forgetting that this isn’t livejournal

I’m not just a writer. I am fully capable of locking myself in my bedroom and drinking a case of diet coke, reading the first five pages of a novel and never finishing it, then writing sixteen poems about how sad and miserable I am, but that is silly and fucked up and dumb. I should be at the coffee bean

running into nicole burdiss (WHO I MISSED, FUCK) and hanging out with KT, and various other coffee drinking people. And having faith, not in God who I am unsure of, but in people and the fact that when I remember to show how much I care, my friends and family tend to reciprocate. Also, I need to take my stepdad fishing, or give him a gold brick or something. He is hurting and trying so hard, so badly, I don’t know how to describe it, but I love him so much that I hurt when he hurts. It has been really painful hanging out with him.

Things that need to be back in my life

1. the SHIFT key. Seriously. Grammar. meh

2. Andrei, Talbot, Jonny T (whoops, he is in alaska), Burdiss, Shannon, Solis, Korovesis (if I didn’t destroy that), Amir, etc

I can keep pretending I hated every minute of high school, or I can realize that a lot of people made it more than bearable.

3. my parents. they are cool. they are batshit insane. they are wounded, and on pain medication (not in a bad way, but still), and anxious. but they love me a whole lot. they aren’t out to get me. i’m not 13, and i’m not all stoned and paranoid. they deserve more credit than i give them.

4. my sisters. I need to call C + D once a week. I need to take bridget out to lunch tomorrow. Hm. I need to write a poem about them. I need to get

5. some tattoos. not iguanas, or my initials, or anything silly. 4 flowers, and two birds. i need to make it so.

and thus concludes the least interesting thing I have ever written.

Thank you Brianna for being the only person to read this. Maybe one of my sisters? probably not. I betcha jesus reads it.

woah

I’m all football (er, uhm, soccer) crazy right now, but the champion’s league final has me all silly. Also, an MRI from when Petr Cech had his head kicked open and almost died has been released. Holy crap.

http://www.mailonsunday.co.uk/sport/football/article-1020526/REVEALED-This-keeper-Cech-continue-wear-helmet.html

josy altidore vs. the world, or other reasons videogames empower out of shape men

i can’t play soccer for shit. never really tried, never was one of my failed youthful sporting endeavors (tennis, football, baseball, karate, track, cross country, all of them abject disasters) but it seems that soccer is the sport i most readily identify with. if i’m going to be on a field, facing some sort of enemy, i wouldn’t want to be all armored up in helmets, that just implies injury, and i’d rather be taken by surpise. also, i’d want ten teammates, that seems like a much more supportive group, and there is a greater chance my weakness would not be as apparent if stuck in the middle of 11 guys. one bad player on a hockey team is a weak link who fucks everything up, one bad player on a soccer team is spirited and chippy. atleast in my mind. no one yells at william gallas for being crazier than shit, no, arsenal fans love his spirit and ability to shoot as a defenseman. beautiful game indeed.

i think it would be fascinating

to learn how to make animated sequences, or work at a liquor store. cutting out bits of construction paper to make soft oranges, or selling pints to the blue hair of sad women, gin and six ounce botttles of canada dry. making clouds out of super glue and cotton balls, sad tooth pick creatures walking on an astro turf lawn, the six pack caught in the sharp fingers of a roofer, he will fall asleep and forget to snip the webbing, dooming some seabird eight thousand miles away.

anyways, here is an awesome animated version of a billy collins’ poem

poem

buck up, child

depression is a physical state too, pretending to watch amatuer court case dramatics, staring at a window sitting next to plastic trees, smoking bonfire cigarettes and cursing myself with two scents. ought to be riding my bicycle, working somewhere, drawing something.

buying crayons

in which i write a song only an idiot would sing

i don’t have to go right now

which is the awesome jingle from a bladder control commercial. i think it would be an awesome chorus for any song as long as a long list of places we all eventual have to go could be assembled before it. god, i need to plan these things out before i start writing them. anyways, that goddamn jingle was stuck in my head, so here is some sort of poem about places we have to go eventually. fucking spontaenous prose.

there is a post box with an extremely creaky door on the corner of lilly and ann arbor road

i’m gonna have to go there

eventually we all run out of toilet paper

i’ll have to check the super saver, we all like discounts

i’m going to have to go to all of these places

going to need to buy laces for my broken down suede shoes

but i don’t have to go right now

(behold the power of the internet)

happy mother’s day. mothers’? oh punctuation, you vex me.

i think that scrabble should be scored by the participants, not by some stupid point system. my mom threw down

g

omus    (read backwards, damn auto format ruined this)

c

last night and it blew my mind and hurt it. sum was already there. it was just crazy crazy crazy.

in other news, who wants to hold a poetry show in plymouth? in other news, does anyone read this?

in plymouth?

chuckie hughes has the cutest dog in the world and other things no one give a shit about

seriously. why cares?

but when a golden retriever puppy licks your face in the dead light of early morning redford while chuck rolls around naked in bed and juji makes terrible hung over gasps and grunts, the whole world seems to be a better place. she gon’ leave tomorrow. shitty. i need a job in montana, or siberia, or someplace that isn’t a machine shop. went back to the oldey tyme physical therapy office, and it is all new, and full of flat screen tv’s, and there are 11 million new offices, and maybe i can get a job there, and i hugged keshia and realized how teeny tiny she is, and how much i love all of those women and miss my old job. so, there’s that.

there is a silver wooden duck in my room. really.

a cynic? nah. i just get overwhelmed. dave told me to just “give them the benefit of the doubt”, and i went a little crazy, because everything here is just a little crazy. but i am basically powerless over most of this, and can only do my best to avoid unwrapping bandages and airborne foodstuffs. i will be in the basement memorizing poems in vietnamese, etc.

KT told me in an e-mail today to just write and who cares what anyone else thinks of it. which is what i wanted to hear, because this insane faucet of poems about dog shit and 24 hour gas stations and unfinished cups of coffee had me worried that i am losing something. really, i’m just looking for something, and finding a little bit of it everytime i write.

andrei is hurting. we are all hurting. brett might have pink eye? who the fuck gets pink eye. this is not “knocked up”, i did not fart on his pillow. from now on, only people ages 8 and younger get pink eye. and head lice. also, polio. i do not need to be worried about polio right now.

well, that got interesting. stay tuned next time for “andrew dooley vents about his family and ends up wishing terrible diseases on the world’s youth: part 2″

an honest appeal for reason in these trying times.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20080505/lf_afp/usreligionpovertyenergyoil

“Tired of paying through the nose, Americans try praying at the pump”

Cool. I am sure that these same assholes will vote for McClinton (either way, it scares me) because of a proposed 30 cent gas tax relief. “try praying“, the article does not call the behavior last-ditch, or silly, or absurd, even though it clearly is.  We have way too much religious tolerance for crazy in this country.

I hate this place sometimes, religion is just getting scarier and more absurd.