i've moved to wordpress. i'm not redoing everything on the new google blogger site and this blog bores me to tears, and it bores you, too. so, i've revamped and restyled and redone. come see me HERE.

well, i don't. maybe i used to, but not anymore. when did i stop caring so much? i'm not really sure and sometimes it bothers me that i don't. in other words - i get the 'shoulds' ... i fucking hate the shoulds. i don't think anybody SHOULD do anything. there i said it. if it is wrong well then ---you know the rest. i mean, i still bathe and get dressed and brush my teeth and stuff, but i wear what i want to wear and i do what i want to do and i say what i want to say and i tell you what. it feels pretty goddamned good. it almost feels as good as having a coke and a smile:

Have you ever wondered why Coke comes with a smile? It’s because it gets you high. They took the cocaine out almost a hundred years ago. You know why? It was redundant.

In The First 10 minutes: 10 teaspoons of sugar hit your system. (100% of your recommended daily intake.) You don’t immediately vomit from the overwhelming sweetness because phosphoric acid cuts the flavor allowing you to keep it down.

20 minutes: Your blood sugar spikes, causing an insulin burst. Your liver responds to this by turning any sugar it can get its hands on into fat. (There’s plenty of that at this particular moment)

40 minutes: Caffeine absorption is complete. Your pupils dilate, your blood pressure rises, as a response your livers dumps more sugar into your bloodstream. The adenosine receptors in your brain are now blocked preventing drowsiness.

45 minutes: Your body ups your dopamine production stimulating the pleasure centers of your brain. This is physically the same way heroin works, by the way.

60 minutes: The phosphoric acid binds calcium, magnesium and zinc in your lower intestine, providing a further boost in metabolism. This is compounded by high doses of sugar and artificial sweeteners also increasing the urinary excretion of calcium.

60 Minutes: The caffeine’s diuretic properties come into play. (It makes you have to pee.) It is now assured that you’ll evacuate the bonded calcium, magnesium and zinc that was headed to your bones as well as sodium, electrolyte and water.

60 minutes: As the rave inside of you dies down you’ll start to have a sugar crash. You may become irritable and/or sluggish. You’ve also now, literally, pissed away all the water that was in the Coke. But not before infusing it with valuable nutrients your body could have used for things like even having the ability to hydrate your system or build strong bones and teeth.

This will all be followed by a caffeine crash in the next few hours. (As little as two if you’re a smoker.) But, hey, have another Coke, it’ll make you feel better.

is that fucking creepy or what? i mean, i knew they weren't good for me, but shit. of course, if i wasn't too lazy i could probably go to snopes and see this is all bullshit and then i'll feel like a total fool for posting it. what the hell. you do it and then you can post it in my comments and say, yo steel - you stupid bitch. why don't you check your shit before you post it you idiot? yes. i'd like that. at least i'd have something to fucking read, you lamos.

i'm sorry. i shouldn't call you lamos. it's my fault, really. i disappeared for months. i can't expect to come back and have you all waiting for me, breathless and crying. and i don't. so i'm sorry for the lamo comment.

sorta.

ya hear that? it's time to shake the dust of this here blog and get back down to it. things are plugging along nicely at edifice WRECKED. we've been getting some great subs and publishing some really awesome writers and thanks to ben chadwick, our new online system is so easy to use that we are able to keep up with everything and i don't have to panic anymore about publishing. it's just fun... like it's supposed to be. big up, ben.

american idol has started, though it hasn't gotten good yet. i don't really enjoy the auditions as much as i do the actual contest. i only find one night of the awful singing even remotely humorous and the rest is total overkill. of course, i continue to watch it every night it's on... for the full 2 hours, of course. dumb, dumb, me.

i really don't know shit - just wanted to pop in and say hello and try to get back in the swang of thangs. i haven't been writing a gatdamned thing and i figured maybe this would jumpstart something... jog something loose or something. but mostly, i just missed you guys and wanted to say HI.

so HI. let's all sing.

it’s howdy doody time. it’s howdy doody time.
bob smith and howdy do say howdy do to you.

let’s give a rousing cheer, 'cause howdy doody’s here,
it’s time to start the show, so kids let’s go!

i just don't know what is going on in the world anymore. all the fighting and disease and death. i honestly can't take it. it's too much. i used to read the news and watch all of the horrible things going on and feel outrage and empathy and really want to do something about it all. even if it was sending money to unicef to help feed kids in africa or as big as joining the peace corps or starting protest rallies. now i just want to crawl under a rock and cry. there's too much. too much death and destruction. too much hunger and pain. too much apathy and bigotry and ignorance and intolerance and too many people who believe that they don't have to do a goddamned thing because there is a magical man in the sky that has it all under control. this overwhelms me and angers me and frightens me to the point that i am paralyzed and frozen.

i can't change one mind much less millions. i can give the change out of my ashtray to the homeless person on the corner but it won't put a roof over anyone's head. even if every person on the road gave every penny from their ashtray it would never be enough to put a roof over a single person's head. because it's not about money, it's about status. it's about credit and credibility. stability. it's about giving people a chance to do better and actually believing they can. we don't give the homeless money because 'they'll just buy beer/drugs/cigarettes/whatever' with it. well, so fucking what. if you had to live on the fucking street maybe a fucking beer and a cigarette would be all you needed to make it through the fucking day. people don't help each other because they don't know what it feels like to NEED help. there are too many priviledges here in america and people feel entitled to every fucking one of them.

go spend a day with poor people. you'll see humanity, community, love and a true willingness to help each other out. because they know the difference between need and want. they know hunger is feeling your tummy rumble at 10 p.m. because you haven't eaten all day - not because you skipped dessert. and if they have one loaf of bread, they will share it with their neighbors because they'd rather see everyone get a little than eat their fill while others go without.

i drive around everyday and i see flags and bumper stickers that say 'proud to be an american' and i remember not too long ago relating to that. but not any more. i am not proud to be an american. i am ashamed. and not because of our president (though he is at times a complete moron) but because of our arrogance and blindness. because we refuse to see beyond our own borders. because we honestly think that everyone else in the world is just sitting around bummed because they don't get to live here. that may have been true once up on a time - but not anymore. i don't think there are many that are jealous of our horrible obesity rates, crime rates, deaths by drugs, school shootings, heart attacks - high high stress and low low production. yep, we work more hours than most other nations and yet have one of the lowest production rates. oh, but we're free. and i'm glad for that. if not for that, i wouldn't have this blog. i wouldn't get to say the things i say and i do enjoy my freedom of speech.

explain to me how saddam hussein was threatening that again??? how exactly are our troops keeping my personal freedom in tact? were we about to be taken over by some horrible dictator that they haven't told us about?

ok. i'm done ranting. i'm really sorry. i just got finished listening to this motivational speaker at work and he was all about MAKE AN IMPACT and all i could think was HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? the problems are too big, too massive, too awful, too, too, too, too, much.

now. where is my goddamned rock? i'm ready for my good long cry and a nap.

seriously, what the fuck with this. i mean, i know it's fake. but still. why oh why oh why oh why oh why....

oh why
oh why
oh why.....

can't it be real? ha! you thought i was going to say the other thing but i said the thing that you didn't think i was going to say. oh never mind. you know what i mean. seriously though. this pic is disturbing. just a little bit. i have several questions i need to ask this man about his gigantic fake vienerschnitzel.

1. where did you get such a gigantic fake vienerschnitzel and how did you apply it to your body?

2. why are you bothering to hold the base of it with your fingers?

3. does it wobble to and fro? can you tie it in a knot? can you tie it in a bow?

4. why aren't you showing your face? seems to me if i was a guy and had a 14 foot cock i'd want my face well attached to it.

5. can i have your phone number? email address? can i at least borrow the gigantic vienerschnitz when you are finished modeling it?

ok, so maybe that's all the questions i have for him - but i would like to compliment him on the very realistic job he's done with the balls. nice work gigantic cock man. you deserve a bud light and a funny, yet admiring radio commercial voiced by the crazy old gun guy who used to be cool back when he was just moses.

aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnddddddddddd...... i just have to add that i can't stop staring at it. it's so frightening yet beautiful and strange and weird and fake yet still looks real. i'm a moth to its goddamned cocklight.

i think you all know by now that i'm somewhat of a masochist. and if you don't, well, then you haven't been paying attention. shame on you. but the cooler weather (and a friendly email) have reminded me of what time it is. well, almost. nanowrimo is coming, it's coming, it's coming! i failed miserably last year. miserably i tell you. but this year... this year i will soar past that 50k mark so fast it'll scare you. BOO!

i will needs lots of encouragement though. so from november 1st through november 30th i ask that you visit this little blog often and read whatever dreck i post and praise me profusely, offer strategies and tips to keep writing when i don't want to, read my stupid whining and tell me to shut my piehole and just keep writing, offer me lots of cybercoffee and cyberhugs... ya know, the usual. i may be a masochist, but i'm a neurotic masochist. i like torturing myself so that others can come behind me and nurture me back to full health. what's that called? oh yeah... a MARTYR. fuck that. i fucking hate martyrs. i'm not one of thoooooooooooooose people. i'm just cuckoo. i like that better.

ok, so it's going to be fucking ON in 33 days. are you ready???

what have i been up to? wallowing as usual. this is not a new thing i wrote but it's how i feel today so i'm posting it. i have a better, edited version somewhere but i can't find it - so, this one will have to do.

i love YOU GUYS - but today, i do not love me or god or flowers or the sun. today, well, i do not love today. today, i wallow. maybe tomorrow i will love.

Love is Me

Some say love is like a balloon. It grows and expands the more you put in it; it soars as a colorful testament to purity and innocence for all around it to absorb; and because you must be careful not to hold it too tightly or it will burst in your hands and leave you in tears, begging for more. I say love is definitely not like a balloon. Balloons are fun and safe for children. Love is not. Love is not patient, nor is it kind. Love envies, boasts and is prideful. God lied.

He lied when he told me all I had to do was believe. I believed my daddy would never die and God killed him two weeks before my tenth birthday. He took away my sun and my smile and the only arms I felt safe in. He took away my fishing trips and my piano lessons and the only person who believed I was worth more than the dog. God took away quiet nights in the dark listening to my daddy singing and playing the guitar and getting my nose. That’s what God does to little girls who believe.

He lied when he told me all I had to do was trust. I trusted that I would always be loved and accepted in my own home. That trust was broken when my mother got drunk and fucked strangers on our couch. When she called me a slut and a fucking bitch at twelve. When she slapped me across the face for telling her she scared me or that I didn’t want to stay home alone all night long. And definitely when she told me I shouldn’t break up with my boyfriend when he punched me in the face at thirteen. That’s what God does to little girls who trust.

He lied when he told me all I had to do was pray. I prayed every day to be saved. Saved from my mother, my sister, my brother, my self. I prayed I could stop eating so I wouldn’t be fat. I prayed my boyfriend would stop smoking crack and stealing my money and hitting me. I prayed that my grandfather would stop touching my private parts and stop kissing me with his tongue. I prayed for him to save my mother, but he killed her just when I had accepted and begun to love her. I prayed to be happy. I prayed to be a good mother. I prayed to be dead. None of these prayers were answered. That’s what God does to little girls who pray.

I can handle the evil in men. I have seen and felt and experienced it and I have seen it and felt it and experienced it in myself. I have been cruel and hurtful and greedy. But I do not seek forgiveness from God for these things. God should beg my forgiveness. God made me this way. Hell does not scare me. God. Does not scare me.

If God is love, then love is a bullet. Love is a blade. Love is fire. Love is blood and tears. Love is rot and pus. Love is not patient. Love is demanding and unfulfilling. Love is frightening, threatening and damning. Love is bitter and pissed. Love is a tooth, unbrushed and filed to a knife’s point, eager for one more cut. Love is not God. Love is me.