Bruce excuse

Saw Bruce on late Monday in Asbury. Soundcheck, too. Let me just say that it was the best show The Pogues never played. And I mean that as the highest of compliments. The only difference was that Bruce didn’t puke into the bass drum like Shane McGowan was prone to do. The 20-member band sound was exquisite. Who would have thought Bruce would bring a tuba back into his mix, and with a pogo beat? People were literally glowing as we gathered in huddles on the boardwalk after the show, realizing it was tomorrow when the Asbury Park Press truck pulled up to toss a pile of news at us milliseconds after the sun shot a beacon beam over the Atlantic horizon. Baby boomers were fascinated that I was blogging. With a cell fone. The pics didn't come out. Unless y'all want to see blurrs of barely blue brightness over the shoulders of bombed Bruce fans leaning on a boardwalk banister.

Bogus people

Why do people, especially women, feign distress to garner attention? Don't they realize that they will get noticed for a few days and then shunned for eons because no one wants to be the object of their distress? This seems, to me, personally, a trait inherent to weak women and gay men. Attention seekers. Thet get the vapors and whither. All crowd around them to see if they are okay. They are.

Bare(ly) back

Yeah, I bailed on the blog. Then I came back. The blog is no longer my steady. It's my submissive mistress. I'll fuck with it it when I feel like it. No more. No less. Obligations suck. Just ask CG. Her life is one huge obligation and she pretends to like an aspect or two of it. She hates it. I'm not going that way. I'll use her misery as a cautionary tale. I'm not going to marry a fat guy. LOL.

April Skies. Opening outline.

This book is about you. It's about you because I love you, believe in you and will ever sense your soul. The mistakes you made were of your distorted sense of time. Or, to be succinct, because you oddly sensed time passing and felt you had to make a move. Feelings alight independently of time. Feelings are our arbiter of life. Time is not. You are leaning on time. Time is phantom. Feelings are tablets of existence. Time is a white picket fence and 2.7 children. Feelings are gushing orgasms and not being able to stop thinking about someone. Feelings are us in a room alone.

I have hit a new level of awareness, goddammit

Posthumous past is the fate of all grave stones, even though the marble might be new.

Dwell upon that, zen students…

Later

I think it's time to kill this stupid blog.

Touching Base

Interesting day today.

Met Jeffrey, my ol’ pal from NCI at Charlie Brown’s, our ol’ J&J hangout from Lanmark that just happens to be in my ol’ hometown. Then saw Mom and Dad and hung out with Aunt Judy, visiting from the West Coast. Talk about a mish mash of memories. Jeez. Touched a lot of bases today. Saw a picture of Grandmom’s grave. That grounded me.  You get a feeling of who you are when you see family and old friends all at once in a bunch like this. I get the feeling that I have many miles ahead of me and that I have barely scratched my potential. Jeffrey opened a new vista of ideas on the creative front and my family allowed me to be the bracing, refreshing, off-the-wall whiz kid that I always used to be. Jeffrey and his wife are going to the see the Daily Show live on Thursday. I’m jealous.

Drove through my old hometown—which is always weird – then went to my old mall. Total freak show. I felt like I was on fucking Mars. People look different back there. Maybe it was me.  I walked into the Mac store and there was a line of people waiting to get assistance. Not realizing this yet, I walked to the front and got help immediately, pissing off a lot of people who were waiting to touch an iPod. Problem is, I actually dropped coin there and spoke Mac, while the wannabes who wanted to touch an iPod stewed. I just gave them the derogatory PK eye, flashed ‘em my 17-inch laptop and shut them all up real quick.

And I haven’t smoked a cigarette in a long time.