Crushed

Yeah. I care too much and I don't know why.

The South Central Farm was forcefully seized today despite the peaceful resistance of the South Central Farmers and their supporters. An early morning raid began at 5:00am to evict the farmers and community supporters who had taken up camp 21 days ago at the South Central Farm. The L.A. County Sheriffs Department coordinated this action with the assistance of the Los Angeles Fire Department and the Los Angeles Police Department who were dressed in full riot gear. Approximately 50 demonstrators have been arrested, some suffering the force of baton use. Bulldozers have been brought in to level the 14 acres of food and medicine that began to bloom 14 years ago when the land was mitigated to the community in the wake of the 1992 uprising. With tears on their faces farmers are being supported by an influx of community supporters turning out to demonstrate their continued efforts to save the land for the community.

Links:
South Central Farmers
Democracy Now
IndyMedia

via CapedMaskedandArmed.com

You Got Served!

For a few weeks now, she's called me up every day with a "Did you get served?" It's become our little running gag.

It's like being in the waiting room, patiently sitting, staring at the uninspired, mass-produced painting featuring a still life of flowers. You hear everyone's name called, even the guy who came in an hour after you, and you wonder if you were forgotten about. Someone took a snapshot and we're all just walking around in it but we never change scenes or costumes and the muzak is stuck on repeat.

But now, behold, the season of inclement weather is upon us! And I don't just mean Tropical Storm Alberto.

Last night the storm come through violently. This morning, however, the weather cleared, the sky was beautiful, and with the breeze a knock came to the door. We hardly take this lightly, but allow me to be the first to give myself an irreverent "Bwaha! You got served!" Because she will too. That's how we get through all this. It's a big deal but... geez, man, get on with it. I talk to myself a lot don't I?

I'm actually not sure what I'm supposed to do next. Originally, our plan was that we would do the whole thing ourselves to save from being raped by lawyer costs. Ages ago, I downloaded all the requisite forms and put them in a folder affectionately titled "Blech." But I'm no lawyer. Though I am a professional procrastinator. "Can't today, we'll do it tomorrow, we'll do it next week, we'll do it next month..." So she decided to get an attorney. I can hardly blame her and really I'm half glad about it. I'll be representing myself because frankly I can't afford anything else.

---------------------

If you haven't caught on, the only real reason I don't actively seek any kind of companionship is, well, I'm still married. It's been a year and a half now and it's a legality pure and simple. We've taken off our rings, come to our conclusions, but between her and I, it won't be okay until it's done with.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I think I may have really messed myself up in the bedroom sense. My libido is now major league manic depressive. I fear for the poor souls who I may eventually encounter in the wrong stage of that erratic cycle.

This holding pattern effectively prevents me from wanting to make any contact in the just to be friends sense with anyone who presents themself as gay. I have a sense that I'm being watched, like a criminal on the loose. If I even look at someone with those inadvertent, sideways staring eyes, I may as well put the handcuffs on. I feel like I have to explain over and over that I don't want to just sleep with everyone I come in contact with. My own homophobic hell stemming from a lock that I've assigned in order to not step on any toes. Of course, no one is really asking but still...guilty, guilty, guilty.

I have a habit of daydreaming. A lot. I always have. I crush hard and fast, but if anything ever actualized from those crushes I think my brain might hemorrhage.

I still end up a nervous catastrophe whenever I indulge myself in feeling attracted to members of the same gender. Like with Cute Subway Guy who I still get uncomfortably hot under the collar about whenever he makes my sandwich. Last night, Dreamy Apple Store Guy was replacing my power chord and I just wanted to stick my finger in a socket when I was done to get rid of the feeling. And Lordy, I can't even get into the dreams I have about certain...people I've never met.

So I be sure to keep at a safe distance. Although I can board up the windows all I like, storms have a tendency to take unpredictable paths.

Sketch o' the Day ~ Fracture

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Finish

Bad habits die hard.

Sketch o' the Day ~ Paper People

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | Finish

The internet eats things. People eat things. Therefore Internet is People. Right?

The Thing About Zeros

Now you and I both know that age is all a matter of perception. Right.

Yet there are still a few things that will still hit me like a big tractor trailer upon their reaching a certain number of years. This would be a big'un.

Sketch o' the Day ~ Come Out and Play

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Finish

I've been pondering this post by the GayProf all week. I miss my Superman pajamas.

Sketch o' the Day ~ Harmonia No. 001

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Finish

Supafly Remix No. 66

I'm pretty sure one of the people living in my head, telling me what to do is that of a miniscule, sassy black woman with a killer set of pipes. Most times she's in tune except for when her overexuberance makes me trip all over myself as I'm trying to walk up stairs.

Don't Get Involved

There's a new chap at work. I don't know him at all. Today I found him off by the break table, blurry-eyed and shaky. I'm concerned but head to the bathroom for the moment. Try not to get involved.

He had surges of pain every now and then. He was clutching his chest. He would turn red. I ask him what's up. Be carfeul you don't get involved.

He's 21. He has no insurance. He won't call an ambulance. He won't see a doctor. He can't afford any of these things. He's more afraid of losing his job than dying. Don't get involved.

He gets this attack every day in varying degrees. His girlfriend broke his heart. She says he has a faulty valve. They are still together. Don't get involved.

I thought about lending him money. I thought about driving him to the emergency room. All I could do was sit there and listen to him dump everything about his emotional and physical trauma in the last few months. Don't get involved.

Logically, it can take a chunk of your life to help heal a potential faulty heart. And somewhere a thought in me screams "You can't do anything. Don't get involved."

Stupid thoughts. Go back to your frigid cave.

You're the reason I don't think I'll sleep tonight.

Urgent! South Central Farm in Danger

I don't know how many people still frequent here but please take a moment and read this, especially if you live in California. As of this post there are only 6 days left to help. If you know anyone who this info might be useful please forward it or post it to your blog:

Info and Pics:
Caped, Masked, and Armed

Website:
South Central Farmers

Sincerely,
Alden

12 of 12: May Edition

First, you go here. (But then be sure to come back.)

7AM

Lately, I've been turning off my alarm clock in my sleep since I've no one to kick me in the face otherwise.

8AM

What did I ever do before I had a CD player in my car?

9AM

On Fridays at work just call me Mr. Clean.

10AM

WorkWorkWork.

11AM

Golden Delicious.

12PM

If I don't hold my headphones they fall off my head.

1PM

$6.49 Shoes.

2PM

Circumstantial evidence.

3PM

School buses now have AIR CONDITIONING. What's the world coming to. Why, in my day... I didn't ride the bus.

4PM

The long-armed monkey in the wild reaches for his native food: cookies.

5PM

Somewhere there must be a saying about brotherly love that involves grocery carts, sulking, and downtrodden bananas.

6PM

Beware the macaroni thief that strikes at sunset.

Now think about doing your own next month.

Peace,
Alden

~ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 ~

I'm Afraid Mr. Bumbry Has Fallen Quite Ill

Hi.

I suppose when someone actually tracks down an email address for me, that was totally not connected to anything with this site, just to say, basically, WTF...

...that you people are crazy. And lovely. But still crazy. Don't you have anything better to do then mope over someone you've never met? I do apologize profusely if I made you worry.

You're concern is warranted. My desire to communicate with anyone has been diminishing at a rapid rate. I suppose the way I left things was not fair.

I'm okay. I simply don't have much to say that's positive anymore. I know that no one's life is rosy but the last thing I want to do is bring people down.

And I'm tired. I try to create and nothing happens.

So I'm leaving Simon here for others to discover and ponder and take what they need from him. If I come back it will be in a new time and place. With monkeys still in tow. I promise.

I still have my eye on all of you.

Peace,
Alden

No Famous Last Words

I can't write anymore. My heart physically hurts too much these days. Take care of yourselves.

Technical Difficulties

I apologize to anyone who was watching the sketch this evening. If my latptop decides to wake up and I can salvage it I'll try to continue tomorrow.

I thought I could try from my iMac at home even though the dial-up isn't the swiftest..but then it gave me a few kernel panics aand I gave up.

Then I thought, okay now's the time to try a non-digital sketch and scan it in...but it appears my scanner has now bit the dust after it fell off the table.

And then I was going to record a podcast...and it appears I've just sat on my headset and snapped it in two.

So, it appears the muses have decided I it be an all around April Fools on me and I should not be creating tonight. We'll try again tomorrow when they haven't had so much wine.

Peace,
Simon

Little Red Marks

I just read what I wrote yesterday.

I've been exceedingly angry to the point of furious only a few times in my life. When it does happen, I switch into autopilot and I don't really know what I'm doing. Except I know that when I do, it's going to be spiteful, it's going to be a spectacle and it's going to be extremely selfish. That's right, you better look at me when I'm seething in your direction.

Or not.

The first time was in high school. I was feeling awful that day. We were seniors. Waiting to graduate. Sitting at rehearsal in the hall. Nobody wanted to be there. There was so much chatter and noise. The girl down the hall was howling like a drunken, tortured cat.

So I exploded. Loud enough so that everyone in the building could hear for her to shut her mouth before she found my foot in it. Enough to blow out my vocal chords. And for a split second I was so proud of myself. The reaction was intense. People came running. People were watching. I felt powerful.

And then she laughed at me. She looked at my twisted face and her posse began to cackle. My desire to be heard is never balanced by my shaking, physical presence. So I took her box of graduation announcements that were sitting innocently by, stomped out the door and looked for the closest bonfire nearby I could through them in. I don't remember much after that.

But, just as quickly it was over. That was all I had in me. I snapped back to me. Crawled into a dark corner. I'm not a fighter. I sat in the hall drifting in and out of accusations, something about me being a racist, something about being a prick, and cried until there was nothing left to come out.

Yesterday I began to feel that same kind of wrath, just a different venue. What was I angry at?

Words. Plain and simple. Curse the written word. I wish I could tell you about it. But it's not fair to right now. So I lashed at every thing in the way I could think of. You won't really find the cause of my discomfort in the words that appear there.

However, to that end, I think there is truth. I do think I'm somewhat changed from how I used to be. Before it would take me weeks, months, maybe even years as I dwell in a funk when things go awry. Today, I'm not feeling... sorry for the things I said. I'm not sad. Maybe I'm a grown up after all.

Don't get the wrong idea, I still don't think that I want to date. I've no desire to. As a friend recently advised though, I'll be sure to wipe the poison off before I kiss again.

And old, crusty men should still beware.

Peace,
Simon

I Make Girls Cry

I once wrote a note on my door in college that read something to the effect of "Yes, I am in here. Don't waste your time. Please go away."

------

For the moment, I've figured out some things.

I've determined that I possess a strong, unexplainable force that I am coining as anti-gaydar. It is a two-fold technique that allows one to crush on extremely unavailable straight men from afar while simultaneously repelling anyone who might be interesting and fabulous. As all you gay boys tend to think you are. But often fail miserably at.

I've determined that I don't want to date. I have no patience for any of you who wish to "date". I know this not because I have any experience in dating but because I cannot read your mind and I expect you to tell me things. I have no need for frivolous or facetious remarks. I'm not smart enough to read signals so don't even try. Don't slip your snark or your sarcasm into me. I will bite it off at the shaft and leave you with a bloody stump.

I've determined that there's a reason people hang out with others their age. The only people, who ever approach me are the loud, witless and old. Late 40's up. Way up. I'd say, no offense to those of you that are but I probably don't mean it. Let me be perfectly clear to all you skanky, old beach dwellers with "zest for life" that smell like hemorrhoid products and saltwater that I will take your cocks and fry them to a shriveled crisp under a magnifying glass in the sun to match the rest of you if you hit on me. I don't like you because I expect to end up like you later in life. I'm not a toy.

I've determined that I drown myself in work so I don't have to say I'm available to do "fun" things. I've determined that this course will bring me to a lonely life and hopefully a heart attack at 30. I'm not husband material. I am father to more people than just my own children and I don't have time for your contemptuous feelings of "love". And your point is?

I've determined that I don't have a sex drive. It disappeared. Like a magic trick gone wrong. I've also determined that I don't care. But there are others who can uphold the veracity of that claim if you know who to ask.

I've determined that I want to fight. I want to use my fists and throw a punch with enough strength to break skulls. I've determined that this is a big lie and that I will keep my kids from doing the same thing.

I've determined that I'm impatient, soulless, asexual, whatever... So until further notice, I give up on the whole social life interaction thing. It doesn't work for me. In the meantime, I am refocusing my few remaining energy cells on other things to do. Not better things, just things I dont have to think about so much.

I like you and I'll gladly as helpful as I can but I don't want to be your friend.

-----

I've determined that I am changed. From a small pile of rubbish lying under the covers in my room who swallowed a bottle of something waiting to die. Instead I am a furnace not be touched. Garbage can heat an entire house in the winter when it's decomposing. I'll give you a smile and a friendly face but the note on my door would now say "Bring it on. I dare you. I'll destroy you."

For the moment.

Kisses and Poison,
Simon

Secret Simon Podcast #007

Zoom zoom. Bang crash boom.

SecretSimon007.mp3
RUN TIME - 13:02
SIZE - 3.2 MB

Peace,
Simon

Love Letter

Dearest,

I know we've been separated by recent circumstances. I know our relationship was very superficial at its best. Forces were pulling us apart and I decided to end it when I did out of necessity.

But you see, I've been yearning for you lately. I remember the good times we had back then, the late nights, as I explored you and discovered what you had to offer. You were smooth and fast but I didn't mind. After all who wants the piss-water down here once you've tasted nectar from Olympus.

The one who I've found on the rebound to fill your place, has all the abilities you did but it's as graceful as humping a sloth. The type that kindly brings me my mail, but won't let me send anything out of jealousy. Rudely interrupting my conversations with friends so many times that I can't even count. I won't even go into the teasing with promises of movies and music that end in frustration.

But I put out nonetheless because I don't really have to pay for it. You always were an expensive bitch.

I'm not really naive, I know how you work. I know you could care less and have moved on. You were only using me for my money anyway. You're really a cold, hard black widow that drops lovers like yesterday's elephant turds. You've many other lovers in the wings, and I am but an atom in that cosmos.

I miss you immensely and I want you back. I have been out and about, having a few flings here and there in those public places where I can get it. But none of them can come home with me. I want our time together. Alone under my own roof.

Oh Hi-Speed Internet, I miss you so. Come back to me, my love and free me of the curse of Dial-Up.

Your Slave,
Simon

SOmetImMes thEre are TOo Many WoRds

play all at once

Or in tiny pieces
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