Posted on November 5th, 2010 7 comments
In Exodus Moses goes up Mount Sinai to talk to God as a burning bush/tree/shrubbery. I like to imagine it was a berry bush. Moses no doubt got some hunger pangs listening to the Old Man read him the riot act to communicate to the Jacobites. He indulged. Don’t kid yourself. These are the factual origins of the first “Holy Crap.” So let it be written. So let it be done.
I share a relationship with this story/documentary/biblical-account-of-events in a few different ways. I went up the mountain and I did eat berries. Many MANY craps were had my friends. I even had a few different beards. I don’t think any of mine where anywhere close to the magnificence of a Moses beard. I mean how do you go up a mountain looking like Brian Wilson of the Giants and come back down looking like Gandalf? If I may barrow a quote from the urban youth, “Shit be crazy son.”
I’ve been absent from the world for a while now. I moved out of ole Chico California and headed up to Shingletown California for a little peace and quiet. This transition took place at the end of June and I’ve moved down into Redding at the beginning of this November in 2010 the year of our Lord.
Explanations are due for why I’ve moved around so much - but really that is my business so live your own life you damn stalker.
I will say this: “If you are in need of time to sort out your brain, work on some jigsaw puzzles, and get a lot better at playing an instrument then you need to spend your summer in a forest paradise like I did.”
Let’s talk about the future!
Now that I’ve been enlightened and scrawled out my tablets it is time to educate. I wrote a few scraps while I was up there but on the whole I didn’t do squat. I mostly ran around my basement, read muscle magazines, Mother Earth magazines, Backpacking Magazines, meditated, and stared outside a lot. Now that I’ve detoxed mentally I’ve got a fresh slate and it is time to cross some line items off the bucket list.
I’ve jumped straight into the fire with NanoWriMo this year and it is my intention to get involved in many different writing projects in 2011. I’m also going to be starting a structured Podcast show that will be unrelated to writing at all. Stay tuned for that in the future.
Lastly, here is an extremely professional and flattering photo I took recently for my modeling portfolio to indicate I’m not dead. It isn’t that I don’t think ghosts can’t live successful lives here on the internet – just that I’m not one. Let’s be real here. This is the perfect place for a ghost to live. Can you imagine the look on Chris Hansen’s face when TAPS shows up? Not to mention the ensuing seance would be of some historical significance.
“… if there is an entity present with the Skype handle of JacobMarley69 here with us… give us a sign of your presence…”
Posted on November 27th, 2009 2 comments
Constantly I am looking for proof, a sign, or some sort of something that tells me there are forces in this world beyond what I can sense with my silly short bus human brain. Tonight was one of those nights where I just had to smile and say, “Okay.” Let us start about two hours ago.
Come on! Hop in the Delorean, let’s go!
Whoooooooooooooooooooosh! pzt bzt pitsh bachowwwwwwrrrrmmmm
I decided it was time to finally sit down and tackle the problem a lot of us are facing. Debt. The cruel mistress and price of my greed for toys was piling up along with the anxiety of not knowing where I am at. So I figured it all out and figured out a reasonable payment plan to make it all go away. Every expense I have per month, what was left over, and what I had to live on was all planned out and calculated. So now I’m on the road to freedom.
Now, after a person figures out these things the last thing on their mind is spending money. However the hunger was setting in and I desperately needed some household items. So I turn out the pockets and the wallet to discover I’ve got $12 cash money, solid green backs, hard earned bones, mother effin’ doe ray mine. I look at my desk and scavenge the quarters from this weeks pocket change. I also open the junk drawer on my dresser looking for quarters; there were none, but I took a dime and two nickels just so opening the drawer was worth it. Tally before I left the house $13.70!
I decided to go to the only place I knew that could stretch money for days, Grocery Outlet. Trash bags took a solid chunk of the money at $6 bucks but I grabbed dinner and a loaf of bread anyway. The math in my head said I would be close but I should be alright. It isn’t like I don’t have any money in the bank but I wanted to see how far the cash I had would go. It was close! Way close!
So close I just had to say, “Thanks Universe!” You rock my world again!
Posted on November 15th, 2009 2 comments
Since about the age of nineteen I’ve prided myself on keeping memoirs of my life. I’m twenty five now so that is a few solid years of documentation. Depending on how my life is going I’ll make anywhere from 2 – 5 entries per year. When I was in college most of my entries were done around Christmas time while I was home from school and feeling the most reflective. Now I find that entries take place when I have been faced with some life altering realizations or some sort of trauma. The memoirs are a glorified high school girls’ diary. I can boohoo, curse, dream and fantasize about everything and anything. Last night I was making an entry (last one was in May of this year) and I found myself flipping back through time.
The beauty of the memoirs is that I place no rules on them. Some of the text is just blind jibberish where I could not be bothered with corrections at that time. Essentially I have been able to capture a snap shot of my mind during some of the most important events in my life. Reading back I started to notice there was no pattern. It is as though each entry was written by a completely different person. If it wasn’t for the consistency and actual follow up to previous entries you would think it was some sort of anthology where every author just tore a page out of their own personal journals.
I’ve always been on the quest you see. The quest for complete self definition. Consistency in this pursuit is evident at the root of every action, relationship, conversation and intellectual pursuit I’ve ever undertaken. I will only do things in life where the reward for failure is equal to the reward of success. Chew on that carefully.
My memoirs tell me that I’m always changing. Five years is beyond habitual abuse or even addiction to change; it is now a part of who you are. I think there is only one thing to do and that is to embrace it. Be comfortable with who you are today and be prepared to meet the new you tomorrow. We are all suffering from the exact same mild case of personality alzheimers.
Posted on September 19th, 2009 No comments
Today is September 19th and that means it is talk like a Pirate Day! So grab your yard arm, moisten up your mast, and listen to Salty Steve’s 100 word adventure.
The Adventures of Salty Steve: Trouble at the ole bunghole.
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” Salty Steve cried in pain holding his eye during his shift on the night watch.
A bung had popped out of a barrel and shattered on impact. He looked on in panic as grog spilled out onto the deck and did the only thing he could. That night, the air dropped below freezing temperatures.
A knock on Captain’s door.
“Captain! Steve stuck it in the grog sir!”
The wooden door creaks open.
“I reckon any time is right for grog. Steve’s put a cock-valve in it then?” the Captain asked.
“Nay sir, no valve.”
Posted on September 16th, 2009 1 comment
Chapter 18: Remy in the evidence room with the lead pipe
The outside of the police station looked like a movie premier. Flashing lights from squad cars and bright white lights mounted on news cameras gave the grungy building a red carpet quality. Arthur drove his boat of a car right up the middle of the crowd. Reporters and bystanders jumped out of the path of the headlights and roaring engine behind them.
“Get out of the way. Come on.” He honked the horn and waved his hand out the window. The camera flashes were redirected in their direction as more people recognized the car and the Martian boys inside.
“Move it!” John screamed out the passenger window holding out his badge to the crowd.
“Detective Martian what is going on inside? Did the neglect of the department lead to one of your own dead?” A young blonde woman reporter in a short blue dress walked along side the car sticking a microphone in Arthur’s face. He batted it away.
“No comment. Tell your buddies to move it or I’m running them over.” After a few moments the front tires of Arthur’s El Dorado caught the curb lifting the front end.
“We’re here,” John said.
John and Arthur got out of car and pushed their way to the entrance of the station. A group of young cadets were standing outside the door keeping the gathering crowd at bay.
John patted one of the young men on the shoulder as they slipped into the doors. “Good job boys. No one else gets in until we come out.”
“Yes sir,” the youngest looking of the men said.
* * *
Remy sat unconscious and handcuffed to a chair in the middle of the lobby guarded by the boy cop. The chief paced in his office talking on a cell phone to the director of the FBI. The Feds decided it was time for them to come in and handle the situation. Arthur and John sat on cheap plastic chairs in the small cramped office while the chief made his case to the director.
“I know this is a big fuck up but we can …” Blackburn’s stubby hand ran through his wispy gray comb over. The short man paced back and forth in yesterday’s brown wrinkled suit still trying to rub the last remnants of sleep from his baggy eyes. He no doubt had been roused from a deep whiskey induced slumber to come and deal with this.
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