|Mode of Life: One Track Song for Now.
||[Oct. 18th, 2003|01:49 am]
(Reprise: Lake of Fire)|
Yeah, you guessed it.
Tom Petty, whether or not this is true, I heard once that his music has lifted people out of comas.
Whether or not this is true, Petty's got that Pettyish Petty nature that is like his last name: Seemingly Trivial Details.
Yet, he busts out some mad hits.
I won't back down.
I'm determined to win, or take a shotgun to the mid-section. I imagine that's pretty painful, so I'll opt for winning.
I'm glad I'm not crazy, because all I wanna do is entertain people and make 'em happy. If that was the case, that I was as bonkers as a shithouse rat, that would be bad for me, since I'd probably fixate on those that can never be happy, constantly in the quagmire of such tasks.
No, I won't fucking back down, motherfucker.
Certainly, there is a peaceful solution out of this. It shouldn't have to come to a traumatic and fatal midsection-full of buckshot.
I've been backed up against myself in this foul year of 2003. I've lost a grandmother that was lost years ago in her failing mind. I lost a job that I actually quit before they got the chance to fire me. I lost another job that I really haven't lost because I haven't heard any notice of being fired from it because I couldn't give that boss what they really wanted from me. I lost my will to settle for the status quo, and that scares me sometimes. The house with two kids, a wife, a stifling mortgage, a modest income, and many sleepless nights of bills unpaid, retirement not prepared, and health and well-being, that's just not good enough for me.
I'm an ingrate, and generally, I'm a son of a bitch. God knows this, and God keeps me here because it'd be the balls if he had to deal with me now. I suppose it works out well for a reason, but as great of an accountant as I can be, I choose to fuzzy around the edges of the bottom line.
Freestyle saying shit like this is the way I feel this is best to communicate at this point. No footing around with simple details and organization. I see others just rip things out like this, and this is one of them deals.
Now, I've gone and added this as a reprise to something else I wrote, and I've gone back for two minutes and checked to see if every word was in place exactly as I felt it. I'm a trained monkey too. I like to read and write and play with bad grammar and shit.
Yeah, I'm a swearing shithead tonight. My aggressiveness may have been contributed to by the interesting film Kill Bill. It wasn't as outstanding as Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, but Kill Bill worked well enough for me tonight. Lots of blood, and lots of revenge. Kooky like Tarantino likes it. If I had watched as many crazy films as he had to steep this one and pay homage, I'd have enjoyed it much more, but I'll have plenty of time to check out Asian fighting films beyond Bruce Lee, in all their shitty production value glory.
One thing I have loved lately is homestarrunner.com. I rolled through that massive pile of pop cuture and guffaws in a couple of days. The hidden gems in the toons are clever, as I love to point my mouse around, looking for the links. Holy Crap!
Now I'm starting to lose some of that piss and vinegar and vigor. Holy Crap!
There sure isn't any easy way out, Tom Petty. Damn, this song is good sometimes.
And, now for the good times. Yes, I focus on negative things, as they've seemingly outnumbered the good times this year.
I did amass enough cash to go visit my pal Brad in Los Angeles. That was the eeeeeeeeeee heee heee good fun that I needed at that time of the year. Watching Brad, drunk as a hooch distillery skunk, seated in a Bellagio elevator, putting his hand in his jacket, asking me if I wanted to buy some ham, is priceless.
Heidi remains faithful to me, as I to her. It's sweetest day, but let me tell the ladies a bit of important info: Most men, when single, when they are generally not attached to any woman, not only do they not know that it's that day, but they also don't care. Don't shed a tear and wave a fist at God. Just wave your fist at your man when he forgets your anniversary, due to the fact that most men are shitty with dates too.
The little moments.
I teased Heidi about my inability to remember dates . . . or clever ruse to excuse myself from responsibility to know of most of them. I knew her birth date, as it's very easy to remember, as it's the same day as my dad's.
She held up three fingers for her day. Then she held up her middle finger.
"Thirty first, yes."
She responded with a middle finger.
"Yes, I'm number one."
Another middle finger from her.
"Yes, you're number one too."
Another middle finger.
"Yes, I know God's number one, too."
"You know, if I wasn't so tired, I'd come over there and tickle you."
Yes Heidi, I know. Some of us have jobs, snicker-snicker, oh shit wait, that's what brings home the bacon. Women are much smarter than men. For real.
I'm also very happy for my life. It's been a hard road, but as long as I can make silly cracks and not be told I'm crass when I damn well know I can be right and proper and everything correct, as if being crass at times isn't fun, come on . . . hopefully you're relaxed by now. I am. Enjoy it. Your body will thank you.