Shame

It's a deeply humbling experience, at 31 years of age with a master's degree, to spend a hot, miserable July afternoon landscaping the grounds of a high school you once dropped out of.

Life is good =)

The Galano Files 4

The only flavor worthy of a real man is black cherry.

Sweet release...

I feel better.
And I hope this state of mind will last forever.

Sweet release.
Revelation.
And I want to show the world my situation.

The Box

So much for my naive prediction I'd return home desperate only to crawl back inside, vowing never, ever to leave again...

Aural Gratification

During the absolute mayhem that ensued when I cranked up my stereo this afternoon for the first time in two months, I had the following profound insight:

"Dance like nobody's watching." is simply one of the lamest catchphrases ever coined.

(God I've missed my cds.)

I'm Baack!!!

From a brisk 3000 mile bicycle ride, that is.

(More later.)

Slog

Today I'm reminded of one of the few still-cherished gifts ever given to me by an ex-girlfriend. It's a small pen and ink portrait of Sisyphus, dutifully pushing his boulder up the hill, with a sunny, carefree smile on his face.

Lament for the Day

No sooner had I begun toying with the idea of making some sort of effort to somewhat curb my severe nicotine addiction sometime in the not too distant future than those evil sons of bitches at U.S. Smokeless Tobacco come along with their luscious new Skoal Citrus Blend, a pinch of which is like one of those tangy lemon flavored Dum Dum suckers I used to get after breakfast at Denny's when I was a kid, but with a special kick, damnit.

Addendum 25.3.07: Please do note I'm about the most atypical consumer of smokeless tobacco there is. Even the apparent new dipping fad at certain gay bars in Austin, according to Dagon, is merely an uptick in patronage by closet-ish country queers from surrounding areas.

Note to Self

Even the sickest BMX on the planet gets you zero respect in the world of SUVs, so in the interest of not being maimed or killed, please, from now on, keep the damn bird in its cage.

Need Endorphins

Day two of complete rest following 40 miles of excruciating non-leisurely* running in one week finds me in a miserable state of withdrawal—fidgeting, pacing, unable to focus on anything (besides blogging) for more than about two minutes. It sucks so bad I'm even thinking perhaps I should finally just stop all this madness—all this insufferable recuperation between workouts, I mean.

*I especially scorn the idea of a "target zone". My own target is simply to push 200 bpm for as long as I possibly can.

Note to MnkyGrl

I can't stop thinking about your navel.

Polarity

Mine is completely fucked right now. One moment I'm simply numb, resigned to the utter pointlessness of it all, then suddenly I'm in a transcendent state of awe, marvelling at the impossible odds I've overcome to somehow materialize from the vast firmament in a sentient form capable of embracing the utter pointlessness of it all—back and forth, two or three times a day.

There's no way to convey how unnerving this is to someone who's never experienced it, but trust me, it is. Still I've long had a tendency to go through such phases in late winter or early spring, and so I know it's unlikely to last more than a few weeks.

I'm sure I'll be a-ok.

Addendum 26.2.07: Yes, I am "bipolar". I suppose there's no point being skittish about it seeing as the reader who happened to ask freely acknowledges being a methadone addict.

Entheogenicvicodinprovigil

The universe on occasion feels ultra-self-conscious.

Feel the Heat

Earlier I was thinking about my favorite scene from Boogie Nights, and wondering if I shouldn't go ahead and buy the soundtrack. This in turn got me thinking perhaps I should move to L.A. and just do porn for the next twenty years—for all of about two seconds, that is, until I considered my qualifications, or rather disqualifications, and totally cracked up at the irony.

Note to Dagon

You're the meat, baby.

Epiphany of the Day

Life is mostly filler.

Note to Cris*

Thanks for reminding me of psychic photography.

*Mysterious 2am drunken crank caller

Dry Factual Account

The time I was served at least half a dozen drinks at a bar on Bourbon Street after declining to provide proof of age and explaining to the bartender that I was in fact underage:

I sat there whining. I'd been on a crowded bus for ten hours and I simply wanted a drink. I wasn't there to make trouble. But the bitch began losing her temper. She yelled over at the enormously fat, semi-conscious owner, "Hey, this 19 year-old kid's tryin' to get served and he won't fuckin' leave!" To which the owner, after mumbling to himself for several seconds, suddenly shot back, "If he's old enough to die for his country, he's damn well old enough to sit at my bar and drink! Serve the young man!"

Note to Reader

I'm sorry it's all become so moronically smutty. I promise I'll move on to some more redeeming theme as soon as I feel like it.

The Galano Files 3

If you begin to feel concerned about the growing intensity of your friendship with some other male, you should sit him down and let him know you no longer wish for the two of you to spend so much time together without usually having hot chicks around.