Moodock

Every time I start writing something on this thingy it ends up being way too much of a downer. I don’t mean for it to be that way, so I don’t end up posting it. I’m thinking of adjusting my strategy for the upcoming year. Perhaps turning the curiosity knob more to the left (or was it right?). TGIF (toes go in first). The mapmaker is back in business.

Seclusion is more difficult. Addition of worrisome. Foolish peroxide.

I can’t help it. I need something new.

“No.”

It was worth a shot. For the backscratch is the only thing that remains as incredible now as it did 17 years ago. It sucks that everything we once loved loses its appeal. I want to play with Hot Wheels for 45 minutes with my neighbor and not get bored. “Crash!” What a awfully fun game. Awful. And fun. Or be in blockbuster, grab a random movie, pretend it’s a gun, and run away from Austin while shooting him.

When I have fun now, I feel like it’s just a distraction from the real things in life. It’s not substantial in any way. It doesn’t actually provide in fulfillment. I guess that’s really the problem everyone has. What’s the point of it all? Well… I know the point. My point at least. I don’t know if knowing and not being able to get there is worse than not knowing at all. It’s the whole “Love and lost vs. never loved at all” thing. It’s all dependent on the individual. I like where I’m at as much as I don’t.

So Mama Johnson and Papa Johnson met each other in school. I say middle school, could’ve been high school, doesn’t really matter. The fact is that love happened early for them. And that’s sweet as shit. I don’t want to meet my future wife while drunk at a party. I don’t really want to be drunk at a party. At least not right now.

I wonder what’s the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me.

WHAT UP

Michael Warren is on the road again.. headed back to Athens.. new year, same old school.. only one more stinking semester..

I’ve never known anyone not significantly older than me to die. I didn’t know this guy. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. It’s terrifying. I have beautiful friends.

“That’s Walrus.”

Indeed there was a walrus on the boat.

Bricks: “You know sailors used to fuck walruses.”

Jonathan: “Have at it.” [Solomon smirks]

Kirk: “He’s wrong.”

Bricks: “Fuck you.”

Captain: “Sol, give me you gun.” [Solomon spits on the ground and smiles]

Captain: “Take note, Mahoney. Your ass is next”

Mahoney: “Captain, when are we leaving?”

Captain: “Why would we leave.”

Mahoney: “Because we’re pirates!” [Bricks draws his sword, Walrus gets scared, Sol shoots Walrus]

Captain: “Hmm”

Kirk: “Damn it, Mahoney”

Captain: “Your ass is next”

Sometimes I tell people that I am excited about the ability to be crazy in old age. Reading what I write makes me think that I am perhaps at that age. I’m not sure I make sense, at least not to others. But that’s the enjoyment of it. It’s cold today, and if I could get every thought that runs through my brain down I would. Well, what about the thoughts you don’t want people to know? Like what? Oh I think X girl is pretty, or X2 girl is pretty, or so on and forth such and on. Or hey, what if I ran X3 girl over like I do on the game video machine? Naw man, she’s pretty. It doesn’t really matter. Who am I? A student in the Honors program with the HOPE Scholarship? You bet I am. And you lost that bet.

Sometimes when I talk to myself I say things like “Shit yeah.” Then I remember I’m under Mama’s roof. Mama hurt her hand punching me in the ribs and got mad at me for not being fat. I do my best to embrace my America, but apparently I’m a failure.

Have you ever played poker as a misery remedy? Or drank whiskey and hawaiian punch alone while watching professional wrasslin? This tower’s leaning over.

What’s the cure for heartburn? Thanksgiving doesn’t get me excited.