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
001002003004005006007

Next Stage: Super Saiyan Lvl 100

Hi guys and dolls.

So in short:

Vacation = a surly harlot.

Deadlines = a gaseous giant.

Computers = several boorish madmen.

Money = an invisible musty stench.

Family = no chance of parole.

Voice = wrenched.

Me = trying to please god and/or man and/or monsters.

therefore
Deadlines + Computers + Family + Me - Voice - Money - Vacation = A ferocious, mentally retarded chicken that likes to pluck out my eyebrows and then glue them on backwards.

But not to worry. I don't do Hudsucker moments anymore.

This moment of lucidity has been brought to you by the lack of REM cycles and viable purpose and may dissappear after the editor reads this and proclaims, "Back to the steamy depths from whence you arose!"

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Galut

Secret Simon Podcast #006

Indulge your inner monkey.

SecretSimon006.mp3
RUN TIME - 13:55
SIZE - 3.2 MB

Peace,
Simon

Distractions

The night was too cold for sleep.

"So. 26 in a 15 school zone crossing..."

I really need to get new wiper blades for the windshield.

"On your way to work this morning? Still asleep?"

The steam in the retention pond is doing some spectacular sky writing.

"Everything going okay at home?"

I wonder if I'll ever see Japan? Probably cold there this time of year, too.

"Your insurance card is expired. Better get that taken care of otherwise it's a $70 fine."

My cowlicks are in rare form this morning.

"Back in a moment."

My teeth are starting to hurt again. Guess I should get them looked at.

"This constitutes a $254 ticket."

Why doesn't this card fit in my wallet like every other card.

"You look like the face of a man who has more than a few distractions on his plate at the moment. I assume that this a gross underestimation?"

I look up for a moment.

He beats out a rhythm with the contents of his hands. He stares, pondering with intent. His gaze wanders around, on the pillow and blanket in the seat next to me, my toothbrush and a jug of water. He continues on to the two empty child seats in the backseat, the towel soaking up the spot where snacks were spilled, the dirty sneakers and soiled clothes.

"These are yours. Stop somewhere, wake up and then give it 110% while you are on the road, okay?"

There is no ticket in the stack he returns to me.

"On your way now."

Hey, look at the pretty colors in the sky...

There may have been some words on my part in all of that but I honestly can't remember a single one.

A Sum of Parts

I could go on about the horrendous behavior that besets our species on this day.

But I won't. You can find those words elsewhere. Because...

There seems to be an excess of people that don't need to hear about that. People with misconnected parts and missing pieces. People with their parts on inside out and backwards, trying to get with other peoples parts. Those with parts that are threadbare do fall apart easily. There is no instruction manual for reference.

I'd gladly give you my body or my mind if it pleased you, whichever you prefer, but I only have one of each to spare. And I don't know anything about souls or whether they exist. But my body and my mind tell me that if I see one that is lonely, then give what I am able.

Love cannot be an idle notion, but it runs the risk being an idol. It's something to do, not to worship. Love is to be consumed voraciously. When it's great it's really great.

Whether I have a soul or not, I am driven to hone that innate ability. Regardless of what I may think I do not place it in the framework of a day, but I will give the affections if I am able. Love can be automatic if you let it. And since you are there and I am here, this is all I can do.

For most of you, we've never spoken, we've never met, and yet if it weren't for you I'd still be futzing around in oblivion. So this is all I can humbly give you for now. I hope it fills you up at least a fraction.


click me

Love you guys.

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Stolen

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lesser Demon

Bring Out Your Dead

I suppose it was not a good idea to go see that movie* by myself. You know what I'm talking about.

I was alone in the theater. The last showing of the evening. It's just a movie. It's gotten hype. So what. It didn't make me cry. It didn't make me angry. In fact by the end of it, I was a zombie. Everything had been sucked out.

You know what makes zombies perpetually walk on the way they do even though they are dead? There is a ringing in their ears that keep their bodies active in drudging rhythm. It's a mechanical buzzing pulse that shoots signals through dead nerves, slowly jolting arms, legs, fingers, causing strokes and flinches and squirms.

I did squirm. I did watch. It was the kiss that did me in. Secrets and lies and marriage and love all in a flurry. I wish I had a fishing buddy. The fish hooks in my gullet are starting to show signs of infection. Snap out of it, it's just a movie.

I'm gay. So what? I was unfaithful. So what? I've broken through. So what? This is old news. She knows all this. I've never been gay bashed, harmed or flushed out because of what I did. Then why does the gaze through the screen mark me in that way. It's just a movie. Just a goddamn movie.

It is that I am an Ennis and a Jack. A grunting grope and insatiable lust all conveniently mashed up, screwing each other in a violent, incessant tumble. They are competitors in a quiz show, flipping those buttons that glow green and red, off and on, off and on, reject, accept, deny, comply, conform, reform, deform, buzz, buzz, buzzzz.

Those are the pulses that move my appendages. And I wish that they could bring satisfaction but the touch of your own rotting hand gets weary.

But it's just a movie. Just fleeting pieces of flickering light. I mumble a bit, stare at the reliquary and throw myself in a cauldron waiting to be reborn.

The ringing will go away. It's frigid in the empty parking lot. The pulse makes me stop moving for a while.

I become paralyzed because I am ashamed of the past.

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

I work a lot. But I gather you know that.

I can't begin to describe to you the wall that stands in my way. It would be a lie to say that my current state doesn't give me thoughts that make me want to quit.

I didn't want it to affect me. But I can't stop thinking about it. I won't ever stop thinking about it. It's become so great that it interferes with my work. It's difficult when what you do, the thing you devote the majority of your life to, the bulk of your energy, serves no discernible end function other than feeding a frenzied mass of distraction.

I become paralyzed because I am afraid of the future.

But my cycle goes on. The deadline will come and go with or without me and I will still be here waiting for the next one to roll around. I'll press the buttons that make things pulse, present them with the similar lights and noise and hope the pattern is pleasing.

I'll get through it and remember that I have a cool job, I have people that are concerned for my well being, and I will go back to being one of the strong ones. One of the dependable ones. One of the safe ones.

Dead ends used to be easy decisions. You either stop or turn around. Even a non-choice is a choice, an inaction of "I choose not to choose" is in itself still an action. Give me an excuse and I'm done for the day. I go to bed, start again. Or I put it in reverse and go back to the familiar.

It will be okay because it has to be. But now I look for the other hidden option to that scenario, one that occurs to me after staring at it long enough. If I don't act I'll still be thinking whether that crack in the barricade was large enough to cause collapse with a well placed punch and what exactly is on the other side.

I aim to find out.

Peace,
Simon

*PS: Ironically, Dan Renzi today points to an article about the movie's aspects of adultery. I could have a lot to say about it but it's hard for me to be objective about it at the moment. You might want to comment there for any discussion on this to be effective.

The Good Fight

...Agent Fiver to checkpoint...do you copy?

...voice fading. battery backup failing...fsshh...ust be quick. coordinates unknown. rain clear but cold coming fast.

big dogs closing in. copy?...pull up pull up pull up...copy? please advi...

...fssssssssssssssshhhhhhh....

We Like To Share At Work

Today's morning email offering at work:

donuts AND meatsticks...
...in the break area. Enjoy!

Do I dare even go there?

Peace,
Simon

Secret Simon Vid No. 003

Watch the vid.

Unacceptable levels of toxic heavy metal detected in the blood stream. The contents of the heart are heaviest when it rains.

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Power Lines

(click to see larger)

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

I find that the cords that give me energy don't always reach to the places I need them to.

Inspired by a question posed by Joel and this vlog entry.

Peace,
Simon

Flight Manual

EVERYDAY
Backyard. After school.
Receive instruction from pilot.
"Daddy, daddy, com'ere, com'ere, com'ere. I have a idea. Now turn around. NO no no! Not that way. The other way. No. Daddy what's wrong with you? Okay, now ready?"
Latch monkey onto back. Check for death grip around neck. Prepare for departure.

--FIRST--
"OK now go truck go!"
ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Maniacal laughter ensues. Watch small animals fear for their lives.

--OFTEN--
"Now up dere!"
shwoooof...sputter sputter...Nyeeeeerrr..
Turn truck into plane at a moments notice.

-ALSO--
"Go dat way!"
rrr..rrr...rrrr...screech!
Monkeys aren't the best pilots.

--EVENTUALLY--
"Aw man!"
Zippp..shzerp.
Drop monkey back at the depot.

--THEN--
"Daddy, daddy, com'ere. I have a idea..."
Refuel for further expeditions.

YESTERDAY
Backyard. After school.
Repeat standard operating procedure.

--BUT--
rrr..rrr...rrrr...screech!
...
*trip*
...
Watch monkey fly in slow motion after they've hit the ejector seat. Lose glasses. Eat dirt.

--ALAS--
Flooosh...tumble tumble...
Lie in wet leaves.

--FINALLY--
Blink...blink...blink
"Again!"
Frantically search for glasses before monkey steps on them.

--SO--
Apparently I should have my license revoked. But it seems I've been let off the hook. As for the daredevil? Not even a scratch.

Peace,
Simon

From The Desk Of...

So it seems the marvelous mr. twentysomething has given me a chance at a meme. And this one involves pretty pictures so there we go. Does the desktop make the man? If so I've got a split personality disorder.

Hm. I've got a threesome of computers that I use equally every day. So it's only fair to show all three (er, or not fair...don't hate.) If computers have that same love/hate syndrome that we do with our lovers (although I've yet to have any firsthand knowledge of such things) does this make me a playa?

Machine No. 1 - aka "Zeus (Type-A Workorse)"

Don't be fooled by the amount of room on the surface. There's a folder on here that is threatening to burst if you sneeze the wrong way.

Machine No. 2 - aka "Jan Brady (Sensitive Middle Child)"

This is actually one snippet of a much larger picture. Maybe I'll finish it in time for next winter...

Machine No. 3 - aka "Johnny Appleseed (Slow-Ass Delivery Boy)"

This image was commisioned for a nifty banner for mr. ridiculous raw youth. This is also a more accurate representation of my real life desktop. Or should I just say my real life.

I don't tag. But feel free to play along and link to yours in the comments if you do. Started by mr. madlife and you can also see a whole lot more in one place courtesy of mr. stop touching my food.

Peace,
Simon

Thought Balloons

If you think on it long enough, someone else will eventually say it. This is the best thing I've seen in a long time:


Dance, Monkey, Dance

(Via Fox and the City. More at Ernie Cline's site.)

Peace,
Simon