Not quite super, man...

So I did get another costume. Ironically enough I decided (through lack of other options) to go as Mr Incredible this Halloween. Everyone who's seen the movie gets the joke, the rest of you see the movie. It was incredible, I guess I put the package together just right. I hit state street to a flurry of "Mr Incredible! Mr Incredible! Picture please" There seemed to be several groups of Japanese tourists who were rabid for my picture. Flattering really, total ego boost despite the mask, plastic hair and skintight red suit. Thankfully foreigners were not my only admirers, I couldn't walk 10 feet without being stopped for a fan of "Mr Incredible" Then I came face to face with myself...Well a 3 foot tall version of myself. We regarded each other across a small patch of asphalt, the tension heavy like the humidity in July (at least here in WI). The sounds of the street faded to nothing then broken by my mini-mirror's father, "He thinks he's Superman. Please don't spoil it." What could I do? So I saluted him and said "Carry on, keep up the good work." He saluted back with a blank stare, that I took for awe. I cut quite a figure in red tights you know. So after an hour or two of this Fun. A police officer stepped up and said- "Sir can I smell your soda bottle?" Then the night went significantly downhill. I was arrested, handcuffed, booked and held in a dank smelly basement of a local parking garage. When I finally was released they gave me a $300 citation for open container. They breathalysed me and despite blowing a .04, Well below the driving limit they banned me from going back onto the fenced off street of party. The best part of the entire EVENT.. Was that they left my coat and other possessions with the people I came to town with. Then told these people I was being held and released at somewhere other than where they actually took me. So skintight red suit $50 , 30 degrees free , no coat even more free, and not able to find my friends downtown? Priceless.. Love the cops, finally met my friends they didn't want to go elsewhere so I called for a ride and turned them loose. My mood entirely ruined I still had my picture taken by at least 5 other groups as I stalked and muttered waiting for my ride. Honestly, I'm such a ham, that every time a camera pointed at me my chin came up, and I grinned, and cheesed for all I was worth.

Superman suit.

I am too fat for my superman suit. Metaphor for me? At least my life, right now. Granted it's been almost 10 years since I wore that suit. 10 years of beer and meat and soft living. Soft living earned by my own sweat and labor, but that doesn't excuse the excess or the results. I have a small photo album with a picture of myself about 8 ina superman shirt flexing my muscles, then me at 21 in a skin tight full superman costume, looking quite sleek and sexy, I don't mind saying.. unfortunately now at 31 I either need to adapt and try to find a plus size superman suit, or figure out how to lose the close to 70 pounds I've gained in the last 10 years. I can no longer be supreman because I am too fat to fly.. Look in the sky is that a blimp? A lump of marshmallow? No! it's supersized man! I should just have the burger king logo blazoned on my chest next to McD's or any other fast food. Fatter than a speeding mullet, able to eat tall stacks of pancakes in a single round. I am too fat for my superman suit, despite my best intentions, and my noble aspirations to help mankind, or any other cliche ideas pounded into my brain by reading all those sappy, happy ending fantasy novels. So much for childhood dreams. I guess I never will fly in that suit, never swoop down to save my Lois Lane, Unless of course Lois lane is related to Little Debbie, in which case she's in luck. Or out of luck.

Today

As I sat in the showetr today comtemplating whether ai would make a good truck driver or no I couldn't help but wonder: "What happened to all my fire? My passion?" Where is all the "I'll show the world what I'm made of!" bullshit 50's movie moxie rhetoric? Now it's always: "oh my god! What the hell? This can't be happening again, or to me!" It seems the universe has become very intolerant towards my view that I'm destined for greatness, or even base happiness, or success, or any type of emotion that doesn't go along with the phrases "Not again. Not now. Why me? Or just : Ow!" Maybe I'm being negative today. Maybe i have reason, maybe I'm just a whiner.. Good thing is I'm one day closer to death and figuring out this mystery.

post just never posted

Sometimes how I feel about myself is so overwhelming i don't know what to do. Sometimes i am down on myself, sometimes I am full of myself. Sometimes I imagine i get the power to do miraculous things, and sometimes I imagine I already have that power but am not using it due to some unspoken dispute or rebellion I have with my maker.Sometimes there's no better option than just to keep on living the way you're going, and just wait for some small enlightenment.

Hemingway, Bukowski, Kerouac

I can certainly see the reason both of these giants imbibed in incredible amount. The verbosity of liquor is undisputed champion of all the chemical infatuations. At least for some certain few. Some people like Burroughs loved the heroine, but although I have love for that in a small way, the fear of the big H addiction has kept me from over (or indulging at all) indulging. The alcohol burns the throat slightly then sends almost instantaneous the tendrils of happiness spreading from the gut to thighs and spine, last to head it can make you forget you're imbibing until too late. Such fuel for the writer however. The energy to write about anything boosted by the bodies processing alcohol sugars. That's all for now. I need to save my creative energy for the rest of "This guy, That guy" Do we have a set amount? Beginning to believe we do...

Roll

I like Kaiser rolls with Bologna and mayonnaise. Thick pieces of cheese and dark spicy brown mustard. I like small cars with fast engines that I don't have to think about, I'm not a mechanic is an understatement. I like women with exaggerated curves, genuine smiles, and sharp wit.
I like well behaved short haired dogs that stay outside. I like older cats that are sure of their place in the universe and don't really need you, but hang around because they like the feel of your fingers on their backs. I like motorcycles with no helmets and martinis with no vermouth, two animals of the same breed. I like music I can sing along to from my childhood, or slamming superhard punk rock or industro techno, but not much in between. Unless of course it is a woman singing, nothing is sexier, happier, more relaxing than the sound of a woman singing with true emotion in her voice. Granted being on key and semi talented is a prerequisite, but singers who can push their heart into their throats while entreating the universe to commune with them orally...Well nothing is better, if only my explanation could be so good. I like whiskey and vodka, cheap scotch, gin, and marashino cherries. Sometimes I like beer, but my self image is too tied up in this Midwestern potbellied image. Every time I tip back a couple I feel like I'm strapping on a fat suit and it kills my enjoyment. I like the fact that I'm a big guy, although I would not mind trading some fat for muscle, even if it meant looking like I do now. I wouldn't mind one less chin, but I also can't respect myself when my ribs show through my skin. Thanks dad.
I like Nine inch nails, but have no respect for trent resnor. I like gay bars because the atmosphere is more accepting. I like the sound of dried leaves being blown across pavement. Skittering. I like the feel of wind on every part of my body no matter how cold it is, but I hate the feel of a fan blowing on my face or head. I like silk and corduroy but can't touch velvet or velour. Love ice-cream but won't eat any that come on a stick. I'm staring to like garlic, but sometimes the smell or taste can make me retch if it's too strong. I like God, but we're playing a game of ignore the other right now. At least I am, I'm not sure what he's doing.
I like wearing a hat in the rain " A man can stand almost anything if he can keep the rain off his face" Fresh baked ham without pineapple slices. apple dumplings with cheddar cheese and lebanon balogna. Prime rib crusted in mint and tarrogon. It's obvious to any who know me that despite being picky I love food, of almost any type. I'm done for now but this is only a beginning...

In the time it takes

In the time it takes you to read the ramblings of this run-on sentence paragraph I will have written five times this much of thought that didn't make it into this paragraph because unfortunately for me I cannot type as fast as my mind works when it's on this groove of a railway called connected thought, dragging my conscience thought from word to word sentence to sentence, idea to thought to action, only there is no action because I'm sitting on Friday night alone typing happy drunken and meaningless into a keyboard hoping the great American feeling that has been blocking my bowels since puberty will spring forth. Free writing is the only way to truly express yourself even if you;re only writing crap hoping that somewhere amongst the lines of verbs nouns and bad punctuation so,me of the morality and meaning and substance of yourself will stain the page.
Electronic pages don;t stain, but maybe a slight spatter of creative blood, first blood will add depth and meaning to an otherwise meaningless stream of semi literate babbling..

Ahhhhhh...

Ach! Poetry

Sometimes I wonder whats wrong with me
cannot everybody see just what I see
when I look too deep inside of me
the dark reflections of myself don't look like me..
Sometimes I wish that i could really see
the type of person that I was meant to be
but every day along the shore of this lonely sea
the only person I am with is, a stranger me


Ach!
I warned you.

I always do better without labeling the post until after I write it. Just a little info.

As I was driving home this morning from work, there was a terrific lightning storm going on. I was thinking how cool it would be if I saw something get struck, just so I could see the lightning up close. But then as my thoughts wandered I wondered what it would be like if lightning struck my car, or me.

What a boring story.

The trouble with God is that you can't tell him anything. You have to ask him for everything. If you say to him "God. Don't strike me with lightning." he might just do it. Then again he might not do it just to keep you guessing. You have to say "God please don't hit me with lightning." . I suppose maybe the intent of command over request might mean something to him, but then again how can you command him to do anything? Must we all kneel in servility and fearful obedience? I suppose my own split from church and organized religion came during the trying years of my own rebellion against authority. It was a very painful process for me, certain authority figures abused my trust in their care over me. Perhaps that builds character, right along with rage and frustration. I gave up going to church about the same time I split from the authority of my father. I would never take an order from him again, and I suppose that still holds true today. God (in church) is presented as too much the same parental figure my father was. Stern, unyielding, great and terrible in his wrath, yet we must strive and yearn and jockey for those few precious moments of compassion, or acceptance, or acknowledgement. Even if they never come, even if we never have proof that such moments exist. We've heard a lot of stories of people who have had such moments, so we hope they exist and hope that we will someday have such a moment ourselves. I guess my little torrent proves that even the staunchest of deniers (a word?) still keep some flame of hope in their deep dark. That only makes the lack hurt more. Sometimes it would be better for hope to die, so acceptance could come, but I suppose too many suicides would result.
The problem with the father comparison, is that as an adult I have made peace and acceptance with this new milder man called Dad instead of sir. So now naturally I wonder if others "spiritual father","Divine father" might not also have this other side. It brings some pain to think that there's a benevolent God out there shining his face down on some worthy few, oblivious of me. At least not willing to show himself to me. The desire I have to be the good son, is o'erwhelmed by my determination to remain standing, stalwart, maybe challenging. Perhaps too demanding, but I had to find strength somewhere. Stubborn refusal to capitulate has saved me a few beatings that force might have earned me. I


We bring all the universe to ourselves becoming the center. Anyone who grasps that they are a part of the larger whole, thinking that everything is not revolving around them is evolving into an ant. Self concern is paramount towards happiness. Regardless of action intent is everything. I'm rambling now. Maybe I'll stop and get some more coffee.

Musings on a muse.

Still waiting for a muse. I know I've written on this subject before, and maybe right now the lack of muse is my muse. I'm not amused. Literally. I hope someone out there is mentally throwing a rock at me for that.
I'm having floods of ideas, all the time I am lacking the drive or energy or initiative to actually pull pen and get to scribbling. Hoping that resuming my journal will help to reinstate the need to press ink onto paper. Maybe I could stop writing like a bad narrator from some cheesy British movie. If it doesn't read like that to you, that's too bad. In my head I can hear the nasal droning of someone named Ethel or Randall.
Enough on motive or inducement.
Trying to entice my mind to engage on any one of these subjects and flow forth in frenetic stream, but it seems the only topic I can focus on is my lack of topic. Must need more coffee, or booze. I haven't worked yet so it needs must be coffee. Before I go to brew a memory.

In grade school, around fourth grade, my father kept an olive oil can full of change in his bedroom closet. I used to sneak into his room before school and steal dimes (because they had less weight to notice than quarters). My mother would be downstairs getting breakfast in order and my father already off at work, I would tiptoe into his room listening for my mothers footsteps or the noise of one of my siblings. I had done it quite a few times and had a system down, I would dump change into a towel, digging into the can with my finger to keep the coins from clogging the hole. I would take the towel back to my room and sort out dimes then sneak back and put the rest of the change back. One morning however my father must have called in sick, he watched me go through my whole sneak and then as I was set to leave the room sat up in bed. The detail needs to end here. It wasn't horrible or undeserved, but it was the first time I can recall my father smiling at me during interrogation and punishment.
Mixed signals from a crazy old man.

Ha ha I just wrote out a bunch of stuff that was deleted when I turned off my pop-up blocker. But still I feel better.