YES PEOPLE!
I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE VAST ETHER OF DEPRESSION TO PROVIDE YOU ALL WITH JOY, LAUGHTER, AND GORGASMS (Giddy Orgasms)!
So it's been about a year since my last official posting on this blog, which was a story I posted about a young man named Abner, who's life was dictated by the dreams he had the night before. A rather morose story, I know, but a story I feel needs telling. I wrote that in a heated state of inspiration and yet quickly ran out of the perspiration needed. I believe this was due to my rather dire state of living at the time.
A quick recap of my year:
-My first relationship ended in complete and utter disaster (my fault) leaving me in shatters and revealing to me and everyone around me what a giant douche I am.
-My mamma (MAM-uh) had a mental breakdown in front of Wal Mart which ended with me begging her to come back to reality while a crew of police and ambulance drivers dragged her into their metal box of healing on wheels.
-Said event's aftermath kinda took over for a few months
-Went to Disney World with a few of my friends. Definitely acquired some perspective while speeding through Space Mountain.
-Got a job at Wal Mart (figured I owed them for the whole "Mom going crazy in front of your establishment"-thing)
-Hated said job as a Tire and Lube Technician (not as sexy as it sounds).
-Entered into my second relationship with a psychotic ginger chipmunk who I am sure has some relation to the devil.
-Quit job and girlfriend at the same time. Killed two retarded birds with a single awesome stone
-Began an internship with Magellan Midstream Partners (not a porn distribution company). Worked extremely hard, got toned and tanned, loved every minute I spent there.
-Met the love of my life at our annual convention. Talked about using hemorrhoid cream on child actors to get rid of the bags under their eyes. Stalked her at her place of work (Buffalo Wild Wings), stole her number from my sister, and finally worked up the nerve to call her one night. Haven't regretted a single second I've spent with her since.
-About to start a job with Southern Petroleum Laboratories, which I hope will support me and my love for the long term. Planning on proposing in the near future after a few pay checks.
As you can see, it's been a very hectic/depressing/inspiring/frustrating/blissful year for me. I know I've grown quite a bit through it all and I hope in the near future to expound on some of the events transcribed above in more detail because they're all funny and extremely heart-cooling in their own special way. Please stick with me and I promise to strive to stick with you. I have so much to say and I feel like I'm going to explode if I do not say it. Help me keep the timer from reaching 0:00.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Clumsily Clairvoyant (Pt. 1- Getting to Know Yourself Before You Get to Know Yourself)
REM cycle ends again. Awake and aware. Same ol' same ol'. Abner lifts the seals from over him, releasing all warmth held within. The cold stings the muscle. Winter's welcome was that of daggers and industrial refrigerators; things that never stated, "I love you, let's spend the day together."
Having received the message loud and clear, Abner proceeded to lift the sheets back over him and nustled his head back into the Abner-shaped indentions, his eyes shifting, scanning the always-familiar ceiling, still searching for the hidden message he absolutely knew for certain the construction crew left within the texture.
"Hmmmm..." Abner grunted disappointedly, yet again stumped by the ceiling, then closing his eyes and recalling.
"Hmmmmmmmm..." Abner grunted again, but this time with more of a sardonic tone, sending the message of "Well this figures!" to the ever-present audience behind the fourth wall.
As the teenaged, doughy male lay motionless in his bed, his mother proceeded to the break the calm by opening the door with the subtlety of a gung ho SWAT team in search of a cop killer. Abner expected this and thought it funny how even without his abilities, this would still not have been a surprise.
"Honey, it's 11:30! Let's try and be a little more productive today! Get up get up!"
Abner got up, knowing exactly how his next odyssey to the living room would pan out: Out of juice, dog barking, discussion about mother's family, Martha makes a shrimp dish that is EXQUISITE (her words), so on and so forth until his next news feed.
As Abner shuffled into the living room, seemingly depressed by the dreary weather loitering outside. This was no surprise for Abner, neither was the fact that he stepped in cat droppings, which he knew was there. Who was he to go against the script written for him, no matter how much he hated a certain scene? Yes, Abner was certainly a gifted young man. Gifted in the fact he awoke every morning aware of the banality he was to experience. Gifted knowing every mistake, every foible, and every goof up he was to make. Yep, he knew the set up and the punchline before the comedian even got on stage.
Why and how was this possible? Abner could only guess. There was no tumor residing in brain, no powerline over his house, not even a freaking power plant outside of his town. He wasn't birthed from a line of carnies, IN FACT, there was not a single mystery in his family line. Just a bunch of hardworking, dirty-faced lower class immigrants and, later on in the line, a few doe-eyed, standard caucasian Americans, complete with forced smiles and an air of "the middle is just DANDY!". Abner couldn't even recall a single time he felt he could've possibly been abducted, although surely the aliens had the foresight to erase that certain compromising piece of evidence, those darn martians and their superior knowledge and planning.
Abner did get the feeling he was part of some sick experiment, as if doctors and government officials were taking notes in a bunker underneath his backyard, snickering at every action made, every tick developed, and every awkward near confession. Confessions, by the way, were out of the question. Nobody could know of this quirk, this little plate or chip or antennae from either aliens, governments or scientists. If not for the obvious reasons of the poking and prodding he would receive, than also because of the social implications that would come with the reveal: Constant questioning. "What happens to me?" "Do I have the same cat?" "How pronounced is my pooch?".
Even after the reveal that he could only see what he did that day, then the more personal questions of "What perspective do you see it in?" "Does it hurt?" "What's your best future-seeing moment?" "Can't you use this for good?"
"Good..." Abner thinks too himself, "I can hardly help myself with this curse..."
Abner then realized the irony that he knew he would think this thought and also that he already knew he would realize that irony.
Having received the message loud and clear, Abner proceeded to lift the sheets back over him and nustled his head back into the Abner-shaped indentions, his eyes shifting, scanning the always-familiar ceiling, still searching for the hidden message he absolutely knew for certain the construction crew left within the texture.
"Hmmmm..." Abner grunted disappointedly, yet again stumped by the ceiling, then closing his eyes and recalling.
"Hmmmmmmmm..." Abner grunted again, but this time with more of a sardonic tone, sending the message of "Well this figures!" to the ever-present audience behind the fourth wall.
As the teenaged, doughy male lay motionless in his bed, his mother proceeded to the break the calm by opening the door with the subtlety of a gung ho SWAT team in search of a cop killer. Abner expected this and thought it funny how even without his abilities, this would still not have been a surprise.
"Honey, it's 11:30! Let's try and be a little more productive today! Get up get up!"
Abner got up, knowing exactly how his next odyssey to the living room would pan out: Out of juice, dog barking, discussion about mother's family, Martha makes a shrimp dish that is EXQUISITE (her words), so on and so forth until his next news feed.
As Abner shuffled into the living room, seemingly depressed by the dreary weather loitering outside. This was no surprise for Abner, neither was the fact that he stepped in cat droppings, which he knew was there. Who was he to go against the script written for him, no matter how much he hated a certain scene? Yes, Abner was certainly a gifted young man. Gifted in the fact he awoke every morning aware of the banality he was to experience. Gifted knowing every mistake, every foible, and every goof up he was to make. Yep, he knew the set up and the punchline before the comedian even got on stage.
Why and how was this possible? Abner could only guess. There was no tumor residing in brain, no powerline over his house, not even a freaking power plant outside of his town. He wasn't birthed from a line of carnies, IN FACT, there was not a single mystery in his family line. Just a bunch of hardworking, dirty-faced lower class immigrants and, later on in the line, a few doe-eyed, standard caucasian Americans, complete with forced smiles and an air of "the middle is just DANDY!". Abner couldn't even recall a single time he felt he could've possibly been abducted, although surely the aliens had the foresight to erase that certain compromising piece of evidence, those darn martians and their superior knowledge and planning.
Abner did get the feeling he was part of some sick experiment, as if doctors and government officials were taking notes in a bunker underneath his backyard, snickering at every action made, every tick developed, and every awkward near confession. Confessions, by the way, were out of the question. Nobody could know of this quirk, this little plate or chip or antennae from either aliens, governments or scientists. If not for the obvious reasons of the poking and prodding he would receive, than also because of the social implications that would come with the reveal: Constant questioning. "What happens to me?" "Do I have the same cat?" "How pronounced is my pooch?".
Even after the reveal that he could only see what he did that day, then the more personal questions of "What perspective do you see it in?" "Does it hurt?" "What's your best future-seeing moment?" "Can't you use this for good?"
"Good..." Abner thinks too himself, "I can hardly help myself with this curse..."
Abner then realized the irony that he knew he would think this thought and also that he already knew he would realize that irony.
Monday, November 16, 2009
A Little Lag
I AM SO SORRY! I feel just awful about being gone for so darn long... I know I'm a terrible person and that I deserve to die because your life has been miserable without my punditry/epic prose. I'm back and hopefully now I can be more consistent.
Consistency. I guess that's been my main problem for the past 2-3 years. I'm the type of guy who has a problem with following a rhythm. I don't really get into ruts, I'm more the type who sporadically trips over landmines of joy while mostly just walking through a barren desert of inactivity. Just when things seem to be going well, I shut down, recede, go deep into my innerworkings and hide. I guess it's hereditary. My mother and father both have had mental/emotional issues. I guess I'm just their supersaturated sack of sadness. I do try to contend, and I long so much to be a good friend for others; someone who will lookout for his fellow man, can give good advice, and make you laugh when you're down, but being the chemical maelstrome I am, it just can't be beckoned when it's sometimes necessary.
The same goes for this blog. JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I COULD CONSISTENTLY EXPRESS MYSELF THROUGH A FORUM I ADORE, I throw by the wayside, walk away and curl up in the fetal position, sucking my thumb while rocking back and forth in the corner of my room. I can only hope opening up to my millions of fans like this will help break the cycle. Finally vanquish the beast within, gnawing at my innards, telling me it's too much. I'm not enough to pass muster. OR maybe I'll just fall back into the pit again, but at least you guys know why.
So in conclusion, please forgive my lateness and please be understandingof my swings and my moments of faltering. I'm willing to continue to try to make this work, because you're worth it and I'm the best you ever had.
Consistency. I guess that's been my main problem for the past 2-3 years. I'm the type of guy who has a problem with following a rhythm. I don't really get into ruts, I'm more the type who sporadically trips over landmines of joy while mostly just walking through a barren desert of inactivity. Just when things seem to be going well, I shut down, recede, go deep into my innerworkings and hide. I guess it's hereditary. My mother and father both have had mental/emotional issues. I guess I'm just their supersaturated sack of sadness. I do try to contend, and I long so much to be a good friend for others; someone who will lookout for his fellow man, can give good advice, and make you laugh when you're down, but being the chemical maelstrome I am, it just can't be beckoned when it's sometimes necessary.
The same goes for this blog. JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I COULD CONSISTENTLY EXPRESS MYSELF THROUGH A FORUM I ADORE, I throw by the wayside, walk away and curl up in the fetal position, sucking my thumb while rocking back and forth in the corner of my room. I can only hope opening up to my millions of fans like this will help break the cycle. Finally vanquish the beast within, gnawing at my innards, telling me it's too much. I'm not enough to pass muster. OR maybe I'll just fall back into the pit again, but at least you guys know why.
So in conclusion, please forgive my lateness and please be understandingof my swings and my moments of faltering. I'm willing to continue to try to make this work, because you're worth it and I'm the best you ever had.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Thoughts On Thinking (My Obsession With The Creative Process)
Hello, my legions. I think I might open up to you a bit tonight. You see, I'm an imperfect human being, I'm humble enough to say that. I know this because I sometimes suffer with bouts of insomnia and my BMs aren't as regular as I would like. If it weren't for those things, I would be pretty much perfect. Sadly, this imperfection can sometimes force me to contend with humanity. These contentions usually take the form of epic lyrical battles, with microsoft word being the field of battle. Please enjoy these documents of the most recent confrontation.
Shirtless but Hairy
I sit in this bed
Because lying has become too hard
Lying has become too hard
Because my mind needs to stand
Standing is required
Because I need to know
Knowledge is necessary
Because I must apply
Application is necessary
Because I must act
But I sit in this bed
And lying might get easier…
Knowing
It’s not passive
No, a weapon
It has perimeters
Which you must step in
Refractive Living
What am I, but a mural?
Fragments of burnt sand and etchings
What am I, but a soap box?
Ideas stand upon me and echo
What am I, but your muse?
Songs from distant pasts evoke
Shirtless but Hairy
I sit in this bed
Because lying has become too hard
Lying has become too hard
Because my mind needs to stand
Standing is required
Because I need to know
Knowledge is necessary
Because I must apply
Application is necessary
Because I must act
But I sit in this bed
And lying might get easier…
Knowing
It’s not passive
No, a weapon
It has perimeters
Which you must step in
Refractive Living
What am I, but a mural?
Fragments of burnt sand and etchings
What am I, but a soap box?
Ideas stand upon me and echo
What am I, but your muse?
Songs from distant pasts evoke
Thursday, September 3, 2009
NEW VIDEOMGPLEASEWATCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here's my new video. Please enjoy and tell me what you think.
Hopefully there's more where this came from. Much love, see you in a tiddly bit!
Hopefully there's more where this came from. Much love, see you in a tiddly bit!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
All Apologizations
Sorry about the title. You've gotta get creative when there's the possibility of Courtney Love getting her coke-addled, wrinkly hands around your neck, rendering you just as lifeless as her after years of drug abuse, massive amounts of disappointment and deplorable artistic choices. It's an especially large risk for me, considering I've now broken the three million mark for my fanbase. It's true, if you get me in a room with 110 other people, ONE of them will know who I am...
Anyways, onto bigger and better rambles... probably not better... but certainly bigger.
First off, let me just state how utterly sorry I am for leaving you hungry little fleshling sacks alone for so long without my terrific teat of titillating topical analysis. Yes, it's been quite the week for me and I apologize sincerely for what I've done. Please forgive me...
Who am I kidding though? Of course you forgive me! You all think I'm the cat's meow. You can't stop loving me just yet (I need to actually be a successful person for people to want me to fail).
Secondly, WHAT THE CRAP IS WRONG WITH THIS WORLD?!
(this is the crap in question which is making the world wrong)
Ok, let me start off by saying I have no bias in terms of politics. I'm completely neutral, no opinions, nothing. But JON VOIGHT?! You're gonna ask the guy who considered and accepted a role in Baby Geniuses 2: Superbabies (http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/super_babies_baby_geniuses_2/) what he thinks of the current administration and actually take it as something worth value? How desperate to sling mud do you have to be to ask a senile wet sack of chicken embryos what he thinks of Obama? I had no idea Christopher Walken's mentally challenged, crack-addicted, cloned baby fetus's words actually carried any weight to them. Thanks again, America, for making me think you can go just SMIDGE of a bit lower.
Thirdly, I'm working on a video that should be up by tomorrow. I shall post it on this blog ASAIIOYAIAGTATEIOTBTIFU (As Soon As It Is On Youtube And I Am Granted The Ability To Embed It On The Blog That I Frequently Update) (FAD ALERT!!!!)
Anyways, onto bigger and better rambles... probably not better... but certainly bigger.
First off, let me just state how utterly sorry I am for leaving you hungry little fleshling sacks alone for so long without my terrific teat of titillating topical analysis. Yes, it's been quite the week for me and I apologize sincerely for what I've done. Please forgive me...
Who am I kidding though? Of course you forgive me! You all think I'm the cat's meow. You can't stop loving me just yet (I need to actually be a successful person for people to want me to fail).
Secondly, WHAT THE CRAP IS WRONG WITH THIS WORLD?!
(this is the crap in question which is making the world wrong)
Ok, let me start off by saying I have no bias in terms of politics. I'm completely neutral, no opinions, nothing. But JON VOIGHT?! You're gonna ask the guy who considered and accepted a role in Baby Geniuses 2: Superbabies (http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/super_babies_baby_geniuses_2/) what he thinks of the current administration and actually take it as something worth value? How desperate to sling mud do you have to be to ask a senile wet sack of chicken embryos what he thinks of Obama? I had no idea Christopher Walken's mentally challenged, crack-addicted, cloned baby fetus's words actually carried any weight to them. Thanks again, America, for making me think you can go just SMIDGE of a bit lower.
Thirdly, I'm working on a video that should be up by tomorrow. I shall post it on this blog ASAIIOYAIAGTATEIOTBTIFU (As Soon As It Is On Youtube And I Am Granted The Ability To Embed It On The Blog That I Frequently Update) (FAD ALERT!!!!)
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Explainings and Complainings... Maybe some InZanings (Insane and zany Explainings and Complainings)
Phew!
Glad we got through that title TOGETHER. Anyways, round two. Ok, let me start off by explaining the "wacky" title... then I'll move on to an explanation of why I use "wacky" instead of "whacky". Anyways, Amalgamant. "What is Amalgamant?", you ask. Well, did you look it up on eDictionaryforimpromputconfounding.com? Yeah? Still didn't find it? That's because I made it up!
"WHAT?!"
Yes, I made up Amalgamant.
"Why would you make up such a fatuous word?"
"Is fatuous a good or bad characteristic to have associated with a word?"
Yes, it is good, that's why I made it up. Amalgamant is me, I am Amalgamant. My blog, my world, my rules. The meaning behind this word is simple: I'm the offspring of a million things. I'm the pool of the fountain of projectile vomit that is this world; So many meals, germs, creatures, events and happenings enter into me that I just can't focus on one single thing. Therefore, I'm the presence of an AMALGAMATION of things. Amalgamant. You're welcome.
The sole focus of this blog is to please me, and the only way I'm pleased is when my opinion is stated and when my viewpoints are expressed and when I have had the final say. I also want others to maybe get a fresh perspective, and HECK, maybe provide me with their own insight.
My life's journey shall be your stepping stone towards wisdom... and maybe a stairstep to better hair or musical taste.
YOU'RE WELCOME!
Anyways, forward and onward.
Wacky is a funny word... and funny is a silly word. The thing about wacky is that it is deceivingly deceptive (is double deceptives improper?). Generally when a person is called wacky, you take it like the person is a complete goof. "OH! He'll splash water in his face" or "OH! He likes to pose as a woman and run track for South Africa!"
NOT A WOMAN!
It could easily mean you're just a goofy person, but it could also have the connotation that you're a puppy-murderer who enjoys eating geriatrics on the side. Now you may be fine with being called "insane" if you're on that side of the coin, but not "wacky". No, wacky means that you're absolutely bat-turd crazy but you're IN NO WAY scary... just off putting, and no self-confident, work-loving maniac would want that type of branding (the geriatrics aren't as tender when they're not petrified beforehand).
COMPLAINT #2: Is it "wacky" or "whacky"?
It's WACKY! No more dilly-dallying! We're not talking about Michael J. Fox standing in a cramped elevator (whack levels are through DA ROOF on that one!). I'm sick and tired of this confusion and I really hope that you, my millions of adoring fans, will recognize this and tell Webster to GET ON IT! Put all of your miserable, me-adoring lives to use.
P.S. Please check out my lovely, gorgeous, and absolutely breathtaking sister's lovely, gorgeous, and absolutely breathtaking blog. It's http://www.thehopefulauthor.tk/. It's wickedly smart, funny, and sweet... JUST LIKE MY SISSY!
Glad we got through that title TOGETHER. Anyways, round two. Ok, let me start off by explaining the "wacky" title... then I'll move on to an explanation of why I use "wacky" instead of "whacky". Anyways, Amalgamant. "What is Amalgamant?", you ask. Well, did you look it up on eDictionaryforimpromputconfounding.com? Yeah? Still didn't find it? That's because I made it up!
"WHAT?!"
Yes, I made up Amalgamant.
"Why would you make up such a fatuous word?"
"Is fatuous a good or bad characteristic to have associated with a word?"
Yes, it is good, that's why I made it up. Amalgamant is me, I am Amalgamant. My blog, my world, my rules. The meaning behind this word is simple: I'm the offspring of a million things. I'm the pool of the fountain of projectile vomit that is this world; So many meals, germs, creatures, events and happenings enter into me that I just can't focus on one single thing. Therefore, I'm the presence of an AMALGAMATION of things. Amalgamant. You're welcome.
The sole focus of this blog is to please me, and the only way I'm pleased is when my opinion is stated and when my viewpoints are expressed and when I have had the final say. I also want others to maybe get a fresh perspective, and HECK, maybe provide me with their own insight.
My life's journey shall be your stepping stone towards wisdom... and maybe a stairstep to better hair or musical taste.
YOU'RE WELCOME!
Anyways, forward and onward.
Wacky is a funny word... and funny is a silly word. The thing about wacky is that it is deceivingly deceptive (is double deceptives improper?). Generally when a person is called wacky, you take it like the person is a complete goof. "OH! He'll splash water in his face" or "OH! He likes to pose as a woman and run track for South Africa!"
It could easily mean you're just a goofy person, but it could also have the connotation that you're a puppy-murderer who enjoys eating geriatrics on the side. Now you may be fine with being called "insane" if you're on that side of the coin, but not "wacky". No, wacky means that you're absolutely bat-turd crazy but you're IN NO WAY scary... just off putting, and no self-confident, work-loving maniac would want that type of branding (the geriatrics aren't as tender when they're not petrified beforehand).
COMPLAINT #2: Is it "wacky" or "whacky"?
It's WACKY! No more dilly-dallying! We're not talking about Michael J. Fox standing in a cramped elevator (whack levels are through DA ROOF on that one!). I'm sick and tired of this confusion and I really hope that you, my millions of adoring fans, will recognize this and tell Webster to GET ON IT! Put all of your miserable, me-adoring lives to use.
P.S. Please check out my lovely, gorgeous, and absolutely breathtaking sister's lovely, gorgeous, and absolutely breathtaking blog. It's http://www.thehopefulauthor.tk/. It's wickedly smart, funny, and sweet... JUST LIKE MY SISSY!
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