living just to keep going - going just to be sane - all the while I know its - such a shame

it’s been hard to update, due to the fact that i have no working home computers right now. i think we have at least four or five sitting around the house - four or five buckets of junk, decades-old hard drives that probably have less space than my current, yet already outdated, phone.

i’ve been reading a lot of chuck klosterman. i’m telling you… my dream is to do exactly what he does (professionally speaking anyway)… writing for rock mags and blogging and having his stories/novels/essays/whatever published… god. it gives me something to strive for. if that guy can wax intellectual about zach morris and black metal, then goddamnit, so can i.

but i can’t even think clearly right now. i have so much going on. good and bad. but here! look at my new tattoo. tattoos make everything better.

new dreams, crowding out old realities

classic, indecisive kimmy.

not sure if i will abandon this blog and continue with my tumblr account, or perhaps i can keep both, in some sort of jekyll-and-hyde fashion of duality (staying true to my recent-but-always-known diagnosis of bipolar deux - thousands of dollars to tell me something i've always known, thank you so much).

who knows. who cares. does anyone even read this?



i'm performing our one and noble function of our time: MOVE

you took my heart and you hocked it.

'mother i tried please believe me, i'm doing the best that I can. i'm ashamed of the things i've been put through, i'm ashamed of the person I am'



these are dark days.

really dark days.

i would like to think that there's some security, in anything i do... but there isn't.

it's the most terrifying thing. i'm living without a net.

and i am consistently one step away from just... well... i don't even know. doing something drastic, dramatic, and stupid.

it's my own fault for having idiots for idols, but...



'she gave away the secrets of her past and said, i've lost control again'



i'm sorry i'm such a lout. i really am. even my closest friends can attest to my... i could only describe it as flakiness, but it's not as easy as that...

i can't explain it, and i guess i shouldn't. just makes me sound like more of an asshole. but i guess that's the truth and i shouldn't bother avoiding it.

but i am sorry.




'see my true reflection, cut off my own connections. i can see life getting harder. so sad is this sensation, reverse the situation. i can't see it getting better...'

be like the kettle and sing!

"the yearnings of two hearts create such heavenly pain"

such freudian slips will no longer be tolerated, dear. i'm calling the whole thing off.



someone caught me listening to the smiths on my way in to work this morning. i believe his words were along the lines of, "why on earth would you subject yourself to morrissey that early in the morning?!" and later, "it's like you're setting yourself up for suicide..."

okay that last line was embellished just a bit (replace 'suicide' with 'a bad day'). but i know that's what he was thinking.

and what was i thinking? we need public service announcements for this exact problem - you know it, i blogged it yesterday, rob gordon's initial monologue is a cautionary tale of the same:

music can be hazardous to your health.

like, if you just broke up with a boyfriend, refrain from listening to jeff buckley's grace or the postal service's give up. If you're struggling with work, bills, and adulthood, do NOT under any circumstance listen to "bastards of young" by the replacements. get where i'm going?



anyway... my coworker was right. i really should not have listened to the smiths this morning. my whole day. completely ruined. thanks, steven!

'you all may be her beaus, but i taught Josie all she knows'

wild wild wild youth (insert claps)

i can't, i'm sworn to secrecy. but wouldn't you love to know?

my writing is prolific, and yet, i'm not doing anything challenging, anything new.

i've never been good at balancing, i've always plunged headfirst into endeavors while forgetting even important things. there are definitely people that i miss and that i want to see or talk to. i'm just so notoriously bad at it. at being social. evenly social, i guess. i'm either climbing the rafters or bedridden for weeks.

and this isn't even making the least bit of sense, i know, but maybe it will to a few of you.

it's not an apology, just an explanation.

but really, i am the worst.



addendum: this book is pretty damned good.

the mean reds

"does he lay awake listening to your breath. worried you smoke too many cigarettes"

06/08

always shifing the feelings from one person to another. the names, the faces change, but the sentiments do not.

sometimes, sometimes she forgets which one she's talked to that day; she'll wonder if her cute and charming anecdotes have already been mentioned to that one or not? did she call him by the correct name, even? and does he suspect a thing???

oh god. this is how bad she's become. she's become her father, she's become Ian fucking Curtis. all those horror stories, the pain her mother felt, and the betrayal; and now she's no different.


"i will not weep for those dying days. for all the ones who've left there's a few that stayed"

_____

how do you turn it off? where's that fucking switch that makes you stop caring?

a blindness that touches perfection

courtney love once said of her doomed paramour, "kurt cobain makes my heart stop. but he's a shit"... goddamn blonde, blue-eyes-like-dinner-plates, piscean men.

i read that, and i knew exactly what she meant. that stupid, stupid feeling in at the bottom of your stomach... it's not nausea, but i am loathe to use the term 'butterflies'... maybe instead it's just the dread, the anxiety of knowing that this guy has the potential to, and most likely will, break your silly heart.

oh, maybe that's a little overdramatic. but for all the heartbreak i've given and received, the ones dispensing it have always been cold, Teutonic, emotionless ghouls.

maybe i am just as clueless as miss parker (see previous post). maybe i feel like it's some sort of game; let's see if we can make this one work. instead of accepting incompatibility, it becomes a challenge.

a challenge i'll always lose.



i am really, really down today. it's been a steady pattern of that for a while now. and what timing, too. happy birthday, indeed.

hub-cap-diamond-star-halo

just about another week, and i will no longer be eligible for that silly club.

although, in their terms, i would have had to been famous, or at least somewhat famous, or at the VERY least, contributed SOMETHING to the pop culture landscape. and i hardly think a glorified livejournal counts, sooooooo...

maybe THAT should be my hint, or my proverbial kick-to-the-rear, to get something going. maybe it's just the fear of getting older but i am starting to feel a sort of panic, a tightening in the chest whenever i start to think about how much time has passed and just how LITTLE i've actually done and seen. the clock is ticking, damnit.

'life's going by, but it's just begun...' and look where it got them. not members of the 27 club, but surely they've found a place in the rock and roll mythos. at least, i fucking hope so (although they aren't found here, i stumbled across this in my "research"... really, an amusing read if you have the time. go here for the ha-ha's).


oh! but i digress. i always digress. maybe THAT has been the problem all along.

predict earthquakes!

'you pin a dragon to your hats... you're up in the attic with the bats'

i'm stuck on this self-defeating behavior kick. can't make the flesh do what the rational mind knows is best... ohhhh, but the flesh... the flesh is listless, it's tired, it's waiting for its next release...

nothing quite like the newness and the promise though... the possibility, i guess, the anticipation and the flirtation with something, someone... nothing like it to take your mind off the rest of the mess you call your life.

but that's no way to go through life, is it? one frying pan to another. the faces change but the sentiments don't.

wow.

i'm kindof an asshole, huh?

like a frantic inept Lazarus

and i go home having lost her love. and write this book

my pessimistic nature already had prophesied our doom. speaking nervously in dark parking lots i had mentioned my theory on the whole sad courtship debacle, people love love love the chase but when they have it, they realise they don't want it.

that, or people tend to fall in love with the idea of a person, before they truly know them - not that anyone truly knows anyone else anyway, but that's a story for another day - they invent their own backstories, project their hopes and desires, and when reality hits, it's a crushing, lonely blow. it's the proverbial jump-the-shark moment, no one wants to see the end result of courtship, they thrive off the tension and the 'what ifs', will-they-or-won't-they, neatly packaged between the commercials. our nielsen ratings took a dive that first week, and we just never could recover, could we?

if you have a choice of two things and can't decide, take both

yes, mister corso, that's a grand idea and i see what you're preaching, but it's not so black-and-white. we just want it all, and what we cannot have, always pursuing the unattainable and attempting the impossible. something that should always be encouraged in matters of life, career, or education, but in the ways of the figurative heart, it should be a big, blinking, neon "NO". do not attempt, do not pass go, or some such nonsense.

it's akin to those that only want/need the person that will treat them miserably. it's not the same, but it's pretty damn close. WHY on earth do we waste our time, when the rational, sane parts of our brain know that it isn't a good idea? or not even necessarily a bad idea, but just something that essentially does not work? two different expectations, two different sets of desires?

ah it's the morning; and the mourning it is dawning on me too; i had no warning; just a condolence card to tell me that we're through

but really, let's be honest here and admit that it's not the person we mourn, it's not some grand shakespearean tragedy. it's much sadder than that. it's realism: it's knowing that we couldn't make something work. it's another failure to add to the list, and that's what really kills.



i'm sick of these tragic little vignettes. my lexicon is stuck on song lyrics and obscure film references, gushing forth in an overcaffeinated, manic timbre. i can't seem to write about anything else lately. but maybe catharsis is necessary at this point.



"she can't understand suddenly what has happened because she's lost her mind, her usual recognition of self, and feels the eerie buzz of mystery, she really does not know who she is and what for and where she is, she looks out the window and this city is the big bleak bare stage of some giant joke being perpetrated on her."

'what part of an inverse tangent approaching an asymptote don't you understand?'

I was ridiculously happy to hear that industrial outfit VNV Nation was coming to town, only to find out it was another one of their halfhearted DJ sets. Not that their performances are half-assed; infact I'm sure they're quite good. However, i just cannot justify shelling out the big bucks to watch a (relatively) famous person spin records that my local DJ spins week in and week out. I don't know. Maybe they do have an edge on us with their access to otherwise unknown foreign acts, but still, it's nothing I want to spend exorbitant amounts of money for. If I'm going to pay to see Ronan Harris, I expect to see Mark Jackson there as well, along with their synthesizers and wicked backdrops. Hah.

AND while I'm on the subject, why haven't Steve Naghavi and/or And One returned to the United States?

Granted, Mr. Naghavi could take the stage in nothing but a towel and proceed to perform the greatest acoustic hits of ABBA, and I would still be front row. But that's neither here nor there...

It just irks me that these great, underappreciated artists are getting the shaft because apparently, it costs too much to tour the states. Or they get stuck playing venues like VFW Halls and whatnot. In Europe, they can sell out clubs three times over... it;s just frustrating, really.

Then again, it can't be the bands' fault. At least not all the time. Maybe their record labels just don't see the potential of it. Bastards.

Oh but speaking of record labels, Wax Trax! founder Dannie Fleischer recently passed away. So sad. If you read the tributes below this article found in the Chicago Tribune, as well as the posts on their Facebook fan page, it's actually quite touching.


Bonus Astronomy Awesomeness: For the next few weekends at the Cernan Earth and Space Center (part of Triton College) in River Grove, they will be running a planetarium show narrated by our favorite astrophysicist, Phil Plait, aka The Bad Astronomer. Based on his first book, the show will debunk such myths as the "faked" moon landing and explain random scientific inaccuracies... great for the space geek as well as the layperson. Clicky here for more info. Yayyyyyyy

whatever happened to?

My last post was a Jim Carroll song. And now Jim Carroll has passed away. Sad.

If I were superstitious, I would refrain from mentioning anyone in this post... OR I'd refer to some rather troubled people that have been in my life lately. Haha. But I'm not that cruel. Or am I?

Life hasn't exactly been the greatest lately. Got laid off, had to move back home, got my heart pretty much torn out, repeatedly. Dated someone I didn't even like and didn't treat him well at all. Kept going back to the one person that has my heart only to find out he's just passing the time with me.


You think you've hit your lowest point and then it just gets worse. But you know what? I'm sick of pining over things and people that don't care and/or matter. I'm sick of wasting my time.

i need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me.

I'm going to complain for a bit. It's like a bad-news-first sort of thing.

I hate shopping. I hate the mall, I hate consumerism. I hate the empty conversations between people in fitting rooms; conversations that I'm sure I've been guilty of myself but that's beside the point. I feel like one of the valley people from that show The Oblongs, surrounded by a sea of Debbies.

And I really don't care at all for Alice in Chains, but when I saw one of their music videos plastered over the screens in the Juniors section at Nordstrom's, I grimaced and wondered if Layne Staley was rolling over in his grave.



...But I have to say, the photograph of the Hubble Ultra Deep Field, and the following words from Alan Taylor and Carl Sagan, has calmed the homicidal maniac in me. If only temporarily.

ramalama

Incredibly sad about Bettie Page. Incredibly.

I was pretty miffed the other day driving home from work, when I heard Adam Ant's Goody Two Shoes on 94.7. Really, oldies channel? Don't get me wrong, I love my eighties new wave, but it does not belong on the same station as my fifties and sixties rock and roll. Am I just getting too old? Is this just one of those "things were better in MY day" rants?

It is really sad about the state of radio though. At least where I'm from. And maybe it has a lot to do with my musical tastes changing... but it's also depressing when you know that your oldies station now has a disco night.

'i wanna clamp michael's face in a george foreman grill'

There should never be enough time for you to stop and wonder, "what if". Just be. And do. Life is too short.

And if I wasn't hacking up a lung, I'd be out 'doing' and 'being'.

Being sick makes me extra loathsome of the human race. I've noticed this. And while some of it is admittedly irrational, trust me, I have my reasons.

Fuck you, San Diego.

cultural wasteland

Oh Elvis, what were you thinking?

Then again Robert Smith did the same thing with, ironically enough, the wife of FOB bassist Pete Wentz. So maybe it's just the start of some disgusting trend.

By the way, have you heard the new FOB? It reeks of desperation. A sophomore-times-three attempt at still remaining relevant.

champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends.

I just cleaned out my facebook account and removed literally about a hundred people that I either:

● Don't care to be friends with

● Haven't talked to in years (or never met outside of the internet)

● Or pretty much can't stand at all.

Why do people feel the need to 'friend collect'? Who really cares?

Quite honestly, I'm sick of having false friends in my life. I don't care what bands you're friends with, or what shoes you rock or what clubs you can get into.

I need substance to my relationships. And it's nice to finally have some.

holy shit, part deux

Um, why is Steve Guttenberg, best known for his recurring role as prankster/manwhore Mahoney in the Police Academy series, at the Oscars? Nothing against him, though. I actually love the Police Academys, and can probably name them all off the top of my head, even though they were only really good up till the fourth, Citizens on Patrol. But I digress...

Apparently, Guttenberg is one of the new stars of the sixth season of ABC series Dancing With The Stars. Hmm. The Oscars is on ABC too... innnnnnnnteresting. Penn Jillette is on the new season also, which really pisses me off. How can someone brilliant enough to pen (no pun intended) the pop culture masterpiece Sock, as well as host the hilarious and underrated Bullshit!, end up dancing on a reality show? Is he really washed-up, or just that desperate?

And why am I still watching this crap?

back in the 20th century, I had all five of your albums...

Why were the Beastie Boys so much better in the eighties and early nineties?

What happened to their comic sensibilites? Their hilarious videos and even better music? I'll tell you what happened: Effing Tibet!

Haha. Just kidding. But seriously, when your fans start pining for your days of misogyny and adolescent hilarity, that's when you know something is wrong. I know the Beasties are older and wiser, and I'm sure any attempt to recapture what they had would just fall short- but do they have to be so serious all the time? While I appreciate their concern for global issues such as Tibet and the environment and god knows what else, can't they just keep it to themselves?

And actually, I feel the same about a lot of these public figures- guys like Bono and Brad Pitt. I'm sure they think that because people are interested in their lives, they somehow feel responsible for 'making a difference' and all that crap. But honestly? It just annoys the piss out of me.

If I had millions of dollars, OF COURSE I would be helping others less fortunate. But I wouldn't be fucking flaunting it either. Because I should be doing it out of the kindness of my own heart, not for publicity or to make myself feel better. Man I hate the fucking Jolie-Pitts. And Bono. Smarmy fucks. FAAACK.

Whew! But I digress. The Beastie Boys, for better or worse, were at their peak when they wrote songs about crafty hos and White Castle fries only coming in one size. And if you want to get technical, their actual peak was the 1989 masterpiece Paul's Boutique... and it was pretty much a slow descent after that. Was it because of the pressure from feminist groups and entire towns upset by their lewd lyrics and even dirtier performances? Or did time simply calm them down?

In this day and age, I suppose they really couldn't make another Licensed to Ill. But the Beasties aren't exactly terrible now, either. They're just... not the same, I guess. I can't blame a band for evolving. But give me Brass Monkey over The Brouhaha any day.

rant part deux

I have finally realized why I LOATHE Everybody Loves Raymond. I try to avoid it at all costs, but first thing when I get home from work, I turn on the telly... mostly for background noise. And ninety-nine percent of the time, it's still on TBS from the morning, because for some reason I can't miss that hour block of Saved by the Bell. I used to watch the WGN Morning News (which I still love), but the news is much too depressing that early in the morning. Aah but I digress...

Just now, for whatever reason, I sat through an entire episode of Raymond. I don't really remember the entire plot, but at one point he was in the kitchen with his wife and mother, and he BEGS his mother to make him breakfast. BEGS. A grown man. He wasn't happy with his wife's breakfast so he asks his mother to make some.

And then it dawned on me. He's a fucking mama's boy.

But why do I hate mama's boys? Let's just say I've had enough experience with them to know... to know to avoid them at all costs. Infact, one ex in particular LOVED Everybody Loves Raymond, and always tried to get me to watch it. Now I know why. Sissy-ass mama's boys.

One thing I've noticed though... whereas Ray always had to beg for sex from his wife, we had the opposite problem. HAH! Oh, I would feel bad if he wasn't such a jackass. So I really don't care. But this isn't some Sex and the City type rant either. It was actually a rant about bad television... is anyone even reading this thing yet?