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Everything Happens for a Reason

“Everything happens for a reason”

I’ve heard that a few times lately and I just really want to know…

what the fuck does that mean?

A girl breaks up with a guy and says to herself, “Everything happens for a reason…” to what? Comfort herself into thinking she didn’t make a mistake? You broke up with him — maybe you made a mistake, maybe you didn’t, but just because there’s a REASON you broke up with him, doesn’t mean that it was the right thing to do. Everything happens for a reason. Many, if not most, things happen for stupid, fucked up, WRONG reasons. Those are called MISTAKES.

“I knew he was supposed to be in my life for a reason.”

What the hell is that? You fatalistic pre-destination crazies are going to make my head explode again.

End of the World

It’s the beginning of the end. Israeli troops amass; suicide bombings increase; Osama Bin Laden is still at large; North Korea & South Korea; India & Pakistan; Taiwan & China; Norway & the Sudentenland; and it’s opening day. Today the Chicago Cubs start us on our journey towards the end of time.

The world is poised on the brink of destruction and the Cubs are poised on the brink of a championship. In recent memory, the Cubs have not had a stronger offensive lineup, more speed or a better defense. They’re going to go all the way, and when they do, we’ll all be dead.

In game 7 of the 2002 World Series, bottom of the 9th, Sammy Sosa will do something amazingly heroic winning the championship for this city, I will jump up from my couch, upending my coffee table, tears in my eyes, cheering. And then all will go white. But we’ll all go out smiling.

So keep the world tension coming. Let the political stability erode into border skirmishes. Let everything build until that final, fateful day in October. Just let the bombs hit before Bud Selig can make any speeches.

Let’s go have a weekend

can i go any more back and forth on things? what’s it mean?

that’s the most oft asked question, to be sure.

fuck this noise! total force! let it go, altman.

let’s go have a weekend, bubbie.

Weekend Regret

it’s all on and gone — we’re feeling more human now, though last night (she said, oh baby i feel so down) as i cooked my steaknnoodles, never left my pajamas, flipped between oscars and sfu and home movies, never left my pajamas i realized that the source of the angst was:


    a. far too much drinking over the weekend

    b. far too much game/tv on sunday

    c. nobody to call to come sit in pajamas too.

but that’s the way the world goes. who’s to say who’s right anymore?

new cycle of life — build up, let out, feel guilty. chase new, let out, feel guilty. ashamed of myself. this is personally encoded.

the lesson i learned — once the bullshit filter is turned off, you start to see a lot of things. and once you…stop filtering your own bullshit, you become yourself again. this is very liberating, and you start to see what might have happened had you gotten too comfortable. i wonder if it goes both ways…. you realize you got very lucky and you make the decision:

    to never let yourself get comfortable that quickly again.

because remember what happened last time?

Being Seen

someone DOES see me! god bless.

really sorry about all the swearing going on lately, but that’s just the kind of language that’s been spewing forth. that’s cool and cooler.

today’s new word: retronym.

yeah, i’m fine

which wins today? tough to say. not sure how i’m feeling. it’s all friendly now (“You take yourself out of the game, you start talking about puppy dogs and ice cream and of course it’s going to end up on the friendship tip.”) and not sure how i’m feeling. obviously everything’s okay — and i haven’t really lost anything… i lament for the future opportunity. i lament….

well i have to ask myself some hard questions.

fuck it, you know? i mean : who am i to say that i’m not doing just fine and dandy? i AM. it’s not as if there’s anything painful happening….just nothing nothing happening. no idea what it is that my head is looking for. what kind of space it’s right now wanting to be in. it’s not fucking talking, except for all the fucking time it’s blabbering.

motherfucker!

damn head.

Deathmatch

javafuckscript errors unpublished blogs need to talks break ins at the office do this by the end of the day it’s all done with magic interrupt me while i’m talking non-specific specifications antsy restlessness lies ridiculous circular conversations crappy music (live)

vs.

the advice and analysis of good friends a hunting party excellent episodes of futurama, simpsons, home movies, six feet under a very good book needs to talk new shoes family the realization of making it through another chicago winter the idea of a new project an unexpected breakfast great music (on tape)

which wins? right now it’s the latter. honestly, when i look at them, i can see which outweighs the other quite easily — the good stuff wins out. the good stuff is just much heavier than the bad. it’s just much more…and more important. and so even though the draft-on-my-right-arm is back…..

i’m alright.

picking it apart

she could have written anything and i would still pick it apart and wonder and question and think to myself, i am fucking my own head — all this time i thought thought thought it was someone else and now it’s just me.

doing myself in the head.

the amount of noise around me is insane. the amount of noise inside me is insane. the amount of noise that i actually make is incredibly minimal.

—-

i think because i’m a “poet” or having had poetic training, i can never write a simple journal entry where i say “Today I got this email that fucked me up and here is what it said…”

Instead it must be cryptic and useless.

totally stalking

trying everything i’m saying to make it sound like i’m not stalking — and to even mention the apologetic fact is to make it worse. like if i’m aware of it, it’s all fucked and fuckered.

a-feh-ction

iMac window commercial is the funny funny indeed.

Was so beat last night I couldn’t even sleep. Had to stay up even later in order to get my mind thinking it was time for bed. And today started better but my head’s just not in the game.

Dave’s phrase, “terra verboten” is so apropos it’s just ill. Everyone tells me, “I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do in your situation.” Well I thought I knew what the fuck to do, but now I know I have no idea what the fuck to do.

Could be misreading the entire situation. Could be? Almost certainly am. Could be totally easier than I think, or more ridiculously difficult than I could ever imagine.

My new all-time favorite word (yes, beating out “freon,” “liposuction,” and “spoonerism”) is “feh.”

(This does not beat out, however, the word “affection” which has held its own special place in my mind since my 7th grade science teacher said it [for some reason] and the sound of the double f’s along with the meaning of the word just hit me pretty intensely.)

Anyway:

feh. FEH. Feh to all of this.