Cinephiles and Dirty Words

More to come

2008-03-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

the poundings will continue soon

Where did this occur?

2007-02-21T20:11:00.000-08:00

I wake up with a startling thump - on the floor - How did i get here? its early - not quite time to wake up - the comfortable room laughs only because it is not accustomed to this type of buffoonery - not drunk - just on the fucking floor. i am told later that i has asked something about the time - attempting to peer past the lamp and clutter of the bedside table proved to be too much for my center of gravity at this foggy hour of the morning. The smoot - old vaudeville house - pictures of the first showing of Frankenstein circa 1932 - ringling brothers - kong - all badges of honor to an era when this town was forgotten - left to its own devices, but loved in its yellowed pages and model T sort of way. almost as though the collective conciousness is the history of the town itself. The smoot still smells of the corwd from those old tymey days - the stage is small, perfect for juggling dogs and siamese twin acts. double tiered house all red seats and dark wood. too steep for modern crowds, the balcony seems as though its merely for show. bitter cold - most of load in i am unable to feel any sensation in my fingers - i learn that my locals are former drug addicts living at a nearby halfway house, so really current drug addics who havent been doing any drugs recently - all hard working folk from local towns who passesd the time of teenage angst by doing eightballs of coke and making meth instead of treehouses - not bad people, just wasted. Simple wooden chair leaning on tree - out of breath, an old man who sits and watches the bird and wood and snow - missing piecess with every pock and crack a story or year that passed by too quickly,. but now plays in elegant prose across the pages of his mind and the delicate nature of his arms and legs.

who are you

2007-02-08T20:38:00.000-08:00

I was looking at a picture of myself recently and had the sudden awful realization of my own mortality. i try to put the number 23 to this face and these eyes that should seem so familiar, but keep coming up as some sort of mystery. i pose to everyone that they look at a picture of themselves and then place themselves into a memory from around when that picture was taken. really exaamine your actions, the things you said, the looks you gave, the drink you drank, the smoke you smoked...everything. it will become absurd, its as though trying to look at yourself as an actual person that interacts with other people and has memories and feelings become completely insane. you may not believe this, but put yourself back in a memory you enjoy and as the initial feeling waves over you, there will be a sense of unfamiliarity, its as though that person who did that is merely an afterthought now. and it only is further complicated when you place conciousness into another person, we are instinctualy led to believe we are the center of the universe, in so many words, we feel everything as it occurs and we only feel what happens to us. no one else. so when you suddenly try to get behind the thoughts of a person you are engaging in a particular situation it will level you...or attempt to put yourself into the conciousness of a person you fought with, or broke up with. everything becomes confusing and complete...lets just all live on the ceilings and smile. its the only way to survive.

Conjectures of a guilty technician

2007-02-06T21:28:00.000-08:00

18 hrs comes and goes like a dream - long enough to leave impressions short enough to be misinterpreted as a dream. I trade the secluded candle lit comfort of angels for hard grey loud scatters of new jersey. I find my legs in the bus that feels more like a submarine and a place i call 'home'. There is an odd comfort that i have found with the bus, a familiarity that estranged childhood friends would have, i say hello and she tells me to sit down and welcome back. The road beckons.
The rolling white hills of pennsylvania pass by smothered in the golden quality of light that has become a signature for frost bitten mornings. memories of tunneling through manhattan on a bleary eyed A train. brief. did it happen? whose face is that? why is everything green? i cant see green - startle - dreaming - complete - memories replayed as reoccuring dream. The roads have gotten bad, will informs us. his twang thicker than before, usually a notation of frustrations as the increasingly iced roads glare and mock him. i sit shotgun smoking cigarettes and trying to make sense of the headlights that pass my face. no such luck. West Virginia unfolds quickly - hills replaced with small desolate store fronts - all dime stores and lonely drunk streets. I unlock my rooms...johnny P and i stand and look at one anothers. we have walked into what appears to be a bed and breakfast, we prepare for a heart shaped bed with satin sheets, and lubricants and marvin gaye and poorly produced pornography. but it turns out to be tastefully decorated, where two people deeply in love could lose themselves - but johnny and i just met - so its seperated beds tonight! i wait for the load in tomorrow and to recap the previous towns show - my thoughts are scattered but i will attempt to lay them here...up next: the theory of todds.

Thus it begins

2007-02-01T16:31:00.000-08:00

I dont care who you are, and you can deny it up and down, but everyone loves the song 'walking on sunshine'. period. but most aren't willing to admit this to anyone they know, because well, somewhere in history someone decided that because 'walking on sunshine' was such a...well....gay song that it somehow was able to tap into everyones natural 'gayness' if only for three minutes. and this scares alot of people. because everyone knows but no one ever says: Yeah when that song comes on and im in my car alone i turn that fucking song up and sing and dance and practically annouce my joy out loud to everyone in the world' no one says that because everyone does it! but at the same time if another car pulls up to you that song gets turned down faster than girls from statten island. oooooh snap statten island you just got burned...because your girls are dirty, or so ive heard, i really dont know...as a matter of fact.....im sorry statten island ladies (nasty hoes). why this walking on sunshine phenomenon fascinates me is because i was listening to this particular song today right before our first load in. which by the way honestly is like monkeys fucking a football, hilarious until you realize its your football. JP and i wrecked shop as usual, but the load in while interesting isnt the most brilliant part of tour. its my bus. i have always dreamed of being a rock star and anyone who has ever put a microphone within 3 ft of me knows this. So for the next few months i get to pretend i am a rock star and not a carpenter...so this is basically the start of my life on the road. the steps kerouac and cassidy walked are becoming my ownl. finding the souls that have travelled these paths before me and leaving my own mark and story behind for someone else to be in search of one day. ive realized that my line of work has its pitfalls and difficulties, but living on a bus that resembles a hotel room and staying in hotel rooms that resemble hyperreal homes is something that most will never experience.
Night falls and i sit in my hyperreality wondering where my friends are and what they are doing. imagining that how im picturing and in what context i am placing them is probably very close to reality. That makes me smile. because i know they are safe and they will be right there when i come home. I cant wait to see what lies ahead because i know its going to make a very surreal story.

another stupid commercial

2006-11-20T13:55:00.000-08:00

...I dont this want to be overkill, but i thought of one more commercial that doesnt piss me off because of its content, rather because of the people in the commercial: There is a Visa commercial on TV currently, that shows armies of scissors marching through American city streets Nazi style (i say this because they are goose stepping, not because i am promoting nazi-ism or that it is in any way, shape or form "cool", but their scissors and they have stiff legs, its not really their fault). so they storm the streets and for some reason everyone is lined up to see this, although it doesnt seem that much of a suprise because if i heard that scissors were marching down the street i would either run outside to see if it was true or stop doing drugs because my brain had obviously given up on reality. these people proceed to toss their credit cards at the scissors and these metallic Gestappo have a frenzy feast of the cards, eating them up as fast as mark foley would a adolecent page. nothing wrong...until you reaize that everyone is cheering and hugging! people always accept happy as normal so this really doesnt seem odd...until you add up the facts:normally inadimate metallic cutting devices brought to life + feedy frenzy + cheering crowd = normal. this adds up because its televison and there is suspension of disbelief, but for the love of christ people open your eyes! if that happened in real life those fucking scissors wouldnt be eating up credit cards, they would be cutting apart the human race city by city! there would be no cheering, there would be mass chaos and bloodshed....and it would be our fault for creating scissors. even if they DID eat our credit cards, the cards would run out and they would turn to the next available object to dissect...US...maybe we could keep their hunger at bay for awhile by tapping into the nationl reserve of construction paper, but even that would run out. And this is why these neo ads are aweful...because they pose hypotheticals that, quite frankly, scare the living shit out of me...shame on you American advertising...shaaaaaaaaaaame....

jesus i need to lay off the drugs....

what is wrong with people

2006-11-20T13:14:00.000-08:00

There are a number of things that piss me off on a regular basis: the current administration, humanities unrelenting assault on our planet, david blaine...but recently i have realized something that stands out beyond all the other cocksuckery that is occuring in this world. TV commercials. there was a time when i looked forward to seeing the new generation of commercials that would premiere during the superbowl...these commercials usually set the advertising trend in America for the next year kind of the same way britney spears sets the bar for parenting time and time again. but this past year saw something different: advertising has entered into some sort of epoch of "non sequiter" ads. these basically consist of something that has nothing to do with the product being sold i.e The creepy fucking king from the burger king commercials (which there is not a GODDAMN thing that makes me want to eat burger king less than a static plastic faced man who looks as though he is about to eat my face and rape the hole where my face use to be...good thing flamebroiled still keeps me coming back) or the yaris commercials that depict computer generated rice burners usually trying to one up the other by producing a series of gadgets ( jet engines, cartoonish suction cup arrows and inexplicable flying porccupine landmines...WHAT THE FUCK!?) the problem being: NONE OF THESE THINGS COME WITH THE CAR!! if they did...i would own one, because i have always wanted to own a car that could kill the roadrunner, but the truth is, its just a car...thats it and those commercials have nothing to do with the product itself, and thus why its non sequiter advertising. but for the most part these commercials dont really bother me perse...enter Garnier Fructise...yes, the seemingly harmless fruit-tastic shampoo...these commercials depict women of various races (just in case we were all to think that the people at Garnier were facists who assumed people of color dont bathe) who are all having the most fun a woman can have in a shower without the help of AA batteries. BUT THEN, instead of just telling us that: yes this will clean your hair and yes your hair will smell of fruit and vitamin C?...i have no idea and assumably you will turn into a model...BUT THEN (i am aware that i already said this) they proceed to TIE crecent wrentches into their beautiful hair...yes TIE THEM INTO FUCKING KNOTS in order to prove that this shampoo will make your hair THAT STRONG....WHAT!? at what point in a woman's life is she in the local supermarket thinking "hmmm...well this shampoo here will make my hair clean and dandruff free and it smells like vanilla...BUT for 8 dollars more i could tie crecent wrenches into my hair, because not being able to do so would make me less of a woman and i might as well wear plaid and wear birkenstocks"...you know why you've never heard that? because it never fucking happnes! thats why...and being able to have hair that strong is reserved for superheroes and unless the people at garnier can garuntee that it will give me the ability to stop bullets with my brown beautiful locks then FUCK THEM...because having hair that strong is about as useful and impressive as david blaine when he locked himself in that box for 40 days without food or sex...thats not magic david, thats just stupid, maybe you need to reread your copperfield books....that aside i felt as though i could try my hand at this type of advertising ive been discussing so i propose this: A commercial where two men are staring at a womans vagina in the middle of a kindergarten classroom in bosnia, they stare for a moment and then the man on the right says "wow thats really dialated" at which point redbull starts shooting out in a fountain of energy drink, the kids dance and the men start having sex while britney spears drops babies on their heads there is a musical crecendo and then BOOM cut to the Bank of America logo...makes sense right? well if you dont get the obvious connection between reliable banking and a dialated vagina shooting redbull then you're just not as smart as you thought you were....

2006-09-25T16:59:00.000-07:00

there is alot more coming soon...the chcago chapter is closed for the moment and it seems as though someting new has emerged...a different version of me...its remarkable...more soon

robble robble motherfucker

2006-08-13T22:54:00.000-07:00

I was recently in St.Louis and i had the opportunity to hang out with friends that i have always felt truly enjoyed my company (andy, ryan, brandon(s) you motherfuckers rock the taste right out of my grandma's mouth) and one particular night i came to a profound realization: Jack Daniels makes me face feel like punching babies....but the other realization i came to was that McDonalds is no place for kids and not just because children shouldn't be hanging out with the elderly or those who are morbidly obese (i have no problem with either the elderly or the morbidly obese)....(ok i actually dont care for the elderly all that much, there is absolutly no fucking reason that you should pay for ANYTHING with pennies or 50 cent pieces!! i mean where the fuck do you even get a 50 cent piece its almost like the elderly rob the even MORE elderly..which would be amazing to see in real life) but the real reason that children should not have anything to do with McDonalds is Ronald McDonald...the criminally insane pedophile who is constantly painting imaginary golden arches and curing kids with cancer, which truth be told is actually a very noble thing, aside from the fact that the psychological damage that this children will inccur will only slightly outweigh cancer when they are torturing animals and tucking their penises betweentheir legs telling women to 'put the lotion in the basket' , but thats another story. the most disturbing aspect of Ronald McDonalds existence is no where he is, but rather where he came from. any child of the 80's would know that for the longest time Ronald McDonald lived in some sort of McDonald-world or hamburgerville or some stupid shit like that. This place resembled the real world or rather what the real world would look like if you had eaten three handfuls of acid and smoked cotton candy...this place was constant sunshine and hamburgers and big purple asexual creatures that dont actually serve and purpose other than to confuse children about their own sexuality and probably smoke them out alongside ted nuggent. This is also a place thats is not ruled over by The Constitution of the United States or any other governing body for that matter and i know this because their mayor is a cheeseburger....holy...fucking....shit....the politcal force in this crack enduced nightmare of a town is a fucking cheeseburger, aptly named Mayor McCheese...and his faithful side kick Constabul Quarterpounder, yes thats right two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun are going to keep drugs off the street (which obviously isn't happening here) fight crime and enforce the law...the flaw being that if he ever tried to bust up a drum circle of angry hippies they would obviously devour him sesame seeds first! but even though they have this delicious public servant the one criminal and most mind boggeling aspect of this sorrid tale of obvious drug abuse that cannot be caught is the one and only Hamburglar...a man whose sole purpose in life is to burgal children's fatty foodstuffs from right under their noses. now this is just fucked up because i dont care how affable this hamburglar is but he is still a fucking criminal and a dangerous one at that. he has the appearance of someone who proably hasnt slept in days, he is always wearing the same clothes and is eternally hungry for hamburgers...you dont have to be mr fucking rogers to understand that this guy is on dope...and lots of it. So in these commercials the lovable michael jackson...i mean ronald mcdonald, is oft hosting parties for young children and the mutants that inhabit cheeseburgerberg and when his back is turned this shifty motherfucking hamburglar robs these kids blind of their lunch! and its not as though his plans are particularly clever, ronald dipshit mcdonald usually leaves a full plater of perfect hambugers by the largest most open window available...which the hamburglar quckly realizes and snatches thus proving that his name isnt just a clever pun. and its no that act itsself that is so appaling, its how little intelligence he assumes these children and a 6' 5" clown actually have, instead of eating these hamburgers he sits outside the window of the house that he just robbed and snickers uncontrolably...whereupon ronald finds him and proceeds to kick his ass to a bloody hamburgerloving pile...ok not really..but thats how it would go down where im from, we dont deal with motherfuckers robbing our fastfood or our suspension of disbelief! but the problem is that he is never thrown into jail by constabul quarterpounder or officer mcnugget or congressman mcrib or any other public office fastfood hybrid person. im guessing mayor mcheese was too busy getting blown by a frykid to care either. but when all is said and done they let this delinquent go only to have another meal ruined twenty minutes later when the hamburglar robs them again!! get some new clothes and a better plan! he dresses like an old timey depression era chaingang hobo...but he wears a mask, a tie and a fucking GAUCHO hat in order to hide the fact that he is a criminal...on top of this he has only one phrase he mumbles over and over 'robble robble' which is some sort of proufoundly retarded way of saying 'ima rob yo bitch ass!'...so we have a poorly disguised obviously retarded criminal who just constantly eludes everyone in this fucked up nightmare....its no wonder ronald mcdonald ran away to the real world at least here all we have to worry about is terrorism.....im not sure where this was going, but i dont like mcdonalds...and grimmace is a fag by the way

what the hell was wrong with george harrison?!

2006-07-26T14:19:00.000-07:00

So while i have been so comfortably sitting in my throne of unemployment i have had ample time to reflect on the more important issues in life: the current conflict in the middle east, the growing unemployment rate, the deficit and why internet porn is so much more satisfying than purchased porn (my theory is that men are lazy and would rather masturbate to aunt jamima rather then actually go BUY porn). well along with my ponderings on life i also occassionaly (translation: constantly) surf YouTube.com. its an amazing sight, you can literally find any video clip you have ever wanted to see i.e. a monkey urinating in its own mouth or outtakes from Full House where danny and joey actually cuss at one another (these are both real, look them up). but in my searchings the other day i suddenly had an old tune worm its way into my brain..the tune? George Harrison's "I've got my mind set on you", its an amazing song, its one of those songs that brings me back to my childhood riding in my mother's 18 passenger van complaining that picking me and my brothers up an hour late from school was not acceptable (although we became used to these late afternoon pickups). Nostaligia aside i had this song in my head, so i thought 'hey corey why not look up on YouTube.com the video to this song', as i had vaugly remember seeing the video when i was a child, usually after wrestling and my dads third beer the TV would end up at VH1 for GOD only knows why, it was 11 a.m on a saturday, why would you do that to a kid...and why would you have already had three beers by 11 a.m? mysteries of the universe i suppose...anyway...as i said, i vaugly remembered this video and i remember it being strange, like things were moving in the video and also when i was younger i thought george harrison and don johnson were the same person, dont ask my why, apparently i get the Beatles and Miami Vice confused. so not fully remembering this video i decide to look it up...sure enough its there...and as i watched this video from my childhood i paused and then promptly threw my computer across the room. Sounds crazy right? exactly! i realized that George Harrison was a fucking lunatic! The video features harrison sitting in a room with his electric guitar not plugged into any identifiable amp. the room is kind of baroque, suits of armor, stuffed bears, grandfather clocks, etc. so for some reason during the song, all of these inadimate objects start moving (not unlike sam raimi's evil dead films, could be a reference not sure) and at first they make sense, harrison chimes "its gonna take time, a whole lot of precious time" and the clock starts dancing, more like falling over and then catching itself its really odd it looks like an epileptic fit, which i guess would make sense since its a grandfather clock...ouch! take that geriatrics! but other than that there is ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING RHYME OR REASON FOR THESE THINGS TO MOVE! it literally looks like george harrison decided to drink three bottle of nyquil and said "HEy you cunty bastards, im english lets make a video...RINGO...or COO COO CUCHOO!" thats not a direct quote. but this video is just utterly batshit! and for some reason it disturbs me to think that my parents let me watch an aging beatle play his unplugged electric guitar while hanging out with possessed furniture..its like pee wee's play house with MORE acid. im done...tyra banks isnt a funny person. later

2006-06-29T03:15:00.000-07:00

fucking booze....keeping me awake while the rest of the drunks sleep and dream of being unremarkable. i sit...wake...stumble...feel for a cigarette and then think- drunk and unhappy or just unhappy with a percentage of drunk within me. i'll figure it out...scott you must write to me as phones do neither for both of us. prose is needed. i need a poem or a story something to get my fix, im jonsing and smaking for that hit...dont deny it to me....come rape my cortex. someone rape my mind.

gene hackman

2006-06-27T15:34:00.000-07:00

On the eve of the latest installment ( and much anticipated) of the Superman franchise, I being the Superman-iac that I am...and yes i just fucking said Superman-iac..and yes its fucking lame...but those are the cards i was dealt and yes ive seen a hilary duff movie so FUCK YOU...jesus, im so sorry- that was just my midday breakdown. but the truth of the mater is that i am watching Superman The Movie - and yes...its a beloved classic because its old- and it has its uplifting moments and general superman mythos that everyone loves to see - and everyone realizes that yes it is campy and that christopher reeves became the iconic mold of how superman was supposed to be - and margot kidder as lois lane is frightening, because A) she looks old and B) picturing her completely freaking out and going on a drug binge ultimately winding up in some fucking families back yard in a california suburb missing her front teeth-makes me me really happy because someone in the public eye losing their mind and going batshit crazy cracks me up--but not even those things make it a "bad" movie...but it is disturbing and i'll tell you why: after the "superman saving the day" montage in STM (Superman The Movie) the final clip is of good ol' supes saving a little girls kitten out of a tree (for real not the new perverted meaning of "saving a little girls kitten out of a tree" that me and my friends use) and after he saves Frisky (The Cat) and proceeds to fly away, the young girl goes inside yelling to her mother what just happened and how a man flew in and saved frisky out of the tree, as any excited youngster who just saw a man FUCKING FLY would be-the best part is this - after the girl says all of this - best part - proceeds to say "what did i tell you about lying!?" - no big deal right? - wrong - because IMMEDIATELY after saying this you hear the sound of a hand SLAPPING a face!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT - the mom HIT her little kid in the FACE for being, of all things, A LITTLE FUCKING KID!! - that or the little pigtailed girl wasn't about to take any sass off her cranky old bitch of a mom - but thats a little less likely, still funny though - so im assuming that richard donner had severe mommy issues while filming this movie - and probably did alot of Acid- im done now

all fire and no couch

2006-06-20T22:59:00.000-07:00

Soccer players - sorry futbol players - are quite possibly the biggest queens in professional sports. this statement doesn't come from malice towards the game of soccer or any toby keith 'america is a giant lump of ass-whoopin' country song, but rather the fact that while being significantly intoxicated and twisted on various uppers - i noticed how any time these spiked (usually spanish speaking) athletes touch one another they both fall over in a fit, like they were epileptics in a strobelight factory. this however isnt the most entertaining part, its the fact that they get away with this brokeback-esque hissy fit and usually to the effect of the other team getting a card of some form. i think this is just the ignorance in me, but understanding the game of soccer (as i was formerlly a soccer player)...(well when i was twelve)- makes me realize that when i did play this game that i remember fewer penalties than i see in professional soccer (aside from kevin brandstetter in 5th grade slide tackling two players, getting removed from the game, proceeding to tell the ref to fuck off before slidtackling him, slide tackling three of his own players including me, then being banned from the Catholic Youth Council soccer leagues....he would later be removed from baseball for brandishing a helmet as a weapon after his mother announced that he should hit the ball because he no longer 'had diahrehea' - mother bring out the worst in kids). that aside i love the world cup and the fetivities that surround it - but for the love of fucking god - please just get up and kick a camera man instead of throwing a barbara striesand bitch fit...

its been way too long

2006-06-19T22:25:00.000-07:00

In late 2001 david lynch made Mulholland Drive. His last major motion picture to date. in early 2002 the american occupation of Iraq began and a few months later victory was declared. here we are four years since David Lynch's last film and still america occupies Iraq. This may be a longwinded seemingly "unpatriotic" statement, but it just seems that when lynch's creative pool ceased to produce that this country lost all sense of direction. the madness was no longer contained, lynch's mind had exploded on the canvas of the world and the twisted nightmares within spilled out and burned the eyes of a collective. we no longer drank in moderation, now it was shots and beers to the fallen...as much weed as we could fill our heads with and destruction on a mass scale. The summer makes the blood too thick, completely hostile and unforgiving even in this windy city...like the chicano riots of '71. ugly and brutish...all pipes and mace. the other half completely literary and theory-based. we have a connundrum, "when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro", Hunter knew how to handle these things- and once again the high water mark of a generation can be seen from the peaks of hills - we see where we were going and how the wave finally broke and destroyed hopes alientated black and white and arab. The weird simply poured from lynch and drowned the world in chaos - the only way the world survives is if lynch scoops his dark thoughts back into that goddamn surreal skull of his and pulls us out...no war is won by the twisted and half mad.

stupid prose..maybe plot for movie

2006-05-04T02:55:00.000-07:00

There is that darkness, that front door you just cant see beyond. Its where most of the world hides and pretends that the day doesn’t even exist – fluke of reality to ensure that humans don’t ask the wrong questions. I find myself sitting at the edge and peering into the bottoms of glasses, partially filled with whiskey – cigarette butt – the last bit of memory from the night before. You could have saved something from the evening but you left it at the bar along with your credit card. I was born William Gabriel Loft and had parents, I had the idea of parents, the cloud of smoke that resembles the past. I’m twenty five and sit at my computer and write about the darkness that society doesn’t acknowledge and that has been erased from collective memory.
I have disabilities that I incurred as a child, foster homes, kids who thought I appeared funny, maybe they hated the cloud that surrounded me. Most days my voice doesn’t register beyond an audible mumble and scratches the pavement same as my feet. I hulk a large frame into whatever bar is open and drink until my money is no longer good there. Friends are matches that burn for a moment, extinguish and are never remembered, swept up for minimum wage and a shot.
The world is divided into people who either accept or reject the reality they are given. This reality is sometimes perceived as fate – fate does not exist – God left us to our own devices after we decided we had outgrown the divine presence and the idea of an ethereal parent. Evil did not take this opportunity to engulf the Earth as one would logically assume, rather the elements that were there from the abyss before time merely broke the rules and became a reality. Life has not changed. Technology is God 2.0 and media rules the masses – we are conditioned to believe the world we see – the world we hear.
In an effort to restore the faith in those who had been lost from the flock, the Catholic church found hope. The spiritual wasteland that Earth has become was the perfect setting for a hero. For someone who rose up aginst the forces of the darkness and of beyond the light. A mortal – a human – the preferred among all God’s creation – one would be the savior of humanity on Earth while their places were reserved in the, now empty, kingdom of Heaven.
I’m a sonambulist. I walk the dreamscape of American life that most people refuse to hold on to, the reality that says they should carry a gun. I do. I carry several guns and several illegal drugs on my person at any given time. My mother worries, she says that im depressed and that im strung out, dying is often the most liberating part of life. I died when I was thirteen. Pronounced legally dead. I was reborn as Gabriel, the pseudonym of William Loft was dead. Born into the cloth and trained to fear and serve God, for he would return one day.
Now here we are 2006 and my night is eternal, my birth certificate was printed with an expiration date. I died and was reborn Gabriel. The messenger. The prophet. The righteous hand of God without the seventh day slumber. Now imagine Humphrey Bogart from The Maltese Falcon and take away the quips and you have me: un romanticized and beaten. Just remember – this is all a bad dream and when you wake the world will be whole again. Hold on tight – what im about to show you may sever your reality.

and then there was us

2006-04-26T19:01:00.000-07:00

Its for all of you out there...all of you who have stood by me and supported me, the culmination of all the years of tears and sweat. I sit here on the eve of what feels like an eternity and my mind races and flesh tingles, like the moment before the electricity strikes the earth and leaves it changed. My thoughts turn to my brothers and my family and my friends and all those who have loved and lost and found and forgot; the ones that screamed and punched at thin air just to hit something, i think of all of these people and i sit and wait. the burning is intense and my life all comes rushing at me, blood to the hands and feet and chest, blood that wasn't there before...its dark and intense and poisoned. i limp and sweat and stare at the imperfections in the paint and think of those who put the imperfect paint on this imperfect wall and just scowl and squint my eyes and think....fall back, deeper and deeper....you didn't love me until recently, until i was something that you could hang on your wall or place your hand so high up onto my shoulders and say 'thats my boy'......'thats my boy, thats ma' boy, atta boy...tell the boy to come here...come here boy....' i was a child named boy until i was 22...a man named boy....the guts melt and feel battered and cancered...slow and painful almost. it was not drink that made me, rather drink that preserved the boy, preserved him in a deep special reserve bottle, you cant recognize his face due to the thick glass and the way it distorts reality and perception, but maybe thats just the booze talking...isn't that right old man? old man...it pains you to look into my mothers eyes doesnt it, that constant reminder. well fuck you! you hear me!? you fucking hear me!? i was the one who made it here and i know where im from and maybe i lost sight of that...jump high, play hard-jump high, play hard-jump high, play hard...just echoes now, echoes of something i never really had

not sure about the neon

2006-04-05T10:58:00.000-07:00

I think people are talking shit about me in my sleep...calling me crazy and dreaming of texting people and telling them off because for some reason i have the inability to speak out loud. as phil collins and bone thugs said 'take...take me home because i dont remember' burning the fat off my soul perrequest of mr. H and brother scotty - the countdown to doomsday is in full effect and the world will end in those nights in the fresh spring air of STL - let the coke parties and strippers with toys join us and we'll just buy them drinks and tell them to wear something nice to the outting and never mention they strip, but randomly have them produce dildos like sexual illusionists...invite david coppefield perhaps

2006-03-29T00:49:00.000-08:00

Here's to you boy-o

2006-03-29T00:46:00.000-08:00

somewhere people fly

2006-03-21T08:12:00.000-08:00

I find the dim glow from the no smoking sign in front of my beautiful - four in the morning and i can do nothing but stare at it as the world wakes up at 30,000 feet. ryan adams sings in my head as i slowly fall under the spell of this pale light - every thought i have is trying to be heard and the flight attendent informs me that i must stow my insanity under the seat in front of me or she will be forced to engage me in hand to hand combat. calendars and pictures with people kissing in spanish train stations - thats what i want my life to be - that sounds about square.

holy hell

2006-03-21T07:40:00.000-08:00

there are four hours of my life right now that i am desperately trying to get back...it is not working. I am fighting sleep constantly or i am pacing the floor at the most inappropriate hours...find myself wearing sunglasses at night in my apartment and trying to do anything i can to wear my mind and my body out just so i cant sleep. Hawaii was nice, but it is a strange place...beautiful and temporary. so many people say they could live there forever...i could see myself visiting again, but the confinement is too much - too many good things in one place. saw the world from the top of Dimond Head and screamed as loud as i could...the heavens completely swallowed it up - miss alot of people - found out scott is going to iraq - one brother out of the fray and another into it - very conflicted and aggitated lately, wanting to fight with strangers at the drop of a hat and this makes me feel very uncomfortable in my own skin. trying to shake it and go cold turkey on these feelings - trying to make the best out of this waking life im currently living. Rain is heavier in Hawaii it falls more romantically and with more urgency because it is so unwelcome - walked through it anways. with a head full of drunk i let the pacific wash over me in the early morning hours before the respectable people awoke...i think i remember being baptized now. trying to find that light still - because i need something to awaken me right now - help

its been too long

2006-03-12T09:04:00.000-08:00

My adventures in LA proved to be fruitful and everytime I am there I can't help but feel as though I am home. There is something about that feeling that makes me comfortable. I'm not sure if its my desire to be living there or if I am supposed to be there, but either way I choose not to disagree with my feeling. Met John Leguizamo breifly in Santa Monica...even though it was a celebrity sighting, it felt inappropriate to make a big deal out of...and its john leguizamo aka luigi mario.

While there was interviewed for a documentary about the 3rd anniversary of the war in Iraq and was followed around by two men with cameras and a third with a notepad, assuming they believed me to be a celebrity of some form...not sure who...elijah woods? i say that only because i was hanging out with my wizard friend so naturally they assumed me to be a hobbit or a hobo...either way i was eating out of the trash.

Will post more of writings in LA as soon as i recover from the observation of St. Patricks day...it was a cruel mess of a woman that gripped hold of my yesterday and into the early evening...the foul mistress grabbed me by the lapels and made me drink until my eyes were glazed like the coast of Cork...my inner irish and inner sobriety had a good go at one another and its enough to say that my sobriety lost that battle something fierce, many a braincell were lost and memories took a huge beating as well...some fuzzy things come back...man in broadday light wearing a towel, young girls asking me if i was Corey Kloos to which i replied "i used to be until this goddamn beast took hold of me"...they were unamused or frightened...spoke to several family members, not sure what was said or if i made sense...probably did not, thank god i was in my neck of the woods, could have been awful...

vivid

2006-02-27T19:26:00.000-08:00

awoke in a panic...deep burning in my gut, the pang of fear that one feels when they have been mentally molested. horrible dream..if i had been 12 years younger i would have been crying upon my startle. Dream involved a documentary I was watching about a Bolivian revolutionary named moroco moroho (not real as far as i know) and he had been captured by the Bolivian government. The odd circumstances are this: this film i was watching had the look and feel of a very real documentary, narrator, various footage, editing, graphics,etc...and the use of both stock newsreel footage and handheld footage of this man. the first image is of this man sitting on a floor bound in olive fatigues looking up desperate and unforgiving at the camera. various shots of the poor people of Bolivia...and then the execution of the revolutionary. He is drawn and quartered, but in a very different way...the documentary cuts to a shot (old 16mm color footage) of an open field, slightly rolling hills and various men carrying automatic fire arms meandering. the focal point of this scene is a device made of what appears to be sheet meta and various other types of metal(basically anything they could get their hands on) the device looks very frankenstein in nature...there are piece protruding for the man's legs and arms and his head which is covered in a burlap sack...there is no sound to this execution. machinery pulls the ropes tight and the arm and leg pieces are ripped from the device and a hydraulic piece decapitates the head from the body. blood runs over the putrid metal...these scenes are repeated in the documentary several times....i woke up nearly screaming....this documentary seemed real and yet ostensibly was completely fabricated in my head....not sure what this implies

familiarity and small rings

2006-02-22T12:05:00.000-08:00

Discovered that self-loathing is often contagious, not to say that i do this inccesantly, but I have found that when you think people don't like you you're usually correct. drinking alot again...not sure why, there is really no ryhme or reason other than i enjoy the feeling of being drunk and having my tongue loose at most times. watched 2046 and it destroyed my conception of chinese cinema, wong kar-wai is one of the most phenomenal directors working today "love is all a matter of timing" settling money issues as usal and keeping my head together best i can. need to talk to scott. The weather turns from heartlessly cold to mild and playful, this Chicago scene is tired and am desperately trying to restimulate myself. Europe is happening, not in the way I had planned, but this time on my own terms. The forecast calls for rain even though there isnt a cloud in the sky, Chicago is most beautiful when it rains in the winter...comparative to a novel that hasn't been written yet.

awww jesus

2006-02-19T20:12:00.000-08:00

My typewriter comes soon...finally beating out my frustrations on a machine instead of my mail order bride will be an option...but only an option. May be going to rome this summer to study film, the process will be exactly what i feel i've needed for a long time...probably go to europe regardless...not sure...tantalizing thoughts. Being to write again, putting down the prose for a little while and picking up the scripting pen. Reading alot of David Foster Wallace..challenging read, tongue in cheek in the way he knows how academic his writing is getting ready to read oblivion...but despite his talents my lit. professor doesn't think he is a writer, rather a cocky savant...this woman is worse than oprahs book club as far as her taste in everything..she is young and feels the world owes her something and has nothing but hatred for athletes and our "special needs" (missing class for games) she hasn't learned that what makes a great professor isn't the term DR. but rather the knowledge that they are no better than anyone else...watching 2046 tonight.

bereaucratic bullshit

2006-02-01T22:27:00.000-08:00

im a trouble-maker...a rabble-rouser as they so delightfully called me in tongues that vaguley resemble that of 1920 gin bootleggers...who even uses that term anymore "rabble-rouser" i am a threat to the university and to the athletic administration. The problem here is this: FACE BOOK. I spoke out against the perils of facebook and its inherent ability to foster stalkers and the obvious pornographic and social ramifications it could have. I named names. And to do that is to nail yourself to a cross of ink and newsprint. I am not officially Loyola's most wanted as far as causing disturbances and scenes as they call them. I am not under close watch for the fact that i spoke freely and openly about something that I felt could hurt people...even though the newspaper article was about the ban of student athletes on this phenomenon known as FACE BOOK. I am now imbued with even more fuel for my fire and intend to make as much of a "scene" as i possibly can before i leave this place, and it will be more than some petty internet humdrum....also my film premiered tonight...and it was WELL recieved and i spoke out against the dangers of the administration and freedom of speech and was once again censored for my words, this time amidst at least a hundred of my peers...front pages...i can see it now, the black helicopters circling my apartment...all in good time...scott you know this all too well, you know the dangers and you are the only one who can understand. god bless this fucking country and its demand for higher learning!

any american in a foreign land should carry a pistol

2006-01-31T16:51:00.000-08:00

The days are long and my life and conciousness fades in and out of what burroughs described as interzone. There are agents coming to get me i feel, all fleet of foot and fedoras. My body aches and my dreams have been reality hybrids where clones of people i love distrub my sleep and the walking dead infest my grandmother's house. cinematic streets all covered by oils of chicago tongues wagging. my brain grows heavy and i slip back...further...further to a time when navy pants and white shirts hung in my closet, perpetually making me a character from some catholic graphic novel...i speak bear to bears on trips through concrete forests, coffee in hand and pen leaking in my mouth, dripping onto page through pop-culture rivers...kevin bacon searching for a killer of statue size, boomerang toenails left in mud...popnoir as its called, degrees of seperation where a blind man only speaks in film references....where is this world...where have i left it...why am i here....so many questions...

Its a dismal dream

2006-01-26T18:47:00.000-08:00

Talked to mom today, doing well...incessant headaches...i worry of course. They plague here like locusts and wont claim her first born, but her mind is becoming less sharp. Older I suppose...hope thats the least. Tells me she spoke to Jarad, says he is doing well, gets his offical orders in a few weeks, finals dates, last rites, goodbyes, tears, screams, yelling at God...He tells her that he looks forward to bed, because since he arrived everynight when he sleeps he dreams of us, dreams of the ones he loves...says everyone is there and he is happy. So simple, so wonderful...beautiful in fact, cant say that i've ever been so dedicated to my family in my dreams. found out that my life is going to change from what i've known, everything i've stived for for the past 22 years is going to inexplicably be not what it was...writer perhaps, homeless person, woody guthrie maybe, i have no idea. told my ties to my family or a family will fade at this point in my life...more later....tired...and depressed...wish i was somewhere else perhaps

This too shall pass

2006-01-26T09:29:00.000-08:00

And its a beautiful day. There is something to be said for sitting in an empty bar with two amazing women drinking guinness while Ring of Fire plays over the jukebox. It's one of those moments that usually only occurs in Indie films where the lead character is a doe-eyed loser-savant who is wasting their talents because 'this town is the only place i've ever known' or something along that lines. Maybe somehow I make my life mimic art...not even good art....i would like to say my life mimics a great dostoevksy novel....but it more closely resembles a pop-up book. But this bar and this company! thats the rub.....my mind is very very blank right now, very sluggish, like swamped dumplings...more later i suppose

2006-01-19T20:56:00.000-08:00

I miss you Jarad....I miss you Scott....the weight here is heavy and the beat club lacks it rythm and bass section now...its quiet gray beaches and cold wet glass. Jarad who will go to Iraq...Jarad who is 19...Jarad who shares my face...Jarad who I almost killed when we were yonger, which i never forgave myself for...almost killed him...its the worst thing I never did and I know God stayed the bullet from going through him stayed my hand, put the bullet in the ground. My memories are busy and flushed....try so hard...so confused, bitter bitter conspiracy. I love you both. And pray for Caroline...and for Bryan...for Aaron...for my parents...its alright ma....i'm only bleeding.

2006-01-19T20:43:00.000-08:00

Florissant is a smallish town outside of St. Louis Missouri – try to imagine a picturesque town where you would like to grow up and then add a river – and a few meth labs. It’s a place where you don’t have to lock the doors, but probably should just because – well because it’s common sense and I never understand why people DON’T lock their doors – it doesn’t equate with being safe to me, it just equates with stupidity or pride or both. Anyways, this is where I grew up and for most of my life I suppose I never realized that being treated to McDonald’s every couple of weeks was just that – a treat – this is because I grew up ostensibly poor. But it was an ignorance that I had… more like a naiveté I suppose. Stupid stupid stupid. This is a shitty way to begin talking about my life.
I am not even sure where I would actually start. Maybe with my parents divorce? My brother being born? The first time I was put into the “bad chair” in preschool? That’s kind of a good one. More just like a funny story. Not even that. It basically boiled down to the fact that when you eat paste as a child it is funny…. for a little while…then it becomes unhealthy…and then it becomes a problem…then you get put into the “bad chair” even though the only reason you ate the fucking paste was because it smelled delicious and becaue the cute girls in the class laughed at these paste smorgosborgs I would have in the corner of the classroom (even back then I had a weakness for girls in catholic school jumpers, go figure!). Catholic school was something of a an anomaly to me because I can remember certain instances that would always sit with me in some sort of profound way, but never really meant anything (I assume). I remember the way a girl named Kristen looked in Friday mass, the way the stained glass reflected off of her ebony brown hair, shoulder length. Though at the time I would not have described her hair as ebony but probably something more to the effect of…. lets say…poop. Yeah that sounds about right. There wasn’t anything remarkable about this girl and often she sickened me when we ate lunch, due to the fact that she constantly ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which obligatorily would become tangled in her teeth as she smiled at me. Come to think of it I am not sure why I was so taken by this image of her sitting in church…I guess it was just one of those things…actually now that I am here writing this I realize what it was…it was the my first memory of something being beautiful…and that image has always stayed with me…and to this day when I sit in church and stare at the various depictions of saints and stories from the bible I am reminded of Kristen and that morning in church, the first thing I realized that this very thing I was looking at was beautiful. But that all changed when I met Lisa…I still hold onto the image of the church, but now my memories seem to change and fade into one another and it as though Lisa is there with the reds and gold and deep blues shining off of her perfectly spun hair…that is beauty now…there is no more peanut butter, but that holy image is now juxtaposed with the only woman that I was ever supposed to love. My Lisa. Its when I lie awake when my childhood and the rest of my life seem to meld together and all at once I feel that Lisa has always been my best friend…that she was always there…I like to think that, that she was just around the corner, maybe she watched me play and maybe I tried to look up her skirt…its all relative…its all the time its all the same.
There was a an incident involving my first grade teacher whose name I can’t recall and a very large rail road tie that she kept in her desk. And this particular incident also involved a nebbish titty sucking boy named Matt who was frequently picked on (no doubt he evolved into a closet homosexual who dressed in offbeat colors…probably lots of corduroy and suede) and this boy was raising hell about something, more than likely the fact that he was not being paid attention to. So my teacher produced this massive spike from her desk and threatened to nail his ass to his seat, though im sure she said butt, maybe not even something that explicit. Whereupon he began to cry and we had a good laugh…man kids can be so cruel…apparently so can first grade catholic schoolteachers.
I cant recall seeing a pack of cigarettes in my second grade teachers purse and being completely shocked, I assumed that teachers were some higher power, robots, or some sort of special being that didn’t indulge in such habits, I was completely shocked. But I think she knew that I knew her little secret, because while other kids might leave apples for a teacher I began to leave packs of matches and lighters that I would take from my older brother. My little ploy seemed so intelligent, so sly, so remarkable…she would never know it was me AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
So sitting there in the principal’s office, waiting for my mother arrive I suddenly didn’t feel so intelligent…my teacher and principal were now convinced that I was a prepubescent arsonist with intentions to set fire to the school…its hard to shake a wrap like that as a kid…Corey Kloos the paste easting fire starter…thank God kids weren’t clever enough to rhyme my name to these particular claims
Ok so that’s not a particularly good story but I am sure there are others that I will find.

2006-01-19T20:32:00.000-08:00

INT. OGBYN ROOM – DAY

We start with a static shot out of a window in this doctor’s office. We see a beautiful glossy fall day – the kind of thing that has been filmed many times before – the colors burn in their autumnal splendor – the rain trails down the window while everything else appears to be wrapped in cellophane.

Lisa (23) is putting on her clothes in the doctor’s office. Lisa is a beautiful young woman – classically beautiful – the type of woman you want to love, but have no shot at. Lisa has kind, but very pained eyes, deep brown, the color of molasses glazed ebony.

Doctor Martin (38) comes into the room.

The camera is outside the window as Doctor Martin and Lisa begin to speak. Lisa is clearly upset about something. The camera pulls away from the window and pans around to reveal the falls streets.

Narrator (Male)
This is where her story begins – these events are what happened to her – to she – to Lisa. I’m just a narrator who knew Lisa – I was a moment in her life – a heartbeat – but like I said, this is her story.

FADE OUT:

Title Credits

FADE IN

EXT. CENTRAL PARK – DAY

Lisa is walking through Central Park on a poetic fall day – maybe she is walking through poet’s row – its bright and people all walk and move the world in their own way. The camera dollies back as Lisa walks forward

Lisa is walking Bear a small tri-colored Beagle

CUT TO:

EXT. DEAN AND DELUCA – DAY

The camera dollies from right to left as Lisa walks out of the coffee shop and takes a bite out of a scone – she presents the rest to Bear who has no problem accepting it.

CUT TO:

INT. YOGA CLASS – DAY

The camera dollies left to right across a yoga class. We see various women doing the poses – we arrive on Lisa mid yoga position – Bear is lying down next to her on his own mat.

During the montage we hear the following Narration

Narrator
This is the part of the story where I explain Lisa’s everyday life to you. It doesn’t matter how it is described since this story is only one version of many – conjectures about times and faces – small details that have been added or subtracted to fit Lisa’s personal experience. It is no more true or false than any other version of this story and that’s why it is all that much more important that it is being recreated precisely – through Lisa’s eyes.

CUT TO:

INT. LISA’S APARTMENT – DAY

We are on a close-up of Lisa.

Lisa
GET THE FUCK OUT!! I can’t believe you! Why her!? Does she fuck you like a whore!? Tell me GODDAMMIT!!

We cut to a wide shot and Lisa is alone in her apartment – script in hand – she is rehearsing lines – is very frustrated.

Lisa
- Shit --- that sucked – why was that so bad?

She is talking to Bear – Bear just stares at her.

Narrator
Lisa frequently spoke to Bear – her beagle – she spoke to him as though he understood what she was saying-

Lisa
- Yeah I don’t know why either.

Narrator
- She knew he didn’t.

Lisa pulls a cigarette from the pack next to her on the table – she lights up and slumps down into a comfortably worn in chair.

Drew (20) tall- angularly handsome – athletic young man walks into the room with two cups of coffee. He places one in front of Lisa who is now wearing Pajamas- Bear is no where to be found. Drew sits down and lights a cigarette for himself

Lisa
Thanks bear –

Drew
Of Course.

Drew leans back with his coffee not saying anything, just dragging slowly off his cigarette.

Lisa stares and smiles at Drew. He catches the look and merely smiles back.

Drew
I love you Lis –

Lisa
I know.

Drew leans over and kisses Lisa – they absorb one another.

They part and Lisa reaches down, picks up her cigarette and script. She is back in her original clothes – Bear is sitting next to her once again. She has just stumbled into a memory.

Narrator
It was her memories that patched the gaps in time now. Her daily life often became so unentertaining that without prompting, her brain would insert a moment in her life that somehow fit perfectly into the vacancy of time and space – as if each moment we live has no rational chronological order, but rather is completely mutable – something that is meant to be felt and not remembered – at some point the phone rang.

Lisa looks around with a slight ere of confusion. She pets Bear – gets and moves into her bedroom.

CUT TO:

INT. LISA’S BEDROOM – DAY

Lisa opens her drawer and roots around for a moment – produces a copy of ‘She’s Come Undone’ – opening it we see that it is hollow in the middle – a small pipe and sack of weed rest in the center.

CUT TO:
Lisa is sitting on her bed Indian style take a large hit off the pipe. Mozart plays while candles burn – this is almost like ritualistic meditation.

The Phone rings.

Der Film Haus

2006-01-19T19:50:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting in my lit class. american writers 1910-1945...and I am struck by the overwhelming ammount of uninteresting people actually take night classes...this sounds like elitism (a characteristic of modernism! look at me learning), but I am not saying i AM interesting, just commenting on how uninteresting alot of these people are. Kevin the Black and overtly homosexul 40 year-old "senior" (i put this in quotations because the man was a senior when i was a freshmen...first semester freshmen at that) and this man KNOWS EVERYTHING! it became a game of mine to count the grunts that signaled either his agreement or complete distain for what the professor...sorry sorry...DR was saying (she does not respond to professor, only DR....its not like she can perform surgery...or could save a life, unless as someone was dying from cancer they suddenly had a medical breakthrough showing that only a cited thesis paper about neo-gothic literature could possibly save this poor cancer ridden person's life!). but kevin...yes....kevin....if we weren't sure that he was A) Black or B) Gay....he sure made us realize it every time he opened his mouth (mostly by making blow job gestures at the good DR. every time she said something he disagreed with). But other than being the most militant gay man i have ever encountered he is also completely convinced he is the smartest man alive...which is true....wait....no its not! AT ALL! goddamn you Kevin you almost had my fooled!....the good DR of this class is a 30ish elfin woman who looks as through she stepped straight out of Tolkein's universe, which pleased Creepy Jesus (creepy jesus is the self described fantasy dork who talks to himself and has a visible erection at the sight of our elfish DR. not because she is attractive, but rather because she DOES so closely resemble an elf...he has questions about peter jackson im sure..and can probably confess his love for her in her own language)....the class itself also contains a waif french girl who comes straight from a degas painting, but is slathered in abercrombie as opposed to delicate pink and white, she has trouble with the language...we have one of JLo's back up dancer and the obligatory 50 year old woman who's favorite author is Danielle Steele (this is not a joke) but i admire the desire to learn......but we did have to do ice breakers which would be fine....if i was still in 4th grade and was afraid of girls and my basement....so i wrote about one of the larges existetial dilemmas of our time: In the 90's cartoon James Bond Jr. the title character is James Bond's NEPHEW...not his son, so my dillemma is this: knowing this information, would the former still hold the title of JR? because I dont think so....unless James Bond Sr. (gramppy bond i suppose) names ALL of his children James Bond...you know, like George Forman did? well I do not believe this is the case because Jr. Bond never MENTIONS his parents, only his SWEET ASS uncle....i dont know...maybe the world will never know

it all began here

2006-01-19T16:52:00.000-08:00

One brother in Germany, the other in the dee south of the American Heartland, both fighting for this right this privelage for me to be doing exactly what I am doing. I miss them both dearly and dream often of all of us again fighting with sticks as swords in heavy spring mornings...its ok though. I sit in my darkend apartment and think about this week and how unholy saturated my world it with nostalgia, but its only of late. Doing alot of reading. reading alot of memoirs, preparing to write mine, will post portions on here for my brothers to read. this is sort of like talking to myself and i enjoy it. boring now, will write more and more intersting things later.