Shattered Heirloom

Sad day in the Kedian household tonight. Lefty's baby dish was broken by a falling pasta pot. I know I'm an idiot for getting sentimental for things like that that, but to hell with it it. I'm sad about it and I'm going to wear it on my sleeve. I remember the day I bought it for him. He was six weeks old and I was with with Natalie, my buxom model girlfriend. She thought it was adorable that I would buy such a cute dish for my new kitten. Well, tonight it was smashed to pieces. Lefty didn't know the difference, far as I could tell. Food is food to him. As it should be to all of us.

Fix You-Coldplay

I am the father of all mistakes. I am the imputus of all gone wrong. I am the author of tragedy beholden to eternity. I cannot help myself. I am a juggernaut of self-destruction. All I love revolts against me. I am the last gasp of the mariner sinking into the sea. I am the broken ripcord of the skydiver seeking solid land.

Vegas

Time to begin contemplating Vegas '06. Depends on where CG and I are. I'd gladly forego the trip if it meant a step in the right direction with my betrothed. On the otherhand, If I'm being played, Ceasears, here I come. Put it this way: I'd rather one quality night in Freehold with CG than three meaningless nights is the city of sin.

CG Rocks

I feel at peace tonight. Perhaps it's because I spoke at length with CG, perhaps it was the bacon cheeseburger, perhaps it was the chocolate milkshake. Perhaps it's because I hit 120 mph on the Parkway. Perhaps it's because I read the portable Hume and got it. Either way. I'm rocking.

Yum x 2

Mmmmmmmmm. Chocolate shake and vanilla shake to go from the Broadway Diner. Makes me think of June and the first time I was "fired". Those were fun days.

Spark

I asked CG tonight if we were a couple, would we be a loveless couple. It was a rhetorical question. The answer is so clearly no that I dared ask the question. There are aspects of one another that we share that are undeniably positive, unique and forever good. We just need to be in each other's presence to spark these traits.

Blades of Steel, Shoulder of Egg Shell

The guy who fixed my boiler today invited me to join his hockey league. They play right down the street at the Armory and it would be a nice outlet for some pent up aggression. But I have this whole problem of a Lego, snap-on shoulder that tends to dislocate if someone looks at it wrong. And with the Olympics coming up, I know I'm gonna be jonesin to play. Last time I played I was in a sling for two weeks. To be continued...

Sexual shelter

The wind and the rain whipping the windows outside has me thinking of Ft. Worth, as does the vacuity of content on the tele. We had it all within the confines of that room in the middle of Texas and we made sure to devour every second in a sexual context. For one weekend in September, we invented and sustained our own heaven on earth. God knows what we could do with a decade in NJ.

Keep your feelings to yourself, PK

I have once again entered the realm of the unloved. That sliver of society that could live or die with few noticing the difference. Christine, whether she knows it or not, is in the process of splintering my heart. How dare I express my love to her. Ann is carrying me through this with the tenderness of a field medic, rushing me to the sidelines just to get me out of the game. God bless her. Lanmark is rooting for me, and at least again acknowledging my presence.

Visitors

Strength takes shape in many forms. Today it was as a host for a mob of friendly people looking to buy my house. Bernadette, the coolest real estate agent in the world, knocked on my door and ushered in what seemed to be a family reunion with a checkbook looking to buy a house. Bern introduced me as the coolest tennent in her history as an an agent and a group of eight filed past me, introducing themselves with all due reverence. They actually complemented me on my decor/photography via the pics I have hanging on the walls and were blown away by my ability to watch football and type on the laptop simultaneously. One of the dudes was a surfer, so I bonded with him, and two others were from Hoboken/Jersey City, so they had good advice for my future Path train adventures. All in all, turned out to ne a nice encounter with some friendly people. Lefty even liked them. He only bit once. I hope they let me live here if they buy it.

Impression

How do you want your life remembered by those you pass on the way to heaven? Rich with passion or going through the motions?

Facing my Face

Went to Jamie to get my haircut today. She made me feel a little better. She got me talking and I spilled my guts to her. She was astonished that so much misfortune could befall a person at one time. And I even forgot to tell her about my charred hand. (Let’s all have a pity party for me...) She didn’t have much to offer in advice-- who does-- but she did give me a nice, meaningful hug and some encouraging words before I left. And, as usual, a really cool haircut. At least I look good. I might be ash black on the inside, but my countenance hasn’t suffered any.  BTW, it’s a beautiful day here in NJ-- almost 60 degrees, sunshine. The kind of winter weather where you don’t need a jacket, but if it was spring or fall, you would wear a jacket. Know what I mean? I walked from my place to Chelsea (haircut) then walked up Newman Springs Road from Enterprise (rent-a-car) to Goodyear (car repair) in the blissful sunlight. The walking took the edge off the $2000 I laid out to fix my car. Thank God I used to be and will one day again be a very well-paid writer. Good thing I get paid for my brain and not my looks, lol.

My Curse

I’ve come to the conclusion that my acute sensitivity to the gamut of human emotion carries with it not even the whisp of a blessing. It is a curse-- a curse as cruel, grueling and torturous as any wound, deformity or trauma. There is no respite from this cognitive flogging, no relief from this constant state of agony in lieu of my love. I cannot stand it. I want my brain erased. I want my memories buried, for it ultimately hurts too much to let them surface.

Twisting in the wind

This is change. This is metamorphasis. This is shedding skin.

This is involuntary. This is frightening. This is a spirit-crushing turn of events.

I feel abandoned, alone, left to whither and fade into the vapor of memory. I feel taken advantage of. I feel the vast vacancy of loss. I feel a future of hope and smiles and eternal love sinking, suffering, gasping for breath, tossed off in a random blink of cemetary eyes.

I feel sabotaged. I feel grief. I miss her. I must not. I must forget her.

I deserve this.

I hate my alternatives.

Crisis

I am undergoing some weird kind of metaphysical crisis. Or, at least I was. I feel disconnected from everyone and everything. I feel I’ve lost the one I love, and the reality of that feeling leaves me despondent. I deserve it though. I’ve been a terrible human being. I’m doomed to walk this earth alone. The frustration is mind-bending. The emotion is black, empty and leaving me with few alternatives.

Something's wrong with me

I fell asleep Friday night, woke up for 15 minutes on Saturday and didn't really wake up until Sunday morning. 36 hours. When I woke up I'd almost bit my tongue in half. What the hell is up with that? And no, I didn't take anything.

Lefty in Repose

This is my cat, Bubba, a.k.a. Lefty. He's sleeping on today's (yesterday's) NY Times, a Jets cap, some bills, a Coldplay disc, and my remote. There is a golf ball in the upper left corner that he likes to bat around. Makes quite the racket. His tail is approximately between my butt and the back of the couch. He just ate a half-an-hour ago, so his ass smells like ass. I cleaned his litter box tonight before the realtor visited, and doused the entire back wing of Casa PK in Fabreeze. It smelled like a cat took a dump in an Easter Bouquet. How does Lefty know that company is coming soon? Every time I'm expecting a visitor, he empties his intestines like there's no tomorrow. Then he acts all happy about it.

Triple Overtime!

Still watching Penn St. vs Fla St. I'm rooting for Penn St. because Joe Pa gave my Uncle his autograph on a football a few months before my Uncle died.

Big Paprika

Big Red Letter day for me. Had an almost normal sleep cycle. Woke up at an almost normal time. Ate almost normal food. Took an almost normal shower. Took an almost normal walk downtown. Bought a completely abnormal combination of CDs (Death Cab for Cutie and the new Bruce Box Set.) Realized that my almost normal used book store on Monmouth St. is gone. Probably has been for a year. That’s pretty fucking sad. Another nail in the coffin for my existence in Red Bank. It’s raining out, sorta. I got to break in my new New Jersey three-season weather jacket (with hood folded into zippered collar.) The official color of the jacket is “paprika”. I think that’s why I bought it, other than the fact that I needed a new New Jersey three-season weather jacket. This one gets three-and-a-half thumbs up outta four. Many pockets. Nicely weather-repellant. Fits well. Has what seems like several dozen buttons all the hell over it. Plus, as I said, it’s “paprika.” I wonder if in India they have a town like Red Bank except it’s called Paprika Bank. That would rock. I don’t know if “paprika” is the right marketing name for it. If it were up to me I’d call the color of this jacket “pumpkin rust.” Doesn’t that sound cooler? Or “rusty pumpkin.” Maybe not. That sounds like a lewd sexual act. Pumpkin rust is too close to pumpkin rot, anyway. Ever smell pumpkin rot? It stinks. Now I’m thinking of Halloween again and how fucked up a time of year that was. So much so that it changed my life. Big Pumpkin Rust Letter day for me. Or paprika.