I love James and Kim

Just look at them already

A Halloween poem

Heard Whispers

The spider sways in October winds; she hears the whisk
Of the bat's foot as it leaves the branch, the groan
The bear makes far out on the Labrador ice,
The cry of the wren as the hurricane takes
The house, the cones falling, the sigh of the nun
As she dies, the whisper Jesus makes to
The woman drawing water, the nearly silent weeping

Of bones eager to be laid away in the grave.

Robert Bly

TGIF

Listening to Bjork, on the verge of inexplicable tears, aka my Friday night. I hate how I make the smallest thing, things that should be left unmentioned, so dramatic and important. I also hate my use of the word 'so'. I hate how I take my real sadness and try to make a joke out of it, I also hate that I even mention it. I also hate how I repeat myself. I also hate my use of "I also".

I got up at 4:30 this morning to go to work for no reason. Our delivery, or "truck" as we call it, wasn't scheduled until 8:43, but Danielle wanted Anthony and I to get there at 5 anyway. She was supposed to be there as well, but came in at 8 instead - the time that I would have preferred. Oh and she's the manager. So we get there and there's just about nothing to do, which was weird, sarcastically speaking. So we went to Eat n' Park. Anthony got a mushroom and onion burger at 7 in the morning. I got a boner. No, not really - childish. When we got back, still no sign of Danielle. So Anthony and I made up this game involving two brooms and a bouncy ball. Then the truck got there and we considered it good sport to make fun of the driver the whole time, even though there was nothing really strange about him. I guess he was hairy. We gave him the moniker "Banana Balls" and imagined him eating bananas and doing cave drawings on the inside of the truck, all while pushing boxes and totes down the track to us. Anthony gave him a voice and said, "Can I sucka you balls?" Childish, but oh so funny at the time. The driver knew none of this, we think. And at one point, so perfectly, he let out a "AHHHH" for no real reason I can think of. Good ol' Banana Balls. On the truck.

I will hold a candle up to you, to singe your skin.

Turn off the light 'cause it's night on the sun.

(listening to a mix; my fall mix, all right?)

Back to bed.

Give me your eyes, I need sunshine.

gorilla slaps

Growing a beard until Saturday, then it will shrink a bit. And I will turn into a guy known primarily for saying conditionals (e.g. blah blah blah if blah blah blah). If you don't know, which you can't, you will by saturday. He is crap, by the way.

Now you know - I will be crap.

Paul Schneider

"Awesome"

I'm in love with the world, through the eyes...

True love will find you in the end. Here's the proof. I just bought these shoes. I lost them years ago, well, I lost one of them. Holy crap, here's the truth all right - I didn't lose them, someone else did, on our way to cold Colorado. Back when Teresa was YWAM, and Shawn and I were Savannah. And before all of this blog shit was my shit, back when my shit was nothing compared to this shit. Back when I didn't say 'shit' because of their shit. You know what I'm talking about.

I was supposed to go out and dine with Donovan Hughes, this 60-70 year old bachelor who works for Family House. I cancelled. And should never had said yes. I feel strange about him. Like how Holden felt about certain guys. You know what I'm saying. I'm here for the night. I need to go get weather proofing plastic for the windows, but don't want to go out in this misery. Instead I will listen to Tom Waits. Why does he wait? Because patience is rock.

Read two interesting articles. One on Bill Gates in The New Yorker. And the other on Bono in Rolling Stone. I'm actually still reading the Gates Article. Amazing men. Practical, unsentimental compassion. Compassion that acts more than it cares. Gates has given six billion dollars to address health related issues in Third World countries. And Bono truly amazes me. Even though this word is thrown around a lot, he is the most authentic, real Christian I know of - though the word makes him wince. Which adds to my admiration.

Check out those shoes. They are perfection incarnate. Goddamn!

By the way, did I ever mention that Emily can make a damn good mix. Too much perfection.

Wolf Parade

My new favorite.

Old Blooded Cold Times

Last night Em, James, Kim and I went to Bombay Grill. I had Matar Paneer and it was excellent. We talked a little about Christmas and Crashy-Crash, mostly the latter. What is happening?

Em got me two more birthday presents yesterday. But when I finally saw them, on display on my dresser, I didn't know how to react. It was two CDs, of bands that I hadn't thought of in awhile. I didn't know how to react. I really hate myself sometimes.

Tonight Rosecliffe is a real possibility, but I am getting sick of spending money.

Apparently Jackson Pollock, and Abstract Expressionism, was used as propoganda in the Cold War. I don't know what to say about that. Its cold out and I feel strange. 'Good Day.

Jason, you blowhard!

I was woken up by an alarm this morning. Not a clock/radio, but the house alarm. It was unnecessarily loud. I couldn't stop smiling.

I've been on myspace entirely too much recently. I keep thinking of different tv personalities to search and then I find them and they have all of these other personalities as friends that I hadn't thought of. So it continues. I guess I love it. I found Gene Parmesan, the Banana Grabber, and Creation (the band in Freaks n Geeks). Oh, and of course Harris. And

Still reading Anna Karenin(a). Vronsky is hard to get a read on. I don't know what his intentions are with Anna. And she's about to leave her husband for him. Bad news. I think I'll finish it today. All 500 pages. And I'm on p. 333! Why do we do it? That's going to be my away message.

Emily has to decide on what to do about this coming semester today. I really hope she decides to go, but I understand her not wanting to. The debt and the possibilty of not using the degree - like entirely way too many people my age - is certainly a detterent.

Which reminds me: I have to buy laundry detergent. (detterent, detergent - get it?)

Today I plan on not being on the computer as much, unless, of course, it's work related. Plans.

I want the New Death Cab album. I will tell Emily.

Last night, I went to Del's with James and Kim. We talked about cooking, stirfry, highschool, rebellion, (or take out the first and third comma) and James spilled his water. I should keep a tally of that.

My cell phone will die any second now. Forgot my charger. And my razor, and, for that matter, my shaving cream, and Emily. She wouldn't come.

I've still not decided on a costume. I think I'll be an awesome.

So, apparently Mia told Megan that none of us defended her. What's that about? First of all, I didn't even think of it as pertaining to Megan at the time. It could have been over corn pops for all I cared. Or over my tattoo. At the time, all I was thinking about was "Why did Jason storm off?" and "Why did Josh want to fight him?" Its so petty. But the thing is, if it was about Megan, which for me it wasn't, nor Josh, only Jason and Mia - I wouldn't have defended her, or bashed her. I don't know what is going on with Megan right now to say one goddamn thing about it. That's how she wants it.

But alas, I'm spent.

latent ocd

Here again. So far I have done a lot of writing. Not journaling. I've been compiling all the books and authors I want to read into one notebook, a small green one. To do this I first transferred all of the books and authors from my other little notebooks into this new one. Then I checked the Laureate list and the Pulitizer list. I also started jotting down words I do not know. Thank you dictionary.com. These are on going projects of mine. I was just getting organized.

I love being organized. I don't know how my manager at CVS does it. I'll clean the office one day and the next day it's trashed, by her. So much clutter paralyzes me, to where I not only cannot think straight, I can't even function. But I fear that this love of organization is setting into motion latent ocd habits. Though I don't wash my hands a lot. Something about having a notebook for books I want to read or having a top dresser drawer completely organized, or, for that matter, the top of my dresser clutter free, is so refreshing. I see it, and I'm happy. I see clutter and I'm not happy. It's quite simple.

Halloween ideas: i) Wear whatever I want and say I'm a jerk, because that's funny. Add a mustache and it's even better. ii) Dress really hip and go as a hipster. But it's a little pretentious to know you are hip, even for one day, but honest - everyone know what hip is - and funny, at least to me. iii) Cover myself in blood and say I'm a tampon. Wow. Definitely not. iv) Mad scientist. v) Hop on one leg and say I'm Gareth, but I'd have to wear a suit and I don't want to. Plus say things Gareth said, and that would annoy me.

Now you know.

Two deaths here at Family House. Someone's daughter and someone's wife. I don't know if people are remarkably resilient or if they are masking the pain and sorrow; and if they are, are they hiding it in order to go on and live, and why?, or are they just desensitized and numb? Like most things, it's probably all of the above. People amaze me. How can they cope with so much death and loss? There must be some beauty in the world, enough to give them hope. In fact, I've seen it. But not today, today is ugly.

Shaq says, "Suck it up!"

Good Morning. Our apartment is freezing, what to do? Put on a parka, I guess. I work at 12 today, my hair looks like shit, so does my face, and I feel fat. I also feel like a woman for feeling or saying any of that, but it's the truth - I am a woman. Hooray! Is there really a dog called 'whatamess'? If so, I am that dog too. Probably more so. Here's what I want to do in the next hour. Put up blinds, read more Anna, shower, eat, do sit ups, fix my face, pack a lunch, figure out where Nico's litter box should go or what to do about the open window, vacuum, make the bed, put cocoa butter on my tattoo, put lotion on my hands, eat crow.

e-cake

It appears as though I am 25 years old. Here's how I know. At midnight last night I received a telephone call from the government. A laconic man whispered, "It appears as though you are 25 years old. Post it on your blog." I said, "Ok guy," and went to bed. But he can rest assure because I have done as he wished. And my license seems to bear some truth to his government facts.

Last night, besides the call from Mr. Government, I got an early birthday present, well, two or three. Emily got me this sweet Sufjan tour poster of Abe and a bird. It's like velvet or something. And Beth made me two clear signs. One says, "Jason, I am your father." The other: "COME ON!" Beth is normal, like me (see above paragraph). But here's the thing, I am getting my haircut at 9:15. I plan to get it trimmed, just a wee bit lad.

Today: Hair cut, Indica, Ikea, make sweet love. That's the best birthday ever. Also: My Yahoo! says, "Happy Birthday, Jason!" It even baked me a cake, an e-cake.

think my thoughts

I had an early birthday party last night that almost went really well, didn't go really bad, and was at times ok. I feel a little uneasy about it because of the fistic behavior. It was entirely out of character with how my friends usually act. Because of it, I have decided to not drink nearly as much, which I've already been a little shy on anyway. Too bad we have all this beer.

So, I work at 9, until 9 and I am pretty tired. I am worried about all of these dishes but am also thinking about getting an ulcer because someone told me about that. By the way, I love that drawing and want it - in color. I'm thinking about a letter I got and how lovely it was and made me feel. I'm thinking about the word 'artifact'. I'm thinking about my eyes and how raw they feel. I'm thinking about not having a party for awhile, liking the idea, and deciding that, yeah, we aren't having a party for awhile. I'm thinking about my stomach and how it feels. There's an album called 'how nothing feels' which is not the album for my stomach because it feels like something - something awfully awful. I'm thinking about the doorbell, when you gonna ring it...

"Those are balls."

Tobias' balls. That's all I have to say in regards to the second season. Genius. So completely over the top. Today I work at 1. Teresa is coming over tonight, which is sweet. Beth came over last night and watched the entire first disc with us - even though she only wanted to stay for a bit. Ha! That's not possible.

My stomach aches. I must go and cut it out.

But really you don't know a thing.

Why do I continue to put faith in people when time and time again they fail me? I go the whole way out to Greensburg today to see what Dan had done with the art for my tattoo. This was the day and time they told me to come out there. What I should have done was call ahead, but they open at 1, that was the time of the appt., so I figured I should just go out there. I know they are tattoo artists and that missing appointments sort of goes with the territory. But, as usual, I assume that people care about appointments and people's lives. I did give them my phone number, so he could, and really should, have called me. Thus is life. So the guy I spoke with says to come out saturday, the day of my tattoo and it should be fine. Doubtful. I will go out saturday, but I will call ahead. And I will also call thursday or friday to see if he even looked at my tattoo yet, has done anything with it, and try to visualize what he has done. Not too happy, as you can see, but I will still have a good day.

Plan for this day, in which I do not work. Watch either or all three of these movies: Kinsey, Eulogy, and Sin City. Also plan ot watch a lot of Arrested Development Season Two when Emily gets home. While I am watching these flicks I shall take things out of boxes. Now you know everything.

This, on my body, Saturday.

Only with more leaves, and three colors. Courtesy of Dan Weyandt.

My day ruined over lost sandals

Ok, I'm sitting in the office this morning when I hear all of this water dripping above and to the right of my head. It sounds too close to be a shower, it sounds like its actually dripping onto the office ceiling, and lots of it. Then I see the water, and lots of it. So I turn off the overhead light, which is still off, and luckily I have a guest about to check out. Lucky because while I run upstairs to see what the deal is, she gets trashcans to collect some of the water. I knock on room 207 and this kid, about 16 or so, answers. I ask him, "Do you have a water leak?" He says, "Yeah, I was looking for my sandals." It turns out that the water leak was from the toilet. He simply closed the door when it was gushing over the edge of the toilet like Niagara, and went to look for his sandals. While his mom, what, slept? Man was I thrilled. Meanwhile this lady, who is in a hurry and needs to leave, is putting out the candy dish to collect toilet water. Why would you not forget about the sandals and get your ass downstairs for some towels, or at least come down the steps and tell me. He could have even called me. That baffles me.

Now I'm sitting here in the dark office, because I can't turn on the light in case some water got into the electrical wires, with this pathetic lamp behind me and about 7 or 8 white towels, two trashcans, and a damp cardboard box to my right. This day is turning out to be tremendous. Oh and some of the water dripped on my head, so who knows what disease I will get - lice at least. Probably hiv and aids. Kill me dead.

Current Guy Crush

In honor of Beth's 'current girl crush', which is always a girl that I too have a crush on, I now reveal my own same-sex crush. Isn't that camera hot?

In other news, I am at Ye Olde Family House. I plan to make a large dent in my reading of Anna Karenin this weekend. I also plan to get ahold on love, because it's really confusing to me. It shouldn't be, considering I'm married and all. I'm not satisfied with saying it's a feeling. And I'm not satisfied with saying it's a commitment. I lean more on the commitment side, intuitively, but I still have my questions.

When two people work through their problems, get through the rut of a relationship, is it because their feelings are so strong for each other, or because they are commited? But if they aren't married, how are they commited? What does commitment mean? It seems like what an unmarried couple means when they say they are working through the rut of their relationship is that they remember the good times, i.e. all the times they shared that were mutually uplifting in some way. Or are they staying together because they do not want to be alone? Maybe there is a fear of abandonment, coupled with the somewhat irrational, yet entirely natural, feeling that this person is all they've got, all they're going to get, etc. Again, maybe it's just sheer hopefulness mixed with the memory of good times: "Things were once so good between us, things are bound to get better." But that hopefulness is based on how powerful the connection is, which friends have as well as couples, married or otherwise.

I could go on and on. I haven't begun on monogamy and how true love is not jealous but trusting, not possessive but nurturing. So, given the nature of true love, where does monogamy fit in? It's possessive in its very definition, seeming to harbor jealousy. My own marriage, thank god, is not like that. However, Emily and I, had she been raised differently, would not have got married. We would have simply moved in together. That's all we wanted to do. We were just so caught up in 'doing the right thing' that we ignored or altogether shut off what we actually wanted. It's best to say that what we thought we wanted was to do the right, most morally-acceptable thing. But how can that be what you want? It's what something, or more importantly someone, outside of yourself wants. It's an obilgation, a duty, an ideal. Not a desire. Obviously true desires can line up with duties or moral obligations, but what does that say? It doesn't mean that morals are desires, just that desires can be morals. For example, I set out to write a blog on my current guy crush, Jeremy Davies. Maybe there's some god out there who says that having a crush on Davies is morally exemplary. Hey, it could happen. And yet, that says nothing about me, as far as I'm concerned, only as far as that god or as far as people who believe in that god are concerned. And it also says little about love. Go figure.

Something I recently constructed to save on gas and for healthy.

el ed stands for 'the ed', in spanish

And it also stands for something I don't have any desire to do. But I may try to shadow a class to see if I would enjoy teaching little brats - maybe, who knows? I'll just go and be a shadow in a 2nd grade class room, and scare all the kids. I might like that.

Tonight we went everywhere. Easy. We first went to the Carnegie and Pitt and did boring stuff. But then I got an early birthday present: The Decemberists, Picaresque (see above). I got a slice of sicilian pizza, looked at videos in Crazy Mocha - yes, there's a video store in Crazy Mocha - I saw Mike, aka Buddy Mike, and he invited me to the 7th annual puppet show, which I hope to check out. Then we decided to spend some time in the southside.Which we did. Em spent too much time in Urban Outfitters, but not really. That place makes me feel used or something. We ended our lovely day with Del's. Wow. I got Chicken Divan - which is fettucine alfredo, with chicken, of course, mushrooms and broccoli - and also caesar salad, mushroom soup, ate a ton of bread, and loved the spumoni. All for cheap. Em got a little tipsy and I liked that. But I didn't take advantage of her for some reason. We also had to drop off videos and got Swingers - which we just watched and I loved, baby - CQ, and Carrie.

I also texted Ninehouser with ballsaxophone, which is pretty amazing. All in a day's work. I work in 5 1/2 hours. Goodbye humble vacation. You did your best, but I don't think you tried hard enough. Looks like I'm back to the shit.

('Undeclared' is on dvd. Don't you know?)

ORGAN-donation-IZATION

Here's some news: I found a pair of jeans that fit right. Levi's low rise boot cut 527's. The 567's don't work, but these 527's are perfect.

All of Emily and I's books are on book shelves. Good place for them too. We have them organized accordingly: Children books, religion/spirituality, textbooks, yearbooks (Bogacki), Novels - which are organized by early America, women writers, Russian, modern (post-modern?); Philosophy is organized as chronologically as I could, memoirs/letters/essays about an author, e.g. Flannery O'Connor. Then there's a reference section by the computer, with a small section of writing how-tos and just above the computer, on the top shelf, we have current affairs/ history/ethnography/anything that is non-fiction basically. All we need is a shelf for poetry, which I've already organized - Michelangelo, Lord Byron to Rumi and Rilke, then American poetry from Poe to Kerouac, then Women and ending with anthologies.

I'm so glad you know that. Today I go talk to an advisor about elementary ed. Should be all right, I suppose. I guess I'll do that. What else am I going to do? 'I don't have any talents'. Thus is life, so it goes, c'est la vie.

Malck Axe

I made an appointment to get my tat. I'm pretty scared about it - scared about regretting it. But I'm doing it anyway. I ate at Boston Market with Mike and we talked about the girls. I figured out a way to get a girl to ask me out on date, you know, if i wasn't married. First you say, "So, do you like coffee?". Hopefully, if she's cool, she'll say yes. If no, then that's ok because who needs a girl that doesn't drink coffee? Ok, so then the next day you ask her which nights she's free. Just because you're a curious guy. Say she's free on monday nights. So then the next day you go up to her and say, "So you like coffee, and you're free on Mondays, huh?" Most likely, if she's smart, she'll say, "Do you want to go out for coffee Monday night?" She'd probably say it as if she's getting tired of it, all the beating around the bush. So then you've got yourself a date for monday night. Just that easy. Or, if you're like I was in 12th grade, you'd say, "No I hate coffee," and leave. Ha!

On my way home I decided to stop by the old apartment to put up the mirror that had fallen off the door. The landlord still hasn't called me back about the deposit so I figured this couldn't be a bad idea to put the mirror back up. Especially since there's a hole in the door that is so nicely concealed by the mirror. So I get out my drill, I put in the anchors and the nails, all that crap, put the mirror on to see if its straight. Of course it's not. So I bend down and try to straighten the mirror and it falls forward, breaking over my back. Here's where the story gets a little weird. The mirror is in a million pieces on my floor, right, when the pieces begin to sparkle and change colors and move together. They form one mass and then liquify. I'm thinking, "Holy Moley." Just then the shape grows about 5 1/2 feet. I look up and who is standing there? Alex Mack! I was like, "No way!" It turns out it was the landlord, playing a trick on me. He said if I get a new mirror he might give me my deposit. But first he said I have to stop talking about Alex Mack. I said, "Deal." Which means I lied.

stashosky, shostakovich

Some other words I like: ballsacky, ballswacky, sallswacky, ballgackys, sallsflacky, snowflaky, bogacky, bugake. I like them too much. And all because of a kid Emily and I graduated with named Eric Bogacki. Sorry dude. Your name is hilarious.

Last night there was a gathering in my apartment. James was there, so was Kim and 9, Beth, Joel, Vin, and Aaron, and of course Em. I made pizzas, three to be precise: buffalo chicken, pesto with tomato, and a two-cheese with a little curry. I also drank a Sanka, scroll down to September 29th blahg. Now I've got a shit-load of dishes. That's a lot. Joel will be over soon so I better get prepared. Which means clearing off the table and jotting down ideas. Adios.