It was that sort of morning, popping my contacts in, burning from residue, I'm nearly blinded, bumbling around my space trying to wink down some eye drops through a watery veil, pause, coffee, pause eye drops, and I feel refreshed, this ritual now complete. Damn it! I forgot to hit the local market last night and I'm now forced by default to lunch on an old pack of chicken flavored 'Ramen Noodles', Dole brand lime jell-o with pineapple bits and a can of root-beer, I know, I'd trade up too for a 'Pop-Tart' and a virgin Bloody Bull, that wondrous of blender productions made with crushed ice, tomato juice, hot sauce, beef bouillon and Red Bull - aka a butched up 'bloody mary'. If the rain stops, I might head outside and brazenly enjoy my latest tawdry indulgence 'A Thousand and One Night Stands; The Life of Jon Vincent'. In the bright summer afternoon sun, I'll flash the cover a bit. A voyeuristic peak into a porn icon's life and untimely death. Like a car crash, traffic has come to a stand still, backed up, bumper to bumper and I'm rubber necking it gasping sheesh uttering 'shit', 'mutha fuck' and 'whoa'. Oh and whoa yeah, Readerville.com my favorite bookish E-zine is going paper, with the launch of The Readerville Journal, your soon to be paper or plastic guide to unique content. For the sake of making jockohomo.com more autobiographical, a warning, there are no transitional phrases here, this evening, I'll be traveling to my favorite Ohio town, to take in a home opener of high school football. And you thought this was all art, music, computers, clubs, gym stuff, think again. In a land where the game is a religion, it's all testosterone, fireworks, stadium mustard and cold fresh air.
1:34 PM :
Thursday, August 22, 2002
I rarely read the following in personal weblogs; nothing happened today, it was a very boring day filled with the usual routine. A post covering the boredom would be very dull but factual, diaristic, true. The omission is akin to the lack of bathroom facilities on the Starship Enterprise. Then again, who really wants to see Kirk send the kids down the water slide? Not me.
3:36 PM :
Wednesday, August 21, 2002
The road is shiny (black shine) the wheels slide
It all goes for a dangerous ride
The lacquer crackles (black car) the engine roars
A ship is turning, they come back to the shore
Splish splash I was raking in the cash
The biology of purpose keeps my nose above the surface [x]
0. Various Kurt Schwitterisms
1. Everything's right, and so is the opposite
2. My palette is the wastebasket of the world
3. I don't bother with ideal, I eat the apple with the peel.
I didn't trip and fall in the M-A-C aisle at Nordstrom's, but I did pick up Lipstick Traces A Secret History of the 20th Century at the bookstore. In a chilling bit of coincidence, a good friend recommends 'Lipstick' the very next morning. You see, Kurt Schwitter's sits atop the new IKEA catalog, revolving out of an art field guide, where normally a blurb = life's work. Ol' Kurt gets nearly a full page for his 'best of singles going steady'. Artist as sacrificial victim, spiritual guru, kicking back with an objet trouv�s. Life is the 3 legged dog, who has the richer experience creating beauty atop ruin.
Screw it, do it�it's gayer than you think! That is indeed the softcore version of what a friend refers to as 'find it fuck it' and another as 'ho chasin'. I'll turn it out for fabulous, scrumptious and best of all luxurious i.e. Bobby Trendy-designer to Anna (please help me) Nicole Smith and The new gay Jennifer's Convertibles.
10:26 AM :
Tuesday, August 20, 2002
Needing someone or something to represent evil in the world, to personify it, to define it, to blame, represents the difficulty involved in facing the aspect that you, your country may be capable of the vary same thing. Then again, there are some things that strike distinct fear in my heart like, corporate branding, buzz and sales pitch. Media and PR firms try to assimilate movements as quickly as possible-thereby destroying something they have no control over, it scares the piss out of them. Don't worry, I haven't lost my sense of humor, I'll still get a Croissan'which when I want it, and that says more about America and assimilation than you could possibly ever imagine!
1:57 PM :
Monday, August 19, 2002
Survey of serverlettes work the syntax until it overloads, but I love the rhetoric I can invent, it makes me laugh and fills the space where I used to lay my swelling itching brain. I'm now shooting for ejaculatory, two or more adjectives per line and a warped expressiveness that overflows the margins. Wrap up some rants and bullrush me through the automatic check out. It's raining today and I'm saddled with an abundance of free time, a sinister pause before life becomes chaotic, and I slip into a comfortable yet romanticized free fall. The city, a bombardment of stimuli, crowded noisy dream where intelligence and ignorance collide, every step, I'm part of the paradox that I love and despise. It's raining harder now and I"m thinking of lunch, boring errands and walking to the coffee shop with the paper folded underneath my arm. I regret to inform you that afternoon television will not be broadcast while I perform laundry duty, wait and see if my colors run, don't fuck up my whites, spin cycle wash and go. I listen to talk radio for company, usually the shows with the shrinks and distressed callers from west where alameda east bumb fuck county. I indulge my fantasies by making up stories about the callers, usually psychotic housewives strung out on soap operas and Premarin, pot smoking juvenile delinquents, and horny tattooed army boys. This banal pre afternoon existence, gets shot down at the gym, I focus, wear myself out, burn off a neuron or two and calm myself sufficiently to make some fresh hell. You?
12:38 PM :
Sunday, August 18, 2002
Jockohomo.com is the bastard love-child of Out of Order, Jonno, Ultrasparkly and the proud Papa to the brilliant Malorama, the handsome Andrew F and bad boy BJ. sniff sniff, I'm so proud.
6:54 PM :
