair as they shed it, and keep it in pouches which they wear around their waists. The people wash the hair and perfume it and card it and comb it. In summer, the living wear woven hair belts and their pouches of hair around their waist, to show they are living people. But there are always fashionable people, who pretend to be dead, and there are cunning dead people, who steal hair from living people. For this reason, it is a deadly insult to pick off a strand of someone else’s hair and put it in your own pouch, unless you have been invited to do so.
The people form societies to weave enormous carpets from their shed hair, and these carpets are soft and warm and heavy. The people sleep under these carpets in winter, once they are married, and they marry as many wives and husbands as can sleep together comfortably under one carpet. There is one word, which means all three of these things: marriage, carpet, society. There is no word for war or for travel. The people do not have a word for cannon. There are no cannons. All of the people’s artifacts are made of hair and bone and skin. (Can you imagine a cannon made out of hair?) Even their histories are told on tapestries woven out of hair. But there is nothing as beautiful as the marriage carpets.
I have a collection of photographs of married people, lying together, all piled together beneath their marriage carpets, red and brown and black and amber and gray, looking as if particularly thick and hairy circus tents have collapsed. Heads and feet poke out at the edges, and some of the people are sneaking looks out of the embroidered, unfastened holes which are for breathing. The fastening buttons are carved of bone. If you have money, I’ll show you these photographs. Industrious people sometimes weave carpets so large that they can marry several hundred other people all at once.
Other carpets the beautiful people keep in houses which are only for this kind of carpet, and not for living in. The carpets kept in these houses are the carpets in which the people are buried.
In summer, I might have been born in that place. The first winter, I was a novelty. I had my pick of husbands and wives. At the end of the second winter, when the ice was thawing, they sent me away. They said it was like sleeping with a dead person. I gave them bad dreams, and finally they couldn’t sleep at all if I was near them. They use the same word for dead and for summer and for hairless, and after a while that word became my name. I left when they divorced me. They have no word for divorce.
I built a cannon out of ice, and wrapped myself in the funeral carpet which my husbands and wives had woven for me out of their own hair, and one of my wives was my gunner. I came back here, after many adventures, and once, when I’d been drinking, donated the funeral carpet to the national museum. When I was sober again, I asked for it back, but they claimed not to know what I was talking about. I live by myself and this old, bald, shabby thing I wear is a horsehair throw I found in a thrift store.
When I wake up, sometimes, before I open my eyes, I imagine that I am still lying under a marriage carpet with my husbands and wives. My hands are full of their sweet, perfumed hair. My name is Venus Shebby and once I was very beautiful, as beautiful as a cannon carved out of ice.
Q: Who was that woman?
A: Venus Shebby.
Q: How is a cannon like a marriage?
A: I don’t know.
Q: Who was the first person to be fired from a cannon? Was it a man or a woman?
A: The first person to be fired from a cannon was a young man dressed as a woman. His name was Lulu. Sometimes, when someone is fired from a cannon, they say they are demonstrating “the Lulu leap.”
Q: Do you love your brother?
A: I love my brother like a brother.
Q: Do you think I’m beautiful?
A: You are beautiful, but not as beautiful as Venus Shebby was, when she was young. You’re not as beautiful as the cannon.
Q: Thank you for being honest. Why does your brother have so many wives, when you have no wives at all?
A: I don’t know.
Q: Will you say yes when I ask you to marry me?
A: I don’t know.
Q: What noise will the cannon make? Why can’t you love me, just for a little while? Why must the cannon be fired? How long will your brother be gone? Why won’t your brother come back? Will he never come back? What are you putting in your ears? Is it time for the cannon to be fired? May I ask the cannon these questions? What will she say?
A: A noise as loud as God, but only my brother and his wives will hear it. Everyone else is putting beeswax in their ears. I don’t know. I don’t know. A long time. He won’t come back again. No. Beeswax and cotton. Soon. I don’t know. No. Not now. Be patient. Listen. Listen
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[29 Sep 2008|04:56pm] |
The ONLY! SINGLE! ONE! UNO! thing i don't like about being in a serious and loving relationship is......
that it seems this is the only kind of porn i can watch without feeling guilty.
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| Spanish Super Star Stud! |
[17 Sep 2008|02:33am] |
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in case you haven't seen me shine on Spanish television. its not too late to catch me blinding audiences with superb acting abilities. i did a new show today. it only took for ever and a fucking day to get done but let me tell you something...its gripping. my mother and I's performances were heart wrenching to say the least. i dont want to give away the plot so ill just sum it up with i want my daughter and home back...!!!...other than that ill just say you are in for a surprise! WINK!! WINK!!!!!
but for real this shit was fun. i am loving these fucking things. quick ass money, free food, and i meet cool ass people. i just don't like remembering all the little details and sometimes lines for the stories. but before you start hating television lemme just say sure the episodes i have done are just made up stories but they aren't ALL stories. i don't know which are and which aren't but don't lose hope in TV just yet. sometimes what they do is get actors or random ass people to re-enact real court cases or shit that's happened. but yeah. i am pretty sure the ones i have done were straight up bullshit. if not i wasn't told so.
that's really all i got to say.
be on the look out for that one.
i am gonna be on Caso Cerrado.
i dont know when its going to air. we just filmed it today.
im just saying it now coz if not ill forget.
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