Closing The Year.

2005.
Goodbye, you total douche.
2006.
So, um, what do you want to do?

Sure, Some Frankincense Would Have Been Nice....

I heart my little Ipod Nano. Best Christmas gift, ever.

Baptisms For The Dead.

I've been remembering the oddest stuff lately. Is it cause of the end of the year? The last few months? The last few seconds? I don't know but these strong, random moments will jump right into the front of my mind. I won't go into what they are -- most of them make me feel sad or defeated or suddenly angry. I wonder if it means I'm not dealing with some issues. Like I've dumped a lot of toxic waste deep in my brain -- and now the big, violent yellow containers are leaking these memories at me. This year has - for the most part - been complete shit. I'll be glad to be shut of it. So many choices were wrong and so many things went awry. Or maybe it's not that the choices were wrong so much as I just let myself be too passive and didn't make any choices this year. Ha. This whole entry reeks of dancing around what and who I actually want to write about. Coward. I don't want to bring any of that into the New Year. I'm such a selfish and cowardly person and I've been that way for a long time -- this isn't some self hating post, so hold your comments -- I just feel like -- man, fuck it, I'm almost 27 -- I shouldn't walk with this much fear in my mind -- too scared to leap -- to make stands -- to get the occasional bloody paw -- to pursue...it. I can afford to sit back and let other people decide what's going to become of me. So many little memories, little moments...and yet I can't remember exactly why I'm in Orlando. It all seems....ha....it all seems like a lot of blather...that stuff is bothering me but that's not quite it....cause deep down I know what's kinda bothering me right now and I can't just fucking say it out loud and I certainly can't write it....it's like doing that will make it real (like actually calling my migraines, migraines, makes them more official, like, something I get: I get migraines. No. I get these terrible headaches where light hurts my eyes and my stomach feels awful. Not migraines.) I know what's bothering me - but to think about it, speak it out loud, write it down - makes it more real. I'm such a good secret-keeper...you might not believe that but there's plenty of stuff I haven't told any of you fuckers. When you ask me about this later, I'll smile and make a joke and divert your attention, and I won't tell you anything. Or I'll tell you some shapeless, little lie. Cause if you knew the truth - hell, one of you is bound to be able to give some sort of good advice. But I can't do that. Or some part of me doesn't want that. Long term - deal with this fear. Short term - deal with this other, immediate stuff that's bugging me. I need some good, orderly direction for 2006. A path. A mission. A plan. Some shape to pour myself into. A cult? Snake handling? Eh. These are probably thoughts for a more private journal but fuck it, this is where they ended up, such as they are. And now it's time to hit 'publish post'.

Ummmm....hello......?

So randomly I have an internet connection at home and even though its almost five in the morning and there's really nothing to say I feel like I must post something because any second a butterfly will flaps its wings somewhere in Outer Mongolia sending out ripples of energy that will eventually cause me to sneeze and the internet will vanish like a soap bubble...pop.

Domino Hates Me

Domino needs special food and I have my orders.

Put Domino in the computer room with his food, shut the door. Give Punch and Judy their food - let them eat. Once they're finished - let Domino out of the computer room.

Punch and Judy don't know their part of the plan. Instead of each of them eating from their bowls - they decide to split a bowl - like two legal secretaries sharing a salad. Leaving a whole bowl of food - food that I've started thinking of as Domino-poison.

Domino meows. Loudly. Translated into English it would probably sound something like, 'Hey, fucker, wanna let me out of this room now or do I have to kick your ass?'

But here's this bowl of food. Can't leave it out. I mean - he can maybe have a little of Punch and Judy's food - but not a whole bowl. It's like Punch and Judy were leaving Domino a tribute. Like he's a Mafia Don or an evil idol.

It seems stupid to throw the food out. So, I put the bowl in the fridge. I'll give it to you guys tomorrow. I open the computer room door and Domino cocks his head and looks at me, like, 'Thought so.'

Domino hates me now.

Do I Come Here Often?

Nothing says successful gathering/party like having to spend the whole next day recovering from all your fun and whispering small, silent prayers to your body, your stomach, your throbbing head - tiny quiet lies and half-truths to quell a belly ready to revolt, to force wobbly sea legs to walk straight and not trip or stagger, and more little breathless pleas to the evil army of shoemaker elves in your temples, the ones making hobnail boots and trying them out against the inside of your head.

Lord Protect Me From What I Want.

Half a prayer, half a poem.

You Were Looking For A Way To Change Your Life - You Couldn't Do This On Your Own.

Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas.

Crest of the wave. Almost-orgasm. Cusp. Edge. Pre-Eureka. Borderland. Way Station. Leaf-and-needle compass. Closing of the Year.

If These Shadows Remain Unchanged

I'm depressed about Christmas.
I know I should just be happy the baby Jesus was born and everything.
Shepherds, Wise Men.
But let's face it....that aspect of the holiday doesn't really have much of a hold on me.
As far as I'm concerned - I celebrate a pagan holiday of merriment, egg nog, electric lights, tinsel, Rudolph, Santa, Heat Miser, The Bumble Snowman, and Yukon Cornelius.
And this year I go into this holiday broke.
No cards, no presents.
And that makes me sad.
The whole season - just a reflection of all the things I can't do for my friends and family -- the same people who time and time again are able to do so much for me.
The metaphor here should be something like a little ragged urchin pressing his dirty face against the bright window of some 1950s uber-perfect Macy's-esque Christmas display. Toy trains and aeroplanes. Elves and bed-wetting dolls. Gingerbread houses and shiny, metallic bulbs. Holly Jolly. Burl Ives.
And it's cold outside.
My holiday this year is going to be a little closer to The Apartment than Christmas Carol.
It's just overwhelming and kinda sad.