Stab pain right eye 4am. Tear duct clogged. Optic nerve rubbed with sandpaper. Last month, heat improved. Ah… also helps now.
Grateful am human. All ducts clog. Only humans have warm showers.
Lucky born? Never know. Of primate, lucky be human.
Tag: Personal
Sometimes I write in pictures.
You!
Yes, you!
Look at this guy:
A short, squat gnome
With a big paunched belly
And an erect penis
And neck
This text is here purely for formatting reasons
Born a dewdrop
That jiggled on a leaf,
Slurped up by a ladybug
That hums above the field.
Clouds billow, foretold shocks:
“Don’t hum begrudging agreement.
It’s not what you’ll want tomorrow-
Just what they demand today.”
This text is here purely for formatting reasons
He writes from a place southwest of my sternum
Aflame from rotting friends.
He wants to show you.
Take a look?
Or run.
“Please don’t run.”
One, Two Pizzas
Why did you buy two pizza pies?
You’re only one man, and you have thighs
That will grow fatter
If you eat all that batter.
“They were deep dish,
Which makes me its bitch
When combined with the heaven
Of ‘second pie costs $7.'”
Well, that explains
Your stretched-tummy pains.
Now go and count sheep
You should be asleep.
“I would be! I would!
But it’s hard to be good.
After crunching all week,
I feel so… uh, weak.”
That I can see!
It’s going to be
A much-needed weekend
Spent with a friend.
#LoveCrunchTime
Why do I consistently wait until the last minute to complete work? (I recently completed my largest project of all time. I had over a month to complete what amounted to 44 hours of work, yet I still crunched through 38 hours in the final two days, staying up until 5:30 am and evolving into a giddy, manic machine).
- Being in time-crunch is thrilling and I enjoy a good rush.
- It makes work take less time, and I don’t like work. (Since I don’t have time to lollygag or double-back, I don’t lollygag or double back).
- “That’s a problem for future-Julian, and what has that guy ever done for me?”
- I’m a lazy fuck… who does what he promises. (I would never do it, but that’s not an option so I come as close as possible.)
- The system works so I have no incentive to change it.
- You never know when the teacher will change the assignment last minute. Did I say “teacher”? I meant “customer”. They’re shockingly similar.
Quotent Quotables, Volume 2
I’ve curated a list of recent quotes from my life, along with a challenge: Who said each quote? Me or Not-Me? (Answers at the end; track your responses to see how well you fare!)
- “You know that Carly Simon song? It’s about me.”
- “Sometimes I feel like I’m always rushing. Then I get some free time and it’s just the worst.”
- “When you eliminate the extraneous, all that’s left is you. When you eliminate the you, all that’s left is the Tao.”
- “Pickling is so great. They take cucumbers and make them edible!”
- “Nexterday. I mean tomorrow.”
- “I like spending time with people with low self-esteem—whenever we arrive at a problem, they’re too busy blaming themselves to blame me.”
- “I’m a coffee drinker, so cups of tea aren’t my cup of tea.”
- “You’re nervous. That’s okay. Just don’t be nervous about being nervous.”
- “My computer just told me it has an upgrade it wants to run. Let me guess: it’s going to make the computer run more slowly and not affect how I use it at all.”
- “The more I learn about how things work, the more I learn they’re stupid and poorly done.”
- “Avocado would be a great Halloween costume for a pregnant woman.”
- “With T-Mobile, you get free tacos on Tuesdays, but with Verizon you can make phone calls.”
To protect you from accidentally seeing the answers, please enjoy this anecdote: (Real! Real true! Real true funny!)
Context: A highschool couple eats dinner at Chick-Fil-A. The Girl has painted her face with such vigor that it lacks pores. The guy sports spiky hair, diamond hoop earrings, and flip-flops.
Girl: I don’t find comedy funny.
Guy: You don’t find comedy funny?
Girl: I find it cringe-y. It’s not natural funny. It’s like forced funny. I don’t like comedy movies because they’re not funny. I feel like the only comedy that I actually find funny is, like, White Chicks. Oh my god! We should watch White Chicks together!
(Scroll down for the answers)
(Keep scrolling)
(Who’s a good scroller? You are! Yes, you are!)
Those answers you’ve been waiting for:
1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 12 are by Yours Truly
Your Score:
0: You know me incredibly well, but prefer self-sabotage.
1-3: Next time, try flipping a coin.
4-6: You did flip a coin.
7-9: Let’s be friends.
10-11: So close and yet so far. Was it the pickling? I bet it was the pickling.
12: Self… is that you? I mean me? Are you… me?
Why “Always Better”?
Why do I call my blog “Always Better”? Four reasons:
- It should be strictly better than some other activities. Eating popcorn or browsing Reddit, for example: this blog should Always be a Better use of time.
- I Always want to be a Better writer. Better than who? Better than I was yesterday. Better than I was this morning. Better than I’ve ever been.
- It’s a pun for what I wanted to be when I started the blog: Better in All Ways. [1]
- They say creative lives are a gamble. That makes this blog is a bet, which means I’m Always Betting.[2]
[1] I no longer want that. Instead, I’ve turned off improvement in some areas to focus more on the few I care strongly about.
[2] I haven’t fount my creative life particularly gamble-y, but that’s a topic for another time.
When people ask “How are you feeling?”, I wish they wanted this sort of answer.
When people ask “How are you feeling?”, I wish they wanted this sort of answer:
I have this…
Deep, rich, weeping.
Eyes tight, throat… Tingling down my back and a dry mouth.
I shiver though I don’t move.
A cold breeze passes through my head.
A cold breath, a dry mouth, a buzz across the back; a tight lower back, furrowed brow.
Wide, blubbery second chin. Dry mouth, fast breath.
Stab right shoulder, under scapula.
Stab throbs.
Furrowed Brow.
Stab sinks.
I’ll test this sometime: dropping in and describing my felt sensations in real time.
I’ll test it 6 times in different contexts (because I’ll only get comfortable after the first few experiments).
I hope he realizes he’s a Little Shit
“Fuck you!” yells the boy-child biking past. He pauses a moment, then adds, “And your mom!”
His comment fills me with Righteous Joy in these final moments completing my cycle home. See, I was once a Little Shit too:
- In 4th grade, I fist-fought over a chair.
- In 6th, I bit a 3rd grader. I did, however, apologize to him! (… this year.)
- The summer after 9th, I realized my loneliness wasn’t the world’s fault. I lacked friends due to that aforementioned Shittiness. (That same summer, I discovered women. Coincidence? I think not.)
As a reformed Shit, I now carry the mantle of informing Shits when they’re being Shitty.
In advising a youth group, I once explained to a high school senior the reasons it’s inadvisable to urinate in a public school trashcan. To get through to him, I employed the phrase “sex offender registry.”
I yell “Yo!” when it becomes first apparent this boy-child biker is being Shitty. He hurtles down the two-lane path at a rapid pace, clearly intent on swerving around the woman-with-dog and into my lane of the tight, dark tunnel. Upon hearing my yell, he slows, so I relax… but then the Shit passes her anyway! At the same moment as me! Dangerous? Yes! And also stupid as fuck! Maybe wait for half-a-second, Dumbass?
After passing into safety, I holler, “Don’t do that!” (admittedly as a schoolmarm would chide a child), so he delivers the epithet invoking my mum.
I was a Little Shit once, but now recognize my Shitness. One day, I hope this Little Shit does too. ‘Til then, fuck him! And his mom!
Paul Simon
We don’t see musical legends to hear music; we come to view the divine. Headphones are better for music. I saw Paul so I could think, “That’s the closest to God I’ve ever seen.”
He opened with America, which stabs my chest with recollections of love for someone who disappears for months at a time. Then came hit after hit that even your kids would know.
He didn’t sing Bridge over Troubled Water or Mrs. Robinson – both #1s. “Maybe he doesn’t want to sing them without Garfunkel.” But he sang The Sound of Silence, and that was a Garfunkel song. (And anyway, it’s not about the music).
His solo pieces strip the man down to emotional expression. His body drops away and Paul becomes a voice, guitar, and poetry.
Can we substitute in a bad rendition of those two #1s instead of the string-backed songs he played that no one knew? Does he care about my opinion? Should he?
There goes a man who achieved his purpose. He lived a satisfying, accomplished life. What more is there?
How can my writing impact as many lives as his did, and still provide the high of thousands making pilgrimage en masse to realize I’m not God?
Ode to Xfinity
Xfinity, you tease
In the unlikeliest of places
By stoking my hopes with the promise of bars
Then dashing them all with a “cannot connect!”
I must say I’d rather
Have no WiFi at all—
Be forced ‘pon my phone’s hotspot
Than hear your wispy false claims.
But sometimes, my dear,
You appease this old soul—
Like this ‘forenoon, when I video called
My boss from the street.
Though your robustness did waver
So we switched to “just audio,”
You did remain connected! Aye, you stood strong throughout,
Leaving boss none the wiser
That I’m a van-confined hobo.
Why do you toy so, dear Xfinity,
With me, of all people—loyal lover of your service
As I try to log in
With my dad’s friend’s account?
Julian Wise 