Arbitrary Numbers! Arbitrary Pictures!

I don’t know what the next ten tattoos I get will be, but I know now that when I hit the big two-oh, they’ll be a Jurassic Park logo waiting to get bzzz’d in to my right buttock. It’s that, or Jeff Goldblum in a marching band outfit with a homicidal grin on my penis. No other choices.

Flashing My Skills behind Tarnished Yellow Grillz, or , How to flail in a four by six kitchen.

I am in the process of choreographing the most complex and confusing dance routine to the sounds of Hella’s Been A Long Time, Cousin. It’s a full-body workout and requires the participation of two other highly experienced dancers whom I have already chosen. Dance moves include ‘The Nine-Stage Kick’, ‘The Belly Presentation’, and ‘The Greasy Scissors’. Look out.

Omit

After dragging them metal shears for hours on end, and endless papercuts and paint-stained nails- I suddenly felt that although I was proud of co-authoring THE most fucked up pieces of art in Hess Village, I’d rather people not know what I’ve done. I’d rather stand back and have people wonder ‘what kind of deranged fucks did this?’

Train of Thought! Woo! Woo!

Do I go here or there do I choose now or wait it out do I sleep sleep sleep my weekdaze away do I fend for myself or do I help out people I don’t know do I love you do I care do I make lunch or breakfast do I rest do I think I. Can’t. Stop.

A Short Reflection On Everything Else, or, Yeah, I Bet A Better Use Of Grammatical Structure Would Help, Too.

This will be the only thing I will continue that will remain light and airy and not dive into some melancholy, booze-tinged, rainy-day sighfest because it’s way too hard to be all cathartic in fifty eight little words. I’m sure if I had a bigger vocabulary I could be all sad in so few words, but I don’t.

Trades

Owl's Author, or, Is That A Fat Naked Girl On Your Arm Or Are You Just Terrifying?

He grabbed my hand last night. I knew him best for beating a man's face in beyond recognition in the bathroom of my old work.

He grabbed my hand, and said 'we're only friends if you dance with me right now.'

We tore shit up. People may have died. I don't remember. It's all a big blur, sometimes.

When I Say 'Run Past The Bouncer As Fast As You Can', Run Past The Bouncer As Fast As You Can

When you resolve to stay indoors and play Bomberman until your fingers bleed...then you blink, and you're suddenly watching Pink Eyes pile drive some guy into a never-ending onslaught of drunken headbangers while a near-stranger thrusts drinks in your face...you suddenly think that maybe going out with only six dollars in your pocket isn’t such a bad idea.

Let's do Phil Collins *giggle*

Watching people sing karaoke sober is so so so so so so so

*breath*

so so so so SO much more teeth grindingly hard to watch than when they're drunk. Knowing that they'll go home and live with how awfully they'd sang someone else's song...it makes me question what else these people are doing with a clear conscience.

Fists and Mirrors have nothing to do with you

I may (sometimes) consider myself a person of sound moral judgment and positive karmic balance, but something about Cary Grant totally loopy on LSD makes me reconsider how anyone of public stature might actually act behind closed doors. From now on, I will envision all celebrities in the nude covered in hog's blood singing showtunes from the fifties.

In fairness to the fairer

Girls make me smile. They make me laugh, blush and tense up every muscle in my body. If I spent one day without seeing a girl, I think I'd die from withdrawal. Cramps, vomiting....I'd probably eat nine vats of ground beef and down them with carbonated gravy.

So I'd be pregnant, and I don't really want stretch marks

I ain't blushin'.

When that one guy you know who you’re still on the brink of asking for an autograph gives you The Nod, strangers are giving you back pats while the bar is buying shots, and that girl flashes you her pearly whites... its time for bed, boyo. Knock’m back while your liver’s still living and the world’s still giving.

The DOC is in

This guy moved in last night.

He needs a job in Hamilton, and I hope he gets one. He moved here for the sake of music (the complete opposite of what most people do, which is scramble to get the fuck out of here.)- He makes great pictures, music, and conversation, so if you see him, say hello