Thursday, August 5, 2004

Desbreko145: I thought it was hilarious. But it's still screwed up.

Crazy.
Comments (1) | Permalink

Don't you love the dove who flew away. His wings were made of yesterday.

When I posted in Tony's WiP on this post of his, the man subsequently told me "You're so strange lol."

Well, you tell me, is this, in fact, s t r a n g e?

"Actually, no, I'm not jealous. I guess I've never been too much of a material person, and a lunch box that's old really has no value to me. What does have value to me, though, is a person, and also music, and also poetry and writing. Those things have souls, and they have a temple known as a body which you can enter and feel something for and learn something from.

A rusty old lunchbox, on the other hand, I cannot go inside because it is too small, and it also doesn't have a soul, not even a sole! like a shoe would, and it doesn't have a temple rather known as a body, and it doesn't make me feel anything nor does it teach me anything. It's just a clunk of metal that sits there and you can hit people over the head and fuck them up with it. Or you can put lunch in it and randomly pull it out like some sneaky bastard and eat your sandwich or whatever. Or you could put condoms in it and randomly come up to people and ask them, "Would you like to have half my sandwich, bum? You look hungry?" and then you could pull out a condom and say, "Wrap that shit up. Wrap it up in plastic."

So no, I'm not jealous that you have a clunk of metal that's old as the dinosaurs on the earth or older than my time on this earth. What I do care about, though, is you listen to music and you're a great guy and you can teach me to love different types of music and give me interesting twists and satricial things.

But I am saddened that you aren't going to be getting a mood anymore. Now I won't know how to approach you on AIM anymore. It's going to be weird, because you're so versatile that just by saying "Hello" you might rape my couch."

I guess it is, and I guess that makes me strange. I'm still worried about him raping my couch though, festooning his hands on it and caressing it and doing wrong bad evil naughty gaudy things to it. What's there to say but people're strange?

And what does festoon mean, you ask? Well, here you are:

festoon

n 1: a curtain of fabric draped and bound at intervals to form graceful loops 2: an embellishment consisting of a decorative representation of a string of flowers suspended between two points; used on pottery or in architectural work 3: flower chains suspended in loops between points [syn: festoonery] v : decorate with strings of flowers; "The public buildings were festooned for the holiday

Don't ask me how Tony can do that with his hands. He just can. Tony's sort of a superman really. . .so he can do it. And his superpower's festooning. Which rocks my socks and is something I wish I had.

Anyway. Onto the point of this post.

Work was fine today. The amazing thing is, I actually got decent tips. It was only at the big tables though--those towering soaring wide large big loaded gargantuan colossal ones.

I got $20 and some cents today in tips.

My question to you all is, what should I spend it on? Give me good ideas. And make them selfish things to buy that I'd never want and I'd just send to you in the mail because that'd rock.

Also, another question. Yes yes, this is 20 questions, yes yes yes, and if I'm annoying then I'm annoying.

The question is, aren't I strange?

Question's rhetorical, by the way.

What what what? What, you don't know what a rhetorical question is? Well, to put it simply, it means you're not supposed to answer, dumbnut.
Comments (7) | Permalink

You Dented

So a while ago I came on here, before work. I noticed I had a private message on here. And I thought, "Aww, whoever sent old Mitch this PM must be a really, really cool nice person to go all out of their way and send Mitch a PM!"

And I go in, and see who it's from.

It's from some guy called Dent2 I notice, and I wonder if I know this person, and I know I never have recalled seeing them.

So I go in and check this PM this person sent me, thinking it might be worth reading, but knowing my hopes are actually down.

When the page containing the PM finally loads, my eyes view this, rendered:

"HI NICE SITE I LIKE YOUR HOPE YOU TAKE A LOOK AT MY SITE AND PLZ TILL SOME FRIEND I RELLY LIKE YOUR SITE BYE."

OK WELL THNKS I'M GLD U LIKE MY SIGHT TO TILL UR FREND I RELLY LIKE UR SITE TOO. . .

I mean, Jesus Christ (yep, that's right, I said The Savior's name in vain. What're you gonna do? Call the ghostbusters on me? ). Jesus Christ Jesus Christ Jesus Christ Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!

Look at this PM! What an utter catastrophe, an utter failure at communication, an utter failure at correct grammar, punctuation, and let alone anything coherant at all! Oh, the tears which welt into my eyes at this PM, how my hands feel a creator's need to rip and rend the person who wrote this, and make them type it correctly, or else face the wrath of torture and brutality, oh how could a human being stoop so low and go too high and fall down way down from the sky and land deep in the ground, deep deep deep, until there's no ground left and it all seems so wrong and you can't breathe and you're seeing something you never thought you'd see, so deep deep deep!

Well, Dent, I'm glad you put your dent in me today.

I was happy to receive your PM, in fact I was goddamned ecstatic, even elated, even aroused. . .but dear god almighty who's not up in heaven and who people worship like he's their #1 man, can't you give me something that's actually got correct grammar and has some punctuation, and has some sense?

It's all I ask.

I mean, Jesus Christ Bananas.
Comments (1) | Permalink

Wednesday, August 4, 2004

The Cure- Us or Them

There is no terror in my heart
Death is with us all
We suck him down with our first breath
And spit him out as we fall
There is no terror in my heart
No dread of the unknown
Desire for paradise to be...
We love this on our own
No I don't want you anywhere near me
I don't want you anywhere near me
Get your fucking world out of my head
I don't want you anywhere near me
I don't want you anywhere near me
Get your fucking world out of my head
I don't want your "us or them"
No I don't need your "us or them"
Oh I don't want your "us or them"
I don't need your "us or them
Your us or them. . .
"I live in knowledge of real truth
And all my gods are great!"
The doleful cant of a bigot
Blinded by fear and hate
You live in knowledge of real truth?
Oh the biggest lie I heard
How sick in your mind and soul
To be scared of my voice and my words
Oh you don't want me anywhere near you
You don't want me anywhere near you
Get my fucking head out of your world
You don't want me anywhere near you
You don't want me anywhere near you
Get my fucking head out of your world
I don't want your "us or them"
No I don't need your "us or them"
Oh I don't want your "us or them"
I don't need your "us or them"
As the only way this ever ends is "me"

---

Damnit do I want to buy some of the Cure's older albums, especially Disintegration. But they're so expensive at the stores I've seen them in.

Perhaps I can find them cheap on E-bay.

And, I work at 5-10 today. I'm happy about it. I like working. It's better than sitting here doing nothing all day. I also work 5-10 every day now till Sunday. Wish me luck with it. I think I can do it.

Also, I had a pretty sexual dream last night. I mean, it wasn't erotic or anything. . .but it was definitely sexually-oriented. It was strange, because I haven't felt particularily sexy or feeling anything in that type of way for a while. Maybe it's that I'm busy, who knows.

It was an interesting dream, though. I suppose I could give some of what I remember of it, but it feels pointless.

It's the first dream I've remembered enough of for a long while, at least. I rarely have dreams it seems and when I do and if I do I never remember them.
Comments (7) | Permalink

Tuesday, August 3, 2004

Leave me alone.

My parents are home. Already my dad's begun treating me like shit.

I was walking up here to go on the computer and he told me, "I don't like the way you're walking around, huffing around, like you are." So now apparently there's something wrong with walking? And the way I do it? Whatever.

Also, we were going to go eat at the Steak Buffet, but then my dad came up here and started talking to my mom and then he went out of there after a long while, and then my mom subsequently slammed her door. As he was walking away he said he didn't feel like going out to eat anymore.

So then I went down there. I haven't eaten anything all day and so I began searching around for what to eat. I took out these tater tots that I found and then said I was going to make a hamburger on the stove and then he decided he was going to make macaroni and cheese and I said was going to have that too. Then he said I could only have two things, either tater tots or the macaroni and cheese with my burger. And he kept talking to me in this really shitty way that just pissed me off and annoyed the hell out of me and made me want to get away from him. I told him just because he's mad at my mother doesn't mean he has to talk to me like I'm a piece of shit and treat me like shit. And then he said he wasn't mad at my mom but he was mad at himself because he always messed things up. Whatever. Self-pity gets you nowhere.

Then I ran up here because I couldn't stand him coming back with something each thing I said. As I went up there I passed my mom and vocalized my frustration and then after my mom left and I went back downstairs he said I need to not say anything. He said he can't stand what I've said and he was all pissed at me for basically nothing. Apparently I can't speak either, just because he's "mad at himself" and nor can we go out just because he's brooding in self-pity.

My brother's also home. He told me to go outside and start the grill, I could make my burger on there. So I did so, but I didn't know how to start it because I've never done it. I was reading the directions when he came out and said, what, can't start he grill? With sarcasm bleeding in my voice I told him, "Well, I don't know, you know I start the grill all the time, so I know how to do it so well."

He said I needed a reality check, that I can't walk around like I am and be like I am "just because I have a job." My brother was right beside him and he said, "Yeah, Mitch, you need a reality check."

My brother sits there each day and plays GTA: VC on his PS2 or some other game. He stays up till 4 AM or so each night. He does absolutely nothing, he doesn't even go outside even though it's summer and nice out. And he's telling me I need a reality check? No, I'm sad to say but it's him that needs a reality check.

Life is not sitting around and playing games all day. Life is not staying up late as hell when you're 13 or so years old. Life isn't doing nothing at all. Life isn't watching TV all day and night.

And life is certainly not telling your brother he needs a reality check when you're the one who actually needs a reality check. The irony of those words coming out of such a person's mouth as his is just goddamned blasphemy.

It was so nice without them around here. My dad still treats me like he's some big boss of me, and not my father. Although sometimes I can handle it and it's not too bad, it's bad right now because he's all apparently "mad at" himself and sorry for himself because he always messes things up with my mom and their marriage together. And also what gives him right to talk to me like I'm a piece of shit is apparently that he's been working longer than me. Whatever.

All I know is I need to get the hell out of here. I can't stand the way I am treated sometimes. It just pisses me off. Before all this happened, I was fine, and I'm still fine although underneath I want to strangle something.

Just ignore this post if anything. I'm sure most of it's overdramatized and all that shit, but all I know is I need to focus this aggravation in some manner, and this is it.
Comments (2) | Permalink

An Abyss Swallows You Whole.

I said to myself here now, "I'm going to write."
And I thought to myself you've got the right to fight
And I think to myself my mind's on pretty tight so I'm just trying to let the words ooze out like pus on a sore
And I said to myself, "I don't know anymore."
And I thought to myself, I need to go the store in my mind where I warehouse all the wounds that're true
But the arrows just kept on coming through
Stabbing me in the chest near the place where I know best
I think I should've worn a vest to protect myself from this nest of hell I've let shoot their bows
And creep on quietly inside me
And I said to myself, "Wouldn't you believe what this world's done to me."
And I thought, pain never feels so good when you've done something you know you should but it hurts so much you think you died
When I was born, yeah, I was a circumsized
And all my life I've lived alive
And all the breaths I take, I'm one breath closer to being deceased
But that doesn't mean I'm going to give you a lease
It just means I'm going to give you some crease on this fold of paper that's me
And one time, yeah, I was a baby
But I'm not one anymore
So go ahead try and make me cry
I've got as many questions as you've got whys
Those babies don't even know what wets their eyes
They cry and cry
They don't know why
They're helpless maybe they feel denied
I'm going to pry open your eyes
And view those windows baby
Because you'll always be baby to me
And I'll make you feel like you weren't denied
And I'll hold a cup to your eyes
And when you cry I'll let the tears go in
And I'll drink that glass and say, "Don't you ever cry again, 'cause now I've got your tears and I know what they taste like."
And I'll touch your face and think, those tears tasted like water because they nourished me and made me want to live
Babies, they just cry because they don't know better
I think if I were born into this world the first time
I'd cry too
It's what babies do
They cry because they know how fucked up the world is
But baby, you can hold me in your arms
It's no harm
And I'll say, "It's okay."

You're just a baby
And maybe you need to grow
But I like your blue eyes
I like the skin you show
And if I could I'd rip your body
And I'd let it all go
And we'd be one soul
But baby, we can't go
We've got to stay
We're two souls
And our bodies keep us here
In this world

I'm here in the warehouse of my mind
I wonder what it is I'll find
But I know one thing I'm getting
And it's you
And I know that even though this life is pain
I can keep myself going
Because I know you've got to be a fighter
You can't let them walk all over you
You've got to be a biter
You've got to be a writer
of your own obituary
You've got to build your own cemetary
You've got to make your own grave
You've got to break your own bones
I know you've got to pay the bill on your own home
You've got to be your own drone
And slave for yourself
And baby if you want I'll help build your tomb

And this abyss, this life
This abyss swallows you whole
Baby
This abyss swallows you whole
An abyss swallows you whole

It's to this mist in this midst to this wrist bending you that you go
This arm holding you showing you where to go
It's this abyss swallows you whole
And baby we can go wide in that mouth
And show what's there to show

Let's go to the nether place in time
Where I kiss and hug you till I die
And we don't care anymore
Where an abyss swallows us whole
The jaws exposed
The teeth eating us
And swallowing whole
Let's go deep in this hole
of you and I

The milky way you are and the bays in your scars
Let's escape to the stars
Let's go from these bars
To the abyss
Let's go to
the abyss
You can't resist
Let's escape
Let's go for a ride
I'll touch your thighs
We'll go inside the warehouse
See what we can find
We'll die

Let's go to
the abyss
Don't resist
Let's go to the abyss
This abyss
An abyss swallowing whole
Deep in our soul

Deep in your soul
An abyss swallows you whole
Deep in your soul
It swallows you whole

---

This is an aborted poem. I was writing it right here on the spot, and when I posted it I found out there was an error with it, so I tried to get it fixed, but then my internet went out on me (as it's been doing a lot of the time now). And then, right there, I wanted to add more to the end of the poem.

But it was aborted. It wasn't created all at once. So right then and there I tried to write down what I was going to add, and then I came back here online just now, got my aborted poem and tried to make it look more beautiful even though it was aborted and hadn't grown all the way and had been forced out.

It seems pretty good now, though. Yay.
Comments (1) | Permalink

Monday, August 2, 2004

Psycho Killer



theOtaku.com: What Personality Do You Have?

God that was a terribly designed quiz. You can't even read the text, and I know's you know's you can't, not even you other's.

. . .Too bad they can't use the apostrophes right.
Comments (3) | Permalink

Your brain seems bruised in numb surprise.

I worked hard again at work today. So hard that the manager told me to leave an hour early. But I told her I'd have none of that, that I was staying until 10, when I was supposed to go.

I ended up being done busing about forty-five minutes early, if you count in the fact that I was waiting for these two groups of people to leave so I could bus those tables.

Since when those people finally left it still wasn't ten, I helped them close in the back. And then I left promptly at ten, as I said I would.

I did work very hard today. And busing got easier. I do have a bruise on my right arm, though, from caring the busing tray. And I also broke one plate because my tray was so full I could barely keep carrying it (the reason why I filled it so much was because there were only two tables left to bus, and they didn't want to have to wash two busing trays). It was no big deal though, I just sweeped it up.

And here I am. As you can tell, I'm too braindead to do anything, let alone write something amazing.

I have to go to the dentist tomorrow morning at 10 AM, so I have to get up earlier, so I'm going to sleep soon enough.

My parents are also coming home tomorrow. I kind of liked it around here without them for a while, it was nice.

I also bought two albums today at the mall. Muse's Showbiz and The Talking Heads' Stop Making Sense. I'll get to listening to those sometime.

I don't work for two days. Then, on Wednesday, I work straight till Sunday. All totalled together, I'll be working thirty hours next week. I should be able to handle it. It's not too bad. And it's getting easier.
Comments (6) | Permalink

Sunday, August 1, 2004

Wilco- Hummingbird

His goal in life was to be an echo
Riding alone, town after town, toll after toll
A fixed bayonet through the great southwest to forget her

She appears in his dreams
But in his car and in his arms
A dream can mean anything
A cheap sunset on a television set can upset her
But he never could

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

His goal in life was to be an echo
The type of sound that floats around and then back down
Like a feather
But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
No one could hear him
Or anything

So he slept on a mountain
In a sleeping bag underneath the stars
He would lie awake and count them
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way
Would never let him
Die alone

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

A hummingbird
A hummingbird
Comments (2) | Permalink

The Crystal Ship

My legs
feel
strained and used
My head
is pain
from chewing
gum all day
My arms
feel
tired and my eyes
could close right now
My finger
is numb
My neck
feels tense
It is dark out
It is night

I feel
like I've been beaten up
And today passes before my eyes

Today I slaved for the system
To earn the money I need to live
Today I worked hard

Today I slaved for the system
For five hours
Tomorrow I will do the same

---

I came in there and did not sit down once. I came in there with determination. I punched in and I knew what to do. I got my busing tray and I went on my way.

I went to table after table, cleaning them off. When I wasn't cleaning tables, I was "prebusing," I was going up to the customers saying, "How's your meal?" then saying, "Can I take any of your plates?" and then taking those plates and then taking them over to my "prebusing" station and then cleaning them off and then setting them in my "presbusing cart."

But most of the time I was cleaning tables. Some tables had less mess than others. Some tables had a large mess. I cleaned one table that was a large one, with plates all over the place on it. It took a while. One of the workers came up to me and said, "You got it?" and I said "Probably" and I cleaned that table off.

I cleaned another big table like that, and another buser came over and he said, "This your first day?" and I said it was and he said, "I hate this fucking place," and then he said, "They treat you like shit. You won't last long, no one does" and then he said "Don't let nobody push you around like that. Don't take it. No one deserves that." And then when I moved the ketchup and steak sauce and the thing that holds the sugar aside so I could wipe what they were covering he said, "You don't have to do it perfect. I don't even move them."

I walked around a lot when there was no where to bus. There were different sections. One was the smoking section. When I walked there and if I saw someone with a fag in their mouth I wanted to tell them to stop smoking it I hate you smoking it's killing you and it's killing me and it's such a nasty disgusting useless habit. And everytime I walked by there it smelled like smoke and I hated it.

I worked there for five hours. It felt like the longest five hours of my life. Like I was in prison. But eventually, after the first hour or so, time sped up because I was so busy cleaning table after table after table after table. It really all seems like I blur because all I did was clean table after table.

The busing tray gets heavy fast. It got to the point where I had trouble carrying it so I had to wrap my arms all around it. Sometimes I felt like I was going to drop it but I'd scream in my head I'm not going to drop it because then it would mean I'd make a mess and maybe break some dishes.

The hardest part for me was knowing for sure if people were gone and "prebusing." But after a while "prebusing" got easier for me. Some of the people were pretty nice. They always said thank you and I was glad there were some nice people in the world.

But there was this group of people. They were sitting there for a long long time. And when I was busing a table next to them I found this large booster seat thing for babies and I went and asked someone who worked there where it goes and they said over there on the side so I went there. But as I was walking I hit one of the legs of the thing on a chair at their table and then they started laughing at me. All I did was I kept going on. I wasn't going to let them get me down. I was here to work and I was going to work.

It made me remember when I was younger and how people always teased me and called me four eyes or other names and how I kept being made fun of up until about ninth grade or so.

I tried to work as hard as I could. And I did. I was the hardest working buser there. I must've cleaned so many tables, because I can't even remember how many I did.

A few people left tips. Not many. When I found a dollar at a table I went and asked someone who works there what to do if there's a tip. She said you could keep it. I said sweet and so I went and pocketed the dollar.

I got tips on three tables. $5 worth.

By the end of it I was getting pretty tired. I wanted something to drink really bad so I went and asked Eric one of the manager people if I could have some water. He said buddy you get pop free and water too. I said no one told me that. He said you can have all you want as long as you don't drink a lot while you work and get lazy. I knew I'd never do that.

Later on when I finally had all the tables bused I was finally let off. He looked at his watch as I stood there and Eric said I could go. I wondered if he was impressed since I was done about fifteen or so minutes early. I didn't know.

I remember I kept pushing myself telling myself this is my last chance, if I lose this job how can I make it in the world. I worked really really hard and now I feel really tired.

When I got home what I did was eat something almost right away. I gave myself a cookie because I worked so hard. Two cookies. And I had Raisin Bran. And I drank a lot of milk.

Then I drove over to Ryan's. I sat on his bed for a while when I came I was so tired.

We eventually played a game of Starcraft and then tried to play Unreal Tournament 2004 but it wouldn't work on my computer, it kept giving this message that said I had an invalid number key, which was true but I didn't get why it was doing that.

I need to take a shower. I get to work five more hours tomorrow. I hope I can handle it.

It's not too bad. The job is really demanding though. It's got me worn out, but I feel like I can do it. I'm pretty sure my jogging and all helped me today, since it made me more able to work those five hours straight, with no break, cleaning tables almost the entire time with no chance to stop.

I don't know how I'll be able to do this when school starts. The job is really demanding and they usually give you most of your hours on the weekend, which is murder because the weekend is when people go out. I'm hoping less people will go since it's Sunday tomorrow. Here's hoping.

But I still can't see doing this with school on top of it. That's a handful.

I'll try my best.

Jogging and walking has taught me to work hard. So I worked hard today and I will tomorrow and I'll keep doing it as long as I can.

I remember yesterday when I was driving with Adam he said about getting a job at Steak Buffet, "I'm desperate, but not that desperate."

I remember my sort of friend Tyler left me a message on my Live Journal saying Steak Buffet was going to murder me and he loved me for it.

And I remember that bus boy telling me what he did.

I wonder how long I can last, I really do. It's gruelling work but I can do it, at least while there's no school.

When I was working what kept me going was playing songs in my head. I kept hearing "The End" and then I heard other songs in my head, and it helped me not realize what I was doing and zone out and just work and work and not have to really work. It made the time pass faster.

I remember I accidently spilled some stuff on a girl who worked there when I was "prebusing" and she said, "You'll have to lick that," and I said I wouldn't do that but I'd wipe it off if she wanted.

I kept trying to be good to the customers too. I kept saying how's your dinner and then I'd say I hope the rest of your meal's good. And a few times I said have a nice day to people when they left and when a customer would say thank you I'd say no problem.

It's not as bad as KFC because I think I can keep this job. But not for too long I don't think. I'll try to have it for more than four weeks to beat out KFC. But I don't know. It's hard work. Hopefully I can keep my determination on.
Comments (2) | Permalink