state of being address

ladies and gentlemen, friends and allies, countrymen and crazy-old-kooks-living-behind-me-with -that-stupidly-annoying-rooster, i greet you with a hale and hearty hello. as many of you may realize, i recently entered into my twenty third consecutive year of being me. as such, i feel obligated to share with you my plans for the upcoming year, my hopes for the future of this position, and a great deal of thanks towards all who have made it possible for me to be in this office chair today.

right then. my first act as me in this new term, aside from consuming one reuben sammich and a few cups of coffee at ihop between 030 and 200 hours, which was agreed by all parties involved to be a particularly "good call," was the reading of scripture. i humbly admit my past failures in this most essential and basic duty and promise to reform the lax enforcement that almost sank this program in '04.

the second item on today's agenda was to smile. there will be no more weak, half-assed smiles from me, i guarantee that. once you've cracked a truly good smile, one that threatens to split your whole face in two, there's no going back. i've been a dried up old prune for too long and as much as i disliked about the me five years ago, i've really missed the old-school strube smiles of the past.

thirdly, it grieves me hardly at all to inform you that i will be stepping down as resident kitchen bitch at freeman hospital. the date of my departure has not yet been set, but current plans indicate a june-july time frame. i have my best people working on a veritable novel for the exit interview, so fear not for the department's loss of my keen insight and critical eye - my spirit will live on in 12 point arial font [and photocopied leaflets taped to office doors]. reasons for the move are numerous, including misuse of an evil genius, insurance rape, constant griefing by lame ass noob hax0rs, and a desire to give myself a pay raise and a more professional work environment. when one is identified by certain members of management as "that republican, christian man," as if possession of a penis should be a criminal charge [nevermind the pervasive hippiecentric culture that makes my political and religious leanings a matter of scorn], one questions why they should bother to continue their employment. on a purely personal note, i find the wait to discover the looks on the faces of the management when i disperse my propaganda absolutely excrutiating. look for a facsimile of the document here in the near future.

education will remain a top priority for the future, although i am not currently enrolled or seeking enrollment for the coming semester. shortly after securing new employment the ball will begin rolling and financial aid will be sought. no promises, but 2007 looks very feasible for my long awaited graduation party. i expect all who attend to become very shitfaced.

i owe a great debt of gratitude to all my friends and family who have supported and stayed true to me through uncertainty and hardship. good days are most definitely ahead.

/helen keller

human beings are without a doubt the most paradoxical of all god's creatures. emotion and reason, body and soul. . . it seems our race is the gross product of some cosmic chemistry set experiment gone awry. flightless birds, alright. you've got a sense of humour. borderline schizophrenia as an innate special [read:: spee-shee-ul] trait? you're either a friggin genius or a really, really sick bastard.

i meant that.

i have a tendency to speak from feeling. great for inspiring one to do especially brave things as well as the profoundly stupid, but not particularly useful when someone else jumps the gun and points out problems, instigates an argument, or otherwise beats me to the punch. if there are words that precede mine on a topic which i had [supposedly] intended to address, dangnabit, them's fightin words. telepaths would do well to steer clear of me, fyi.

i also befuddlingly have the capacity to speak with great clarity. that is, when i actually think before i speak. this i make up for my emotionspeak's lack of focus with a certain deftness and agility that would make cassius clay in his prime green with envy - at the cost of taking on some berserk aspects worthy of a norse saga. veins will pop, gestures will fly, all whilst i myself am completely unaware of the metamorphosis i have undergone. now people who don't know me very well normally respond in one of two ways to this:: they either scream and run [seriously - although most of the time the screaming is not in fear but in anger] or they become extremely agitated themselves and further engage my beorn apparition. the best i can describe what i feel at this point is probably very close to what runs through the head of the poodle my folks have when you play with him. excitement, fear, anger, happiness . . . a primordial soup of base emotion swirling about with no real intent other than to exist, if only for some short time. my temper will flare for a moment with no tangible effect on the conversation other than to feed another word or two into my now projected train of feeling. if i'm giddy, you'll know. if i'm sad, you'll know. if i'm angry, you'll sure as hell know. problem is, this method of communication tends to, regardless of my emotional state, make others' hackles rise. you can get so much off your chest in so little time when you engage your emotions. a word of caution, though: never, ever, ever use this berserker stance around a passive-aggressive. ever. unfortunately [for me and my hyperkinetic heart], my sis is a textbook PA.

mos-def-to-the-max-omg-wtf-bbq. T_T

sometimes i actually think "stuffing it" seems a reasonable alternative.

we'd debate as kids for approximately three to four minutes before my reason tagged in the whirling dervish and all conventional modes of engagement were thrown out the window [along with a folding chair or two]. logically, sis is second to none. she excelled in lincoln-douglas debates in high school and, if she has done her homework on a subject, you are one screwed son of a bitch unless you can think outside the box. that's where mr. hyde comes in. rationally, most anyone is up against a wall when facing an educated opponent. with the equivalent of a emotional stimpack in my system, i'm a force to be reckoned with. i don't search for cracks in an argument's foundation, i rip the fucking wall down. if any single element comes to mind that has not been explored in this intellectual duel, it immediately becomes armor piercing ammo bent on ripping into the opposing argument's soft underbelly. i want to win and i can be a cruel bastard. granted, our debates rarely ever got to the point at which either party could claim victory due to the fact that hannah would opt for option #1 while yelling about the incivility of the inflection of my voice or somesuch. i love her to death, but she of all people should know me better. i yell when i win a round of halo, i yell when i lose a round of halo, i yell when i nearly fracture my skull on the obscenely low doorway to my room . . . and all are nearly indistinguishable from each other, although each belies a different emotion.

i will use my inside voice[s].

but that's all it really is, right? spoken language is a ruse to belie our feelings, more often than not, an affirmation that we're all ill equipped to communicate with others. before God we must all be destined to be emotionally nude or blessed with the ability to read an infinite thread of thought processes simultaneously. i'm working hard towards the former, albeit with great difficulty. as my mentor and good friend perry is fond of saying, "always tell the truth, but don't always be telling it." i must sort out the times at which i need to effectively communicate my feelings and when i need to let them dissolve into the great cosmic vapor.

lately i've had a gas cloud the size of jupiter orbiting my head. i'm praying for a new job or the fortuitous endowment of a steel plate in my forehead. i don't think it can take much more beating. >

OMGWTFBBQ

maybe i wasn't paying enough attention to the jackass in front of me, but tonight, just like my last car wreck, was all about the inescapable laws of physics and crunched metal.

only it had more to do with press-gainey scores and hearsay.

let's not get to wrapped up in details, shall we? the fact remains that freeman hospital's kitchen continues to "flounder," meaning our current survey scores are lower than those past. and what does this mean? absolutely nothing. except that someone has to pay.

blame it on the goddamned parsley.

she did. i'm called into the office with a fellow coworker and bombarded with a desk-sized hunk of bullshit right off the bat. "you do know you are supposed to put garnish on every tray, correct?" furious nodding. "i've heard about some problems with this recently." blank stares. "what it comes down to is our scores. we're too good of a department to be where we're at currently."

i think i may have drooled on my namebadge at this point. i'm abruptly reintroduced to the foodservice world with weighty phrases such as "let go" and "final solution." minus the zyclon-b, of course - HR would have had a hayday with that.

i bolt into action, my mind racing to keep up with this ludicrous ruse, "is this about morgan's fit over the LETTUCE this weekend? because she got all up in my face over that and i just followed suit. it's a friggin huge piece of LETTUCE. . . "

"no, no, it's nothing to do with that. mr. s*******, i realize you are looking for another job. now i wouldn't mind hurrying you on your way by making you find other arrangements,"

i know for a fact that my jaw hit the floor just then. nearly four years working my ass off for a bunch of egotistical soccer moms and former tweakers, ONE with a fucking BA, and i'm being threatened the boot for fucking parsley?! aside from that, one of the primary reasons i hate my current job so much is the inexplicable emphasis placed upon those wilted pieces of greenery that i configure on so many plates of goop every night. no way. this is insane.

fuck loyalty, fuck standupedness, and fuck that goddamned fucking kitchen. my record obviously means nothing to the cocksmokers and all the time spent there suddenly feels like a monumental waste.

then again, it could be the hand of God spurring me to action - it's not like i haven't sent out enough resumes and applications over the past three weeks, but maybe i am supposed to feel a stronger sense of urgency.

i do. i need a new job. psychos and uberbitches need not place ads in the classifieds, kkthx.

/funk

every day's just like the last
you sit and wait for time to pass
you swear you'd sell your soul for some change
you don't believe that life occurs
in between meaningful words
you starve yourself to death on the mundane

it's a sort of waking death
that steals your heart but leaves you breath
a cold and brutal winter of the soul
you'll sit and weep at the sunrise
further consumed by all the lies
that make you human, a piece of the whole

but it can't be all that bad
if you don't remember what it was you had
this numbness dissipates with memory
leaves me shivering that much more
if i shake myself to pieces
can i be restored?


i was in a horrible, horrible, horrible, no-good, very bad mood today. beers at the pub [as per usual] with the guys seemed to fix me right up. i need a new job. the move went extremely well [i only have THREE boxes left to unpack. god only knows where the hell the crap they contain is going to fit] and hannah and i are fairly settled in. i'm impatient for the next accountability meeting with griff, nat, nate, jason and jon - which is good, because i've messed up enough already these past two days. here's to hoping i'm more typative tomorrow.

so many brilliant wrecks

i know you're listening. great. now just hear me out. no, that's not it at all. you are completely blind to everything going on in your own life right now - i have it all figured out. listen.

:|

God, you're like . . . God. i'm fucked, you're perfect. your will is coming about whether i like it or not, so i sure as hell better get used to it. and bonus:: someday things won't be so shitty.
you've promised to provide for me and be understanding when i screw up, which is great because i'm going to screw up pretty damned often. i guess i'd better treat everyone i know likewise, huh? i don't know why you would tempt me but i suppose it's been done before indirectly. i'll take you at your word and hope for the best. cover me.

why don't more christians' prayers look like this [with the exemption of the explicatives]? i suppose the basic format may still remain intact in some, buried beneath the extensive, flowery lingo popular in their respective circles. for the most part, prayer has become an exercise in pussyfooting around the topic at hand and instead praying for "an outpouring of grace" and "a great healing" "in the blood of Jesus." the most painful conversations i've ever had involve such speech, desperately trying to contain my screams of intellectual anguish as the entire secular world is sweepingly sucked into this rose-colored, cultish vortex.

there's so much more to life than grace, healing, and freedom. trials, learning, and growth predominate mine at the moment. if i'm to be accused of not making progress, such accusations should be leveled with more serious backing than a lack of purely conceptual buzzwords.

i've bottomed out again.

to a degree that's entirely true. then again, i'm also only six weeks away from having my own place and working full time until i feel compelled to return to school. in all honesty, i feel more empowered now than i have for the past three years, since the first scholastic calamity up north. why, then, are my parents, who have observed me since kindergarten, up in arms?

i've bottomed out again.

that's their charge, anyways. nevermind the ultimatum spurring the upcoming move that came the very week fall semester began. nevermind the heinous schedules from work and the increasing stress that brought about. nevermind a week of bronchitis followed by the anniversary of my dad's death. fuck it all. you, sir, are substantially fucked up.

i never said i didn't agree, i just protested that i wasn't depressed, wasn't isolating myself, wasn't trying to ignore the fact that my classwork prior to four weeks ago wasn't going to amount to a hill of beans, and wasn't horribly despondent about all the matter. we've all been here before - i, for one, have never been in charge of my own life to the extent that moving into a place without an obnoxious RA breathing down my neck will afford me. nog champa and the occassional smoke at the desk, i await you.

that isn't to say that they aren't honestly concerned about my well being. quite the opposite, their concern drove them both to this confrontation [if it can be called that], inspiring emotional outpourings and a fervent prayer for . . . all that. they want me to get help, they want me to again consider drugs, and they truly want the best for me. they just refuse to believe that maybe the best for me at this time is what is happening right now. i'm lost to them in this regard.

when i said none of your words were lost on me, i meant it.

/partisans

the center is off.

the most important office in the nation is up for grabs and all eyes are upon those flickering bastions of truth nestled in our living rooms. we don't interact, we feed. consume. regurgitate. we curse the other faction, drawing lines in our backyard, recklessly wielding words like freedom and patriot. feel sage.

lose a limb.

the center is off.

tug at it, smooth it out, wave it high, and burn it in the streets. feel something. feel ANYTHING but please shut the hell up about the others, that half of the american body you choose to disassociate yourself from. your brother. that fucker with the other guy's sign in his yard.

bandy insults.

the center is off.

/dream

most kids grow up with aspirations of one day becoming astronauts, policemen, ballerinas . . .

i can't remember ever having dreams for the future.

i dressed up, to be sure, in fatigues and ponchos, cowboy hats and cap guns, but i fully realized i'd never become any of that. it was make believe and momentary. once the neighbor kids were untied from the tree everyone went home for lunch and resumed their normal lives. i daydreamed for hours on end, sketching, writing - anything and everything that crossed my mind. for years i worked on a comic strip which evolved, through an ungodly amount of notes, into a science fiction mythos common to all Tolkien wannabes. it, like everything before it, was eventually abandoned. i still use the back half of that damned, voluminous notebook for brainstorming, mildly embarassed whenever i come across some map or schematic penned nearly a decade ago. it's cute:: it's worthless.

it's sad.

i was struck with the harshness of that kind of thinking this past weekend. why do i think it so pathetic to dream? why don't i invest more time in fantasy, in my own writing? why don't i believe in the future?

my father beat jesus christ to the grave at thirty-two. the man had a family, a successful career, and his own dreams. he was denied a future. why? goddamnit, WHY? what mortal sin did he commit against the heavens to bring fate crashing down upon his head? why did he go into respiratory arrest on that occasion, having had so many closer calls in the past? what did the nurse who incorrectly vented him, causing him to aspirate on his own vomit, think of at the end of their shift? dinner? bed? sex? human frailty?

that one was too easy. why the hell should i believe that everything will work out in the end if i work hard and live well? for every american dream realized there is some poor shmuck struggling to make ends meet, at the end of his rope and marriage. for every man who manages to clamber to the top there is a lightning bolt or gust of wind waiting to make a dead fool of him. there's dumb luck and shit rolls for all - it's only a matter of time until we have our bad streak and go bust.

i'm out. i'm fed up with not investing in anything, barely coasting through life with no aim. i'm sick of people telling me i don't care about anything. i'm tired of dullness and the inevitable intellectual and spiritual death it will bring about. FRIGGIN YAR.

i've wrestled with my father's ghost for the past ten years - i think it's time for me to let him go and continue on my way. i'll never be as brilliant, but dammit if i won't live past thirty-two myself.