Limitless

Until proven otherwise, and in lieu of a wife, Karen O is God's most beautiful creature. Ever.

Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs

Karen O is Chrissie Hynde,

without the glare,

and I don’t mind.

 

Karen O is the lead singer of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs.

 

“Maps” is the best song I have heard since The New Pornographers, “The Laws Have Changed”.

 

In the video for “Maps” you can see a tear roll down Karen O’s cheek. I usually sneer at such posturing, but not this time. I love her big red ruby lips. She is a dream babe. Emotional and vulnerable and possessive and aggressive.

 

And yes, the band makes all that sound with just guitar and drums.

 

If you feel uncomfortable committing to a full CD or download, buy this month’s Spin Magazine (Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs on the cover). It comes shrink-wrapped with a 13-song CD and three videos – one of which is the glorious presentation of “Maps”. I assure you, you will not be disappointed.

 

 

Karen O

Coolest song of 2004 by far, so far?Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs – "Maps"

Wait, that was a 2003 song? My bad. Bachooey chong.

Flying. Wings.

I’m hallucineating chicken wings.

Visitors

I have company coming today. That means I have to clean. Do you have any idea what a grand task that is? I speak not of the general chore of upkeep, but of the specific overhaul of my big ol' bachelor pad. I have 3 sink-fulls of dishes in one sink. Tumbleweeds mock me in their defiant ramble across the living room floor. My laundry is having a sock hop in the bedroom. My crutches stare back at me as if to say, "We can be of no help in your dilemma." There goes the sympathy plea.

Yuk

Nothing like a reference to a reknown seaport in Rhode Island to make one choose a brand of tobacco. I can't believe that this is what I resorted to after the incident at MMC.

Oh my!

The music of Billy Bragg is somewhat charged to the polarity of a certain end of an ion. It resonates with me.

I may have been an accident waiting to happen. My life has lost its beauty and dignity and passion. But there is a freedom within that I have yet to discover.

And I have a tendency to wake up neighborhoods.

 

And I've had relations with girls from many nations.

 

As I wait for sleep to drag me under,

In the evening gloom I sit and wonder,

The words I should have said to you,

The things I always meant to do,

The bad dreams that all came true.

Guess that still doesn't answer what's in the very untupperware-like container.

Double secret probation

 

Besides me, who else gets to have the term “WISE ASS” in their medical records?

Don't be alarmed, I consider it a badge of honor in that milieu.

Leave

Parable for troubled lovers:

 

I don’t have many leaves on my plants, so I guess I don’t have to worry about watering them so much.

From the Department of Redundancy Department

Good business advice from my friend, Dave:

 

If you need to e-mail something to the other side of the office, always follow it up with an inter-office mail. Then, in case they don’t get it, walk the message over, just to be sure.

Please tape this

 

Here’s me at the UPS Store today:

 

PK:      This PDF*  looks great.

UPS:    Yeah, but it was a big file, so it might take about 10 minutes more or so for the rest.

PK:      Yeah. Whatever. I’ll book to Jack’s and wait it out.

 

So I wander down to Jack’s, the CD store a half-a-block away, to see if there are any CD’s left that I don’t have. Totally scored today. Got Who’s Next and Black Flag-Wasted Again. It’s always an adventure at Jack’s. Though they still lack the Robinella and the CC String Band disc that I cherish.

 

Then I had to go back to UPS for my PDF files.

 

PK:      Still not ready.

UPS:    Few moments.

 

Moments not minutes.

So what do I do?

Shop for tape dispensers, of course.  

 

Ding!

 

10 minutes later, after I have thoroughly analyzed the only single one tape dispenser they have for sale at the store, they tell me my PDFs are ready.

 

I walk up to the counter with coveted tape dispenser in hand and had the audacity to pose the following question…

 

PK:      Does this come with tape?

 

Might as well have asked if it was loaded.

 

UPS:    What if it’s not?

PK:      Um, what?

UPS:    Want me to open it and see for myself?

PK:      No, I’ll probably use it even if it doesn’t come with tape. I think I have tape at home someplace.

 

UPS:    We have a bulk tape discount program if you’re interested……….

 

I also bought a birthday card for my sister and a Father’s Day card, for who else? Dad!

 

Paid. Left. Ate. Two. Slices. Napped.

 

Sorry ‘bout the anti climax. Give me a week or two, I’ll come up with one.

 

*(Adobe Portable Document Format)

Doctor's Orders

 

 

I was told by my doctor not to go into the ocean this weekend, lest I resprain my right knee. She did, however, tell me that it would be fine if I sat near the tide and let the ocean wash up on my legs.

 

She might as well have told an alcoholic that it’s ok to go to a bar and let someone dangle a beer in front of him (or her).

 

I’m off crutches and barely have a limp. In high school and college, that was good enough to go all out in competition. Dare I disregard doctor’s orders? The wind brought the ocean air to Red Bank today, and my nose went up like a hound smelling blood. My eyes went into crazy focus mode and I fixated upon the thought of shouldering my body board and treading down the sand to the incoming tide. There are even storms in the area, which possibly means churning surf.

 

Try to stop me.

Hero

This man reported an erratic driver on the road who almost hit him, and almost caused two other head on accidents. He called 911 because it made him think of his wife and four children. As a result of his call, which was made just hours after he beat the Oakland A's, the driver was arrested.

Plus, it looks to me like he's about to throw a wicked slider.

 

Phone Face

I taped my phone to my face twice in February for a delightful reason. Today, I find myself doing the same for something markedly less enthralling.

Pylon - Crazy

Would someone please buy me some crayons and a coloring book?

Gardening at Night

OK, so it’s a weird looking flower doing the hokey pokey at dawn. Me ain’t not Picasso.

Don't be alarmed. That was a self-inflicted derogatory double negative.

Goo Goo

 See y'all at Jenk's at 6 AM! I'll be the one driving everyone in Monmouth and Ocean home from noon'till around 6 PM. Then it's MY turn.

(To those unfamiliar with the area: Jenkinson’s is a bar in Pt. Pleasant Beach, NJ, where every once in a while a national act is permitted to play. This sometimes happens at this time of year at an ungodly hour of the morning. Jenkinson's is one of the more famous New Jersey shore boardwalk stops. I used to live there. ((Interpret that statement as you choose to, but keep in mind the word used. As in used to.)) Anyway, I saw an ex of mine vomit into a garbage can there last year and I hope not to see her do the same this year, though with the thousands who accumulate, chances are unlikely. (To this day, she has no idea that I saw this happen, but I asked her out again anyway because she was pretty, nice, and at the time oh so sweet). I will be the person who loads six at a time with a geographic orientation into the Eclipse to ensure all get home safely. Danger? Been there. Done that. But lived 5 walking blocks away at the time. My personal mission is to see that no one gets hurt, no one gets arrested, and no one dies.)

Blogologist

My blogologist advised me to write things and to make my home office feel more like a work environment. The advice was two-fold: to thread my way back into professional writing sans the effect of a cold water immersion, and to continue the reawakening of this place as a source of economically productive material. So I spoke with old friends. So I touched base with effortlessly productive others. So I dutifully filled out my time sheet, commuted home, and propped and pinned up some of the work that has financed my life over the past decade-and-a-half. The effect is mesmerizing. After years of capitalist compulsion convincing, I am baffled. I was actually a living, breathing, functioning dude. Fodder for the doctor’s couch. Next step is to pin down the effect of the past three months.

Revalation

The dumber you are, the worse the effect of perception upon influence. Vice versa. 

Don't be alarmed, I know this from experience, not speculation. Get it?

Prophetic rabbit

Twenty-eight days... six hours... forty-two minutes... twelve seconds. That... is when the world... will end. Don't be alarmed, it's just a quote from Donnie Darko.

Transmission

Ever notice how the imperceptible is really perceptible? Ultimately, it’s all about interpreting patterns on different levels, in different gears of consciousness. Gears for years. Jeez, I sound like a college sophomore. Don't be alarmed. I already went to college. This type of incident will not happen again.

Emerge

Void.

Bottoming out in the pit of a valley.

Seclusion awaiting reemergence.

Hooky? Convenient alibi included?

Production impulse. Sloth throws a cock block.

Don't be alarmed. I used the word cock as a modifier, not as a noun. OK, it's a compound noun. Let's not split hairs.

Covet

Hazy edges and dark depths. Marking territory, then leaving.

Then wondering. Wandering.

Accelerating into the fog with quiet confidence.

Walking down the boardwalk, streetlight by streetlight, coveting only the few I dream about. Helluva Monday.

Don't be alarmed. It was a nice walk. It was just a bit foggy out.

April 28, 2004

This is from a month or so ago:

 

I have put myself through a few operational tests, and, disregarding the flippant efforts of this blog, I have not lost the ability to think and write and accomplish the grandiose goals of meeting a haircut appointment, to forgo bargain-priced crap iced tea for the better stuff at retail, and to cradle my cat while he feigns hunger but truly means to gain a hug. (Life’s a bitch, then your cat puts his paw in your mouth just to see if you’re paying attention. Then he looks at me like I’m the weird one.)

 

Things, however, I have forgotten: how to properly operate my digital camera, which week is recycling week, how to install the right driver to make my printer work, the lyrics to “Fake Plastic Trees”, whether my famous chicken recipe requires thyme or parsley, precisely how old I am without counting, which foot I throw my weight on to make a slap shot, and the only thing that I still seem to still be in denial about: the true extent of work I need to do to make my home presentable once again. Some of these things can be resolved with referencing and experimentation, but they never had to in the past. Steer clear of Thorazine at all costs, my friends.

Reverb

 

I am, at times, the echo of a shadow working as a spark.

I usually make more sense than that, but only in the dark.

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Corona

Warm shelter, it's just a kiss away.

Warm shelter, it's just a kiss away.

Warm shelter, it's just a kiss away.

Warm shelter, it's just a shot away.

Under the Boardwalk

Skewed perspective. Typical of me.

Bella nueva estes cowbell

Christopher Walken is the subject of SNL tonight. We need more cowbell. I got a fever and the only prescription is more cowbell. (For the reference, see the link under Favorite Sites at left, scroll down to find the word cowbell. Sit back. Enjoy.)

 

By the way, does anyone know Spanish? Cause I don't.

 

 

The mouth that roars

This is my pet Lefty's mouth. This is the mouth that has given me hundreds of bloody bites. This is the mouth that I, regrettably, raised from a kitten to be hellfire. This is the mouth attached to the body that snuggles up to me at night. This is the cat who runs away when he sees me on crutches. This is the cat who greets me at the door every night wanting dinner and a hug. This is the cat who stirred me to laugh after Christine called him a prick. This is the cat who falls asleep on his back and snores. This is my friend. This the mouth I feed.

 

Dinner time

This is my dinner tonight. I had the same thing last night at 5:00 AM. 

It’s a wonder than I’m not obesely dead.

 

I usually order in from Cluck-U, the chicken place around the corner. Sometimes I get food from Danny’s – they have great pizza and subs and Italian dishes (get the lasagna.) Elsie’s Sub Shop is good too. They’re right around the corner, always hook me up with extra salami, and never run out of peach Snapple.

 

My fave is the Broadway Diner. A block away, a million dishes on the menu, and waitresses who call me “sweetie.” I go there with the NY Daily News, spread the sports section out in a booth, and dine like some enchanted gravy king.

 

I used to cook for myself. Actually, I used to really be into it. I would make poached salmon, stuffed Cornish game hens, Greekified steaks, striper and bluefish fillets, fajitas with pico de gallo…

 

Now, whenever I walk by my (gourmets, start cringing) George Foreman Grill it yelps at me like a character from Pee-Wee’s Playhouse. My stove only reluctantly lets me heat soup on its wistful burners. My oven wallows in neglect. The microwave gloats in the attention it gets from mere popcorn.

 

I suppose there may be others out there who need to go through therapy with their kitchen appliances. For now, though, it’s Hungry Man Buffalo Chicken Cardio Wings with that stupid crappy brownie.

 

Darnit

What is the protocol for vulgarity here? I’ve been winging it and slinging it.

 

For instance, is "balls" a bad word when I'm not talking about golf? Is "nuts" a bad word when I'm referring to something specifically unmacadamia?

I took the red Skittle

I am Neo today. I fixed my own computer. Hooray for me.

You realize, of course, that this enables me to destroy the world of illusion and bring others to the truth of their existence, right? Right? Hello? Is this thing on? (crickets chirping in the background)

Drowning yet dying of thirst

The Flag of Kiribati is my aesthetic favorite of all existing flags. That is the title of one of my short stories. Maybe someday I’ll have the balls to post it.

 

Screw it. I won't. I'm going to hide it under my bed again for 10 more years, just to help the handicappers put odds on ocean vs. land. Me? I always bet on ocean. No matter what tax payer-funded sand replenishment projects, dumb shore-scraping mansion owners, and the army corps of engineers say.

If I could design a flag...

 

I threw this together quite carefully after Quro mentioned that perhaps I might include graphics on this journal. It is an amalgamation of the past week, synthesized into a pathetic display of appropriate items on the backdrop of my bedspread and blanket. I did it fast. If I had my druthers, I’d shift it 90 degrees, but I don’t fear that the opportunity won’t arise again. My reasoning behind it is that there is always shame and injury (crutches) not far beyond the heroics of the brave (bodyboard). And the background is unbalanced because the summer day is longer than the summer night. I threw the flippers in there for flipper fans to fixate upon. BTW, my weak metaphor is not to be considered without topical, political connotations.

Crib

 

My place actually looks ok today. Had the lawn cut and planted 12 flowers in the pots that act as floral sentries on the steps. I went with orange and white this year. Orange for the sunny outlook and white for cold reality. Morrissey would be proud. Oh, and lest we not forget the brown dirt in my hands that put me in reincarnated heaven as I dug out the old and planted anew. Cigarette butts in said dirt not withstanding.

 

Fast

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize
Do You Realize - that everyone you know
Someday will die -

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize

Nuts

 

So there I am, at the hospital again, and the nurse wants to see how far the swelling digs into my thigh. Craig and Jolie are there, a young couple who live together, and who seem to care for my well being. Plus we all surf together.

 

The nurse feels up my thigh, and ends up exposing my balls to the ER.

 

Jolie chimes in with impeccable comedic timing, and an awareness of my MMC history: “Hey PK, they thought you were crazy, but now I can see your nuts.”

 

And we laughed…..

Wipe Out

Welcome back to the MMC emergency room, PK. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. I see you've decided to bring some "friends" again.

Talk about flashback. The funny thing is that this time I was dragged there, last time I went there willingly.

This time there was something wrong with me; I sprained my knee pretty bad.

The last time I got caught in the wet dream of a rubber room social worker.

This time I walked out with a wrap and a limp and friends.

Last time I walked out with invisible scars.

 

Magnetic Ocean

My peach is within reach

of the beach

in long branch

where I have a chance

 to advance with,

 dance with,

 perchance with,

 new romance with.

You

People are inherently nosy. And people draw their own conclusions. So be it.

Accountable

People must be held accountable for their actions. And actions always trump intent. Why? Intent is often misunderstood and leaves room for interpretation. Action is what takes place.

Health

I’m trying to find a good low carb cigarette.

3,000

Damn. I got 3,000 hits. Took Cal Ripken 18 years to do that.

Se habla

Thank you to Nancy for the gentle critique from one who is a bit more fluent. Apparently her grace with language extends multiple dialects. (It does.)

 

Those damn Yankees...They won't lose by 9 runs tomorrow, I promise. (Sox lost, too, BTW.)

 

 

Heather

Mi amore es tre cious, Estella.

Te amo tretious pala Estella, es moey bonita is nombre.

Tesla

Tonight will be called “Fun with Electricity.” Given the state of my fuse box, the number of extension cords I have running, the air conditioners, the washer and dryer, Tele and this computer, it should make for a fun night. Is anyone else’s Verizon service out?

Bad Guy

 

 

I am the bad guy. I groove temptation.®

 

 

 

Advice to those of you in my boots:

Are you experienced?

If so, be like fire, be an emotive force.

Prey on the day.

 

Demand that damned pleasure. Memorized moments hold keys to the future.

The past made you what you are now. It’s time to cultivate those feelings long plowed under.

Bring your dreams to life.

You have feelings buried under years of incremental silt that deserve the beauty of daylight, let alone the brightness of a welcoming, revelatory smile.

 

You should not judge harshly; you should not judge at all. Seduce, not over minutes or hours, but over weeks, months if necessary.

 

My blood is the color of a strong improvisational glance.

Match it, I assure you, we’ll soon someday dance.

 

Yours should be of similar hue.

Pray to the god of mega.

Be the god of you.

 

Periodically, I make a coordinated effort to resurface through the ice of frozen tides. I do not break the ice. I melt the ice. I breathe tonal fogs and dream of feathercats to feed my inspiration.

 

Our generation, despite rumors to the contrary, is not lost.

We segue into newer kisses. We touch, figure, adapt, initiate, explore and relax.

We can be slippery and be seen while being the scene.

We rock.

 

We can go underground and dance with dozens, then alone. Then walk away.

 

I have hazy, hazy motives and project cool, convincing glances. A hip nature comes to mind. Sometimes it’s time to be the savior doctor, sometimes it’s time to recklessly accelerate with determination. Sometimes it’s time to listen to you

whisper and breathe

and imagine you four seasons into the future.

 

I refer to old chart pages of Rolling Stone for nostalgia.

I burn memories like others burn dinner.

I establish myself today, I live for tomorrow.

I get serious about not getting serious.

 

Are you experienced?

 

State of Love

In this day and age, it doesn’t matter how much love you feel, how you connect, or how deeply the desire to hold hands holds you. It is regarded as creepy to express yourself. You can’t say, “I want to kiss”, without being a freak. You can’t hold hands without tipping your hand as someone who might actually love you someday. Any semblance of potential is squelched by morbid speculation. Love is getting scary. And this is coming from ME, not some douche who has never gotten laid.

Monty Pynchon

By popular request, here is the infamous first sentence(s).  

First off, one needs to understand Monty Python and the funny walk skit.

Secondly, one needs to have had a brush with the Crying of Lot 49 or Gravity’s Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon.

Thirdly, one must know about the attraction of lightning to metal things.

And D: One must have a basic knowledge of the mysteries of acupuncture and clown shoes.

 

This is not a Danielle Steele book.

 

Monty Pynchon got hit by lightning on his tongue stud and began walking funny. The electricity apparently took an acupunturesque path and left his mouth unharmed. But his feet, to this day, flop like a clown wearing absurdly huge shoes.

Be right back

Rxxxxxx Love [4:39 PM]:  I LOVE PATRICK Kxxxxx!!!!!
Auto response from Pkbeachbum [4:39 PM]: I will be right back.

 

Typical for me. I’m pre-empting those who care. I was writing.

But I am up to 240 pages and my query is circulating like mad in NYC.

 

Lilly, my wise ass agent, screamed at me today for not answering her VMs.

“How many people called me last week about your query? Do you know? Do you have any idea? Do you even have a fu**** clue how much money is at stake here? Do you even want this to happen? It took you a week to call me back? You must be fu***** nuts! Why do I even work with fu***** writers, let alone you……..” and it went on and on and on. I microwaved a burrito while she ranted. We made up.

 

But my priority isn’t the book.

Decade

1994, to the veritable day, from the blog log:

If you care to know who I was 10 years ago read. If not, do not.

 

My summer hit me out of the blue today. My skin is brown, my hair is blond, and I smell like a coconut. I’m drinking seltzer like it’s going out of style. Not to mention margaritas. My girlfriend is a go-go dancer. There are too many cool discs to buy. I’m not buying a Jeep. Yet. My hair is growing long. Today is near the middle of May, the sun has shone all day long and for the first time this year I have out survived the stiff beach breeze.

 

The fuzz before the focus.

The blank before the crank.

The quiet before the quagmire.

Seething with apathy, the tide of sequence has ebbed and faded.

For better or worse, here I am aground.

Sadness essential, spinning potential, the future torrential. Call Prudential.

3rd Base

She: What was dinner tonight?

 

Me: I had 4 fist fulls of Cheerios and a chicken finger that was on the floor for less than 3 seconds. I go by the 3 second rule.

 

She: …3? We go by 5 seconds

 

Me: 5 seconds? Shit. In that case I could eat way more. That's a long time in this house. I don't vacuum as much.

 

Plus, I have to race Lefty. First we lock eyes. Then we see each other thinking. Then it's a sudden all out race to the food. Winner gorges. This exchange between human and feline takes all of 1.5 seconds.

 

Then I get torn to shreds as I win and eat.

 

She:…well. I guess lefty feels whatever hits the floor is his...after all...his mouth IS closer to the floor than yours is...lol

Me:  Exactly, as are his razorblade claws. And appetite. But I used to play 3rd base, dammit.

Box Cutter Claws

Right now, Lefty is posed on his back from the waist up like Jesus on the cross. Posed like a spread eagle cat exhibitionist from the waist down. Eyes flicking, chest heaving, paws twitching, mewing in his sleep. And I gotta catch z’s next to this ball of friggin fur. He’s a 20 lb. cat who sleeps with limbs akimbo, taking up way too much space on this bed that is MINE. I think it’s time to re-evaluate the value of a true girlfriend who can occupy this area with mutual productivity.

Z

She: Did I wake you?

Me: No. Yes. I’ve been sleeping.

She: How long? 

Me: 15 hours.

She: What did you take?

Me: Effexor, Trazodone, and Xanax. But only the second to the last half of a Xanax I had. I am on my way to feeling better. Way better.

She: How?

Me: Trust me. Things have suddenly become better.

Perfect pH

 

Oh gallant me. The fuzz endures, the buzz demurs. I’ve turned  bumming a smoke into a chivalrous act.  Leave it to me to insert numbness into the lives of others. Leave it to me to neutralize the chemistry. Leave it to me to ice the ice. I am walking static, white noise personified, the precise place where acid and base collide.

 

I slink away into the dark, with merely minor legacies left behind; absent from the wide wake waves of potential. But you know what? I’m cutting through choppy tide. On my way unto a ride.

silence

The previous girl was as benign as a kiss on the cheek compared to this wicked person who is probably in an exhausted respite from knocking on my door. I am a living, breathing moron. I didn’t think I could sink further, but yet I have. This time, however, it was not of my doing. I have mildly powerful thoughts functioning. My brain is again active. She cannot get in. Not even to sleep on the couch. Not this time. We know (not her.)

What a Pill

The Trazadone made me feel alone,

the Thorazine clouded my scene.

The Effexor mad me hate to hex her,

but the Xanax acted to quell my panics.

 

 

(Ok, the meter isn’t exactly perfect, but it was a first stab at rhyming pharmaceuticals with real results. BTW, do not attempt this if you are not a copywriter. There is no reason to do so.)