Shiva is a bum that lives on the corner of 2nd and Reilly

At 13, meditation.

At 14, Buddhist.

At 18, Monkhood.

At 20, Hindu.

At 21, Disechanted.

I did everything I could do within all of these cultures.

Unfortunately, the monks even let me teach a little bit.

Sad.

I shouldn't have.

Religion has become demystified for me. now there is only death and the world...and lung cancer.

No, I don't have cancer.

But my soul does.

God.

Dear God.

Why have you been lying to me all these years? It's funny now that I see your existence as just a concept.

By the practices that you've given to this world, I've come to understand the meaninglessness of your existence.

Nil.

Nothing.

And as I raise the cigar of victory to my dry, chapped lips I can see my own existence is just such a concept.

Cannabis-Sativa-flavored incense-butter.

Friends, like everything else, come and go like the wind.

My long-time friend Jordan and I have been hanging out ever since the 8th grade. I’ve never had any huge problem with him. I call him a ‘dick,’ and I get it right back. No big deal. Then we sit and watch a stupid movie.

The problem was, they were always war movies. War movies. War movies. Moo.

He recently found himself a lady friend, and I am definitely happy for him. They work and live so well together. Almost too well. So well that every time I go over there, they’re cuddling up with the TV off.

I remember last week, when we were going to meet one of her friends while she was working. I walked into the house – the usual home base – and again, the TV was off. I decided to have a seat, and turn it on, attempting to ignore the spooning action going on beside me. He decided that this was not okay for him, and he turned it off, and went back to her. My inner time-bomb exploded. This is becoming normal for me…probably because I’ve just had enough of ‘the usual.’

I won’t tell you what happened afterward, but you can feel my annoyance, I’m sure.


Thus, I’ve moved on.


Last weekend, I went to hang out with a buddy I knew since Kindergarten. A good kid, with an open mind, who dropped out of school in 10th grade. I missed him when he left. It was too bad, really. So, he came into the driveway like a fricken idiot – which is okay, as my driving habits are similar. We went downstairs and listened to some good music – Boards of Canada, Amon Tobin, and others – and watched a really funny horror movie called “Planet Terror.”

It would take me a hundred pages to expand, as my writing experience is nil, so I’ll get to my point.

I know I will quickly tire of this friendship, and things will move on. I can’t wait to get out of Central Pennsylvania.


Good to hear from you folks.

Can't wait to start forming this circle of blogger-friends.

I prefer my coffee with cat piss...

Let me tell you about my very odd weekend, and pissy day today (which has become the norm for me.)

This weekend I read an article in Esquire about a man who tried smoking for five weeks. He didn't enjoy it, but had always wondered what the experience was like. I decided to follow suit. So, I drove to my local Hess gas station for a pack of small cigars. I opened one up, and gave her a light. Didn't smell too bad, as I was used to various smokes that my grandmother would have around me. ...I didn't inhale.
Next I tried Swisher Sweets. They're actually very nice. The filter has a sweet taste to it, but doesn't add to the smell or taste of the smoke. They're okay. Again...I didn't inhale.
I had some idea in my mind -- a fantasy -- that lead me up to this point. I imagine myself, standing with all the other smokers, and talking about eachother's life stories. It's okay with me I don't mind the idea of smoking so much. What does bother me is that there is a suspicion that the smoke from these things can cause cessation of the olfactory nerves. I won't smoke these as often as I thought I might. I can't NOT smell things.

Now...to today's bitch-fest. Things were fine up until the end. Then some man came in to the credit union. Blue SUV, short hair cut, password on his account. You must get the idea here. I ask him how he's doing, and get a reply something to the effect of, "I need a pen." Alright, ya bastard, here it is.
My insides explode, and everyone else notices it -- including my new best buddy teller. She gives me some comfort in the fact that I'm right (which I know is bullshit). My long-time annoyance with the redneck lifestyle is coming to its pique. I need to move on and out...

Plans for the future:
1) Go to college (not in redneck region)
2) Get writing degree, and some much-needed talent (not in redneck region)
3) Live in a more progressive region (not in...you get the point)


Alright

/end rant

Pseudo-Intellectual Coffee Drinkers...

...like myself.

Yeah, I'll admit it. Part of the reason that I started coming to coffee houses was to get a feel for the culture. I wanted to be part of the seemingly intense atmosphere of learning, knowing, and caffeine that surrounded everyone there.

But then again...I didn't try to act like I already knew it.

Am I being too picky here?

I came into Cornerstone, here, today at around 2:30 PM. It's a crappy looking day outside, and a nicer looking day inside my mind (where I ride my motorcycle for 24 hours straight, and then write for 6 hours afterward). Since there were no available spots left to sit, I decided to take the comfy chair at the far end from the door. I began to work on a few journal entries -- responses to articles in Esquire -- when a guy, that looked to be about 23, came in.

He pulled out his iPod and new Dell laptop (as I am now typing on), and put in his earbuds. He was fine for a bit. Didn't bother anyone at all. Then, he pulled out the cell phone. The goddamn cell phone. Was that necessary, man?

It wasn't the fact that he had the cell phone out. But more the fact that he was talking so loud to his 'buddy' on the other end about how his only unending thoughts on suicide, and how he wanted to commit the heinous act.

After that lengthy conversation, he continued to listen to his muic -- which, thankfully, I couldn't hear. The only point at which I could hear it was when he was singing it, himself. The louder whispers were quite obviously meant for everyone else in the cafe to hear. Too bad he wasn't a good singer.

Oh well.



I'm talking too much. Allow me to step away from the soapbox.



Have a good day, folks.