The Point Please.

When I am traveling around, doing my thing, I notice people. Its what I do best. I notice them living lives I'll never live. Doing things I'll never do. Being someone I'll never be. Its not that I lack the capacity for success. I am smart, capable, creative, funny and all sorts of other good qualities. But there is one thing missing. One part of my brain never developed or I never learned something as a kid, what ever it is, it left me completely devoid of the ability to connect to people on a deep level. My anxieties control my life. If I want to do something, they jump out of no where and push me down. Make me avoid things. Make me a loser.

So why am I writing this down? Fuck you, thats why. Its my blog I'll bitch about my short comings all I want. No one reads this anyway, so fuck you. Now, can I continue? My problem is I have always been alone, even when surrounded by people. I had a few short brushes with intimacy and a lot of good that did me. Now I'm haunted by memories of what could have been. And what never was. My brain has twisted those memories so many times I can't even be sure how much really happened, how much was just fantasy, and how much was some weird combination of the two.

So please, cherish the person you are with. Worship them. Admire them. Touch them. Smile at them. Be patient with them. Listen to their stories. Laugh at their jokes. Don't get mad at them. Most of all, love them. Grab onto to happiness because it sucks out there without it. When you are alone, when you have always been alone, life sucks. You don't even know why you get out of bed in the morning. All you know is that there is this aching inside you, this blackness that throbs when you see a happy couple. It is like a vacuum, pulling at the back of your throat. Choking you. Making your heart skip a few beats and not in the good way.

If you are married, or attached or however you define it, just be happy. Its not that hard. If she is being a bitch, smile, say your sorry, suck it up, hug her, do something to feel close. Tell her she looks beautiful even if she doesn't. Especially if she doesn't. Don't take her for granted. She could be gone tomorrow. Take it from me, having someone who drives you crazy, is better than having no one at all.

The Massiah

So apparently all these Christians and Catholics are waiting for the return if Jesus. I know, its news to me too. But heres the thing. The last time he was here, some angry Jews killed him. What makes you think that won't happen again?
Heres my point. Lets say he does come back. Everyone would go ape shit right? If I saw him walking down the street I wouldn't get all misty. Instead I would punch him right in the face. Theoretically as the son of God he would see it coming. At the same time though, since he is into turning the other cheek, I think he would just take the hit.
Why would I hit Jesus you ask. Well, thats easy. I want to be the first. If he came back and people were like "oh wow, its Jesus, but look at his eye, someone got him good." I could tell people in all honesty that it was me. It would solve any argument. Just watch.

Not me: "Hey buddy, I was next in line."
Me: "You better watch your ever loving mouth!"
Not me: "Who do you think you are?!"
Me: "Oh, no one, just the guy who punched Jesus in the face!"
Not me: walks away full of shame

The First Two Weeks

The first time I saw myself I was had been driving along listening to some Maiden while sucking down a fat joint the size of a magic marker. I had spent the night before balls deep in a acid trip that was the result of four drops of the cleanest stuff I'd ever seen. I had spent that entire day wandering around the woods behind my house looking for gnomes. I was pretty sure they were running the whole world behind the scenes and my proof lay in that they were so good at what they did that they were never seen. It made sense at the time.
So when I saw myself riding a bike down the street I thought maybe I still had some of that acid running through my head. Maybe it was some sort of residual after effect. Like those flashbacks DARE teachers were always telling us about in middle school. Maybe I had been mistaken, maybe it wasn't me but just some schmuck who resembled me in a vague way. Acid has a way of tricking you. You think its just seeing things that aren't there, but it goes deeper than that. Your brain actually thinks things by itself. So I chalked it up as being high and strung out so I continued on my drive, sucking down that sticky doob, and humming along to Running Free.
All the while I did not notice the changes that were around me. A road now fully developed with cookie cutter houses painted in light colors like the clothes out of a LL Bean catalog. This road however was lined with trees. The shade was palpable. I pulled another toke of that joint, the cherry glowing brighter than anything around me, so much so that it obstructed my view of the road and I almost crashed my car into a cow standing in the middle of the road. But it wasn't a road at all. It was a field and there were cows everywhere. Was I so stoned that I drove right into someones pasture? Was that even possible? I mean, I was really stoned. The kind of high where I feel out of place and awkward. I almost feel too stoned.
I got out of the car to survey my surroundings. I was definitely in a field. No sign of the road either. I looked behind my car and the field was churned up by the tires. The tracks went back for about twenty feet than just stopped. Almost as if I just appeared here. I felt for sure that I was deep in a acid trip and any minute now police would show up and lock me for driving while crazy. Though no one showed up. I could see a small house way up the hill from where I sat, but other than that the only sign of civilization was the stone wall the surrounded the field.

to be continued....when I am more awake.

Every Morning

I don't know where I am anymore. I wake up each morning confused and alone. Why am I in this bed? Whose blankets are these? What the hell am I doing here? I get up out of that strangers bed, put on someone else's clothes and walk down stairs to root through someones fridge in search of food that does not belong to me. After I drank someone else's coffee and eaten their food I than go back upstairs to shower. I hope no one comes home and finds me, some stranger, using their soap and towels. That would be very embarrassing.
Once I am clean and dressed I step outside. For some reason I have this urge that I cannot quite define. I feel edgy. I feel tweaky. I feel weird. I dig through the pockets of the pants I am wearing and find a pack of cigarettes. I have never smoked before yet somehow I feel like this is what I need. Odd, there is a nice Zippo lighter in the pocket as well. It is old, it is beaten and it looks like someone went through a lot just to make sure they didn't lose it. I wonder why they would leave the house without it. Maybe they are somewhere, waking up in my bed, looking at my things, wondering where they are. Maybe during the night, when we were off in dream land, we got lost, got disoriented. Maybe we went back to the wrong body.
Does he prefer my life to his? How, you might ask, do I know that it is a him. Well, when I woke up this morning I was a man. Just like when I went to sleep. The only difference is I wasn't this man. I was someone else. This man is tall, he is heavy, he smokes a lot and he has drugs in his pockets. He lives in the suburbs. He has a nice car. He has a cell phone full of numbers. Full of names of people I have never met.
Is he staring at the mirror wondering who is this stranger looking back at him? At first, thats what I would do. Stare blankly, blinking my eyes and rubbing the sleep out of them. Wondering, am I still dreaming? Is this a nightmare? Did I eat some turkey last night and I'm tripping out in some sort of turkey induced coma? No, this is real. I am not me. My old memories start to fade and new ones take their place. Memories of a life I didn't live. Memories of a person I never was. Of a family I never had. Of a job I don't know how to do. I drink some more coffee.
With each sip, more comes spilling back. I am not that person storming a castle, rescuing a girl from a glass cage full of thorns. Taking her back to hotel room and fucking her in closet. No, I am not that man, who seduced the maid and made her my woman. I am not the man on the run, from assailants unknown. I am not the boy lost in the mall. I am not on a island full of junk metal and tiny people. I am not the child wandering in the woods only to find a trashcan full of crying heads. Heads looking for their bodies. I cannot fly. I cannot breathe under water. I cannot run on all fours.
All I am is the man looking back at me in the mirror telling me this is real life. This is you. You are this person. Look in that wallet there. Read the name on the license. Go outside and compare the address. Call some of the numbers and ask them who you are. What is our relationship. How long have I been me for?
You do all this in your head because you know if you told anyone, you would be locked up. Studied like a lab animal. Only one person knows who you truly are and they are dead. You know this. You know they were not a person at all but an animal. You lay on the grass, right by where your buried her. It reminds you of all the things you are, and by contrast, all the things you are not. You grow to accept these things. A sense of Deja Vu permeates your day. I have done this before, haven't I. I will do it again.

Every Morning.

Bend Over While We Put a Shopping Mall on Your Back

I live in Suburbia. Its lush, its green, its quiet. Not to far away however, are a few towns that just plain suck. Sure they have the malls, the garages, the arcades and the freeways, but boy do they suck. They are dirty and smelly and full of sketchy looking punks who were their pants way to low.
I was in such a town about twenty minutes ago. I was helping my father pick up his chopper at this little bike shop in what used to be a huge factory complex. It was this huge bunch of buildings, maybe ten in all. Very large and old looking. Huge brick walls with cement pillars running up the corners. Large ugly windows, stained a dirty brown from years of filth and soot. It got me thinking, looking up there at the smokestacks and metal hangers, what ever happened to the poor schmucks who used to work here. Here I was, sitting in a big black SUV listening to Metallica on my IPod, and I was thinking about all the poor souls who would trudge their way here on foot, only to work eighteen hour days for chicken scratch.
Please don't start thinking I felt sympathy for these dead folks for long ago. I didn't. Its just that it made me think how everything around us is built on the backs of the previous generations. Maybe your town just got a new mall or a new freeway, but chances are it was built in the place of something else. Maybe it was just a replacement of something that was shitty. Maybe they cleared some forest out of the way. Maybe it was somebodies home that had to go. Whatever was there, well, it ain't there no more. People call it being progressive. Change is good, right? If its a step up, than its a step in the right direction. That seems to be the story anyway.
My town used to be beautiful. There were roads where you could drive on and think it suddenly turned into night because of all the trees lining it. Now there is these large developments, huge cookie-cutter houses. Each one looks the same, each one has the same three member family living it. Wasting a huge amount of space so their kids can have a playroom, a TV room, a reading room, a private bath, a study room and all this adds up to shat. Like the girl you took to the prom these McMansions are big and ugly and really don't make you feel any better about yourself. They are empty, the owners spent enough buying the damn things now they can't afford to furnish it.
I feel bad for the kids that have to grow up isolated in their own home. The place I grew up in wasn't small, but it wasn't large either. We each had our own room, which were kind of small, but they got the job done. We finished our basement so us kids could have someplace to watch TV. We ate dinner together at the kitchen table and actually talked to each other. So how, giving the fact I had a good home life, did I grow up to be the maladjusted man you see before you? Well, it was probably the poor choice of friends, the drugs I like to take, and the fact that I am not handsome nor charming. I, like everyone else in my town, has a false sense of entitlement. I deserve everything, and I don't have to give nothing back. The world is my oyster. I am white, I am male, and I am middle class. That alone puts me above most of the world.
So listen and listen good. I am not telling you to sell your house, sell your car and send your kids to work in a salt mine. I am just asking, look around you. See how everything you have was built by someone else. Your very foundation was laid on the graves on earlier generations. Your kids read textbooks with the names of dead children signed in the cover. Your home is not your home at all, but the future spot for a hover car factory, or a Robo-Exotica Lounge.

Cutty in Short

I tend to think my life was more exciting than it really was. In that regard I am just like everyone else. People look at the world through their own skewed perspective. Its hard not to be bias with your own life. If you really were able to admit to yourself how miserable and pathetic your life was, why you would throw yourself off a building. I know I would.
I was born almost 27 years ago. It was the dead of summer, which makes me think how my parents must have kept themselves busy during the colder winter months. I was almost a full month late. Yes, do the math, my mom was pregnant for about 10 months. It took both my mother and the doctors combined effort and 21 hours for me to be born. I found the experience so exhausting that my lungs had filled with fluids and I was sent to the pre-me ward to be put in a incubator. Imagine me, almost 10 pounds of grade-A American baby, laying there besides these tiny little things. I was kicking, I was swinging, I was anything but still next to this little things that probably looked more like sea monkeys than human beings. There was a bet between all the people who were watching the babies as to how much I weighed. After all this, for some reason, my mother didn't leave under the shadow of night and leave me in the lurch. I guess she figured that anything you got to work that hard for must be worth it. Boy was she wrong.
I grew up pretty normal like. I had friends, I played games, I got in trouble. I was always laughing, sometimes at others expense. I see humor in everything. I take very little seriously. Even after something traumatic I will be the first one laughing and joking around. So the years where I was vulnerable to outside forces were rather uneventful. I had no serious health issues, I had a constant circle of friends, I had beautiful golden locks. You could say I had it all. But as I grew older, I began to change. It was slow, but it was steady. Up into my teens I became a awkward young man, like most kids, but I had an attitude beyond my years. I grew a distaste for those around me. I became paranoid. I became hostile. People quickly learned not to mess with Mike. Not because he would tell someone but because he would overreact and TAKE THINGS TO FAR. At least thats how countless teachers and a number of school psychologists called it. I called it mutually assured destruction.
If you have someone who wants to do a little harm to you. Not a lot, just enough for them to get a good laugh at your expense. You have three choices really. 1: Roll over and take it like some sort of pussy. 2:Try to reason your way out, all the while playing it cool. 3: Do something so drastic that it assures that (a) They leave alone never to bother you again (b) The story makes its way around and you build a solid rep at being a hard ass. I would destroy whomever messed with me. For option 3 to work you have to act fast and decisively. Hit em quick and hit em hard. Stomp them out in the mud, let the others see. Take it way to far. Do something awful to them. All the while watching the others watching you. If they see what happens when they mess with you, why than they will think twice about trying something. Plus a lady loves someone who takes control of a situation.
I might have not always gotten the cutest girl in school. But I got the crazy ones who get off on public displays of savagery. I've had cute girls and I've had crazy girls and I will tell you that you can have the cute ones, those crazy chicks know all sorts of moves that would drive you wild. As a normal red blooded man, I will pretty much have sex wherever the girl wants. With the crazy ones, that could be anywhere. You never know when you are going to get laid. On a train, in a alley, at a funeral, in your friends car on a road trip. Heck the list can go forever.
So whats my point in all of this? Well smart ass, there is no point. I just like talking about myself and this is my blog so you can fuck yourself if you feel otherwise. Now if you excuse me I am going to go get high. Shalom Bitches.

I'd Rather Not

So there is a lot of things in this world that I would rather not be doing. I do them anyway, not out of feelings of responsibility, because I have none, but because there just doesn't seem to be any way not to do them. How do you tell your boss that you would rather not work, but would like to continue to be getting paid? How do you tell your significant other that you would rather not listen to their breakdown of the days events? How do you tell your friend to shut up? How do you tell that chick at the bar that you are done buying her drinks and its time to put out? All these are important questions that we deal with everyday. And yet, despite our misgivings, we go along with anyway.
If I had a nickel for every story I listened to that bored me to tears or every problem I consoled my friend on that I cared less about, I would be rich. Of course, it would be all in nickels, but I think I could spend my days rolling them up and lugging them to the bank with little or no issue. My ears seem to be the waste basket, that my friends and family pour their garbage into. I wish I didn't care. I wish I was so angry and spiteful that I could spit their problems in their face, and tell them to get out of mine. I wish I had a gun.
Than there are situations, which don't directly involve you yet somehow you find yourself right smack dab in the middle of. How many people have that friend who just got married. Probably quite a lot. As you get older, so do your friends, and occasionally one of them gets caught in the sticky spider web of matrimony. My friend, lets call him John, is that very bug, being spun up by his big black widow of a wife. Soon his juices will be completely sucked out, and he will remain and hollow and dry husk of his former self. I see it happening. Its like watching a train wreck in slow motion. You want to stop it but you are in slow motion too and you cannot intervene. Though that doesn't stop it from taking out your yard, or your car, or your leg.
So heres John. Younger than me by years, but older by responsibility. I will be over there, at their house, just hanging out with my boy, playing some video games, smoking some reefer. You know, having a good time. Than in comes wifey. She gives him dirty looks and a nod, and next thing you know we are smoking in the basement. Than, later, he gets another dirty look and a nod, and we are smoking outside. How long before he quits smoking altogether? Soon, by the way I judge things.
I strayed a little but I will get back on point. She wants a kid. He does not. She will mention how she wants to have a child and she doesn't think it wrong to bring this up when I am sitting there. I can hear his soul die just a little every time the subject comes up. How do I tell her I don't want to hear this? How do I tell her that the conversation makes me uncomfortable? How do I tell her to leave my friend alone, that he is too young, that she is a devil woman trying to kill any joy he might be able to squeeze out of life? Can I grab her? Shake her and yell "Leave him alone, wench! He will have a kid over my dead body!" If I did that, she might kill me. So instead of doing what I want, I do what I must. I sit there, snicker a little under my breath, and pray she leaves the room. Than I get us really high. I'm talking super high. So high that the air gets thinner and the stars show through the sky.
I guess thats how I deal with most of life's little problems. I suck it up at the moment, than go else where and blaze a fat bowl straight to my dome. Maybe if I smoke enough I can kill the brain cells that house those painful memories, and continue on with my life worry free. Some might say "Mike, do you want to be retarded?" I say this, YES. Have you ever seen how a retarded kid lives? They are happy all the time. Imagine never growing up. Like Peter Pan, only instead of flying and fighting pirates, you eat ice cream and watch cartoons.
I would continue but it is bumming me out, so I am going to go off and smoke a fat one than play some GTA.

I Hate Babies.

So you tell a new mother that no, you don't want to hold her child because you are worried your hatred of all things baby with boil up and out and you will boot kick that slimy thing against the fridge. And all of the sudden you are a bad person. Why? Because you hate babies? Whats so wrong with that? They are gross. They just sit there and poo. Than they cry. Than you got to feed them. Its like having a monkey without all the joy of owning a monkey.

Which leads me to my point. If you are thinking about having a kid, forget it. Buy a monkey. If I had a monkey me and Kong (thats what I would name him. Not like King Kong but like Slim Pickins character from Dr. Strangelove.) we would be hanging out all the time. I would teach him to smoke a bong and lift ladies skirts and he would teach me how to climb trees and eat a banana with my foot.

So people of America. Save the planet. Buy a monkey. The best thing about it is that if you already have a baby than a new monkey might kill it. Than you can't get in trouble for murder because the monkey did it. Even if you did give it a knife.

The World Sucks Balls

If you are happy than you are crazy. You need serious psychological help if you wake up in the morning and go "gee I am happy to be alive. hurray." Not only are you wacky in the head, but I fucking hate you. Every time I see a smiling face or a happy couple I want to curb stomp them with my size thirteens. I am not bitter. I am just a realist. The world sucks balls. You would have to be blind not to know this. Heck, even blind people know the world sucks balls. They're blind aren't they? Blind people don't walk around whistling dixie thanking god that he gave them two useless fleshy orbs in their face. They know the world sucks because they can't see. Imagine how shitty your life is, now pretend you have to feel your way around. That might be not so bad at some sort of titty convention. But out on the streets that just doesn't cut it. All I got to say is thank god for drugs. Drugs make the world a better place. Assholes kill each other for them, thus increasing the drugs per user ratio. Plus they get you high. Which is the best part of all. So my advice to you is to suck it up, smoke a bong and try to get so high you forget the world sucks a fat wet one.

Just Throwing it Out There

So I am wondering something and I believe I am not alone in this. What the fuck is up with people making computer viruses? Is it maliciousness? Is it business? What gives? I imagine some acne covered fat virgin, sitting in his moms basement typing out code till two in the morning drinking Red Bull, grinning like an idiot as he hammers out another bug to cause innocent peoples family computer to come crashing to a halt. I don't understand this form of vandalism. How can you get any joy from breaking something on the other side of the country? Now I will not lie. When I was younger I was quite the hell raiser. I liked to break things, set things on fire, or soak them with a hose. I liked spray painting big obscene cocks in places where big cocks seem just obscene. But I did those things, as childish and immature as they were, I did them somewhere where I could see them. I could drive by the house a few days later and see their melted plastic mailbox, or their toilet paper strewn lawn, or their polka dotted car and feel a sense of pride of a bad job well done. These kids though who are making viruses and bugs and spyware and all the other crap that causes you not to be able to retrieve email or view pornography, these loser nobodies, they cannot see the damage they wrought. I mean, every once in a while, a big virus makes it to the national news circuit. So maybe thats what they hope to achieve. Fame, infamy, recognition of their computer prowess. If thats the case than they should look around at all the kids who want to be famous football players, or NASA space men, or, god forbid, president. How many of them achieve the success they dream of? How many make it to be the proud few standing before millions. What about the wannabe rock gods? Chances are in five years, they will be washing cars at the local gas station. My theory is that they have been denied pussy for so long that they now consider themselves some sort of evil genius. Some mad scientist, creating his monster in a lab, telling the world that rejected them that their will be revenge. THERE WILL BE REVENGE!!!! Or maybe I'm just bitter that my computer is choked full of junk and it runs like lame donkey.

Introduction to Cutty

Hey Gang, welcome to my blog. I've tried numerous times to get things rolling on this here thing, trying to drum up some of that creative spirit that I seem to believe I have. It's really hard. When I'm walking around on the streets, talking with people, talking to myself, talking with whoever, I am pretty freaking creative. I always got stuff to say about things I know nothing about. The thing is though, whatever I say or do its always a reaction to the people or things I'm around. I am always forcing people to view the world through my own twisted eyes. Thats where the trouble starts here. Here I am trying to force out some shred of something onto a page. Staring at the text which is basically telling me I am boring and lame and somehow, cannot come up with anything worth while. Fuck you text. I know what you're saying. So now I am talking to the words I am typing and if I keep doing this I will end up with pages and pages of bullshit.
So what do I plan to do with this here blog? Good question Mike, lets explore this a little shall we? What I hope to accomplish is absolutely nothing. I want to use this blog like some old taped up punching bag in the basement. I am going go downstairs, pull the boxes off it, blow the dust off and really just go to town on it. Beat the ever loving shit out of it, get rid of some of that extra aggression and frustration that I feel on a pretty much constant basis. I don't plan to make a point. I don't plan to follow a constant theme. I don't plan on making the world a better place. I just want to vent my rage virtually and maybe ruin a few minds in the process.
You might be asking yourself "Why am I reading this far down the page? This guy is obviously a asshole. And a poor writer. Damn he sucks on so many levels I don't even know where to begin." Well, if you are saying that, or thinking that, or maybe you just read that and are admiring how I can guess what goes on in your head without knowing you, than you should check back on this page once in a while. You never know what could pop up. And tell ya' what. I will promise you something. If a few days go by and I haven't added anything new, than I will make it up by posting pictures of tits.
Thank you and good night.