spacedog

The Great Unplug 2019

Practically all of lost year/last year, I really contemplated completely cutting myself off from modern technology. Should i go cold turkey with everything? Should i just pick my phone, my pc, my ps4, tablet, wearables, my “crowdfunded” anal device, my tv?

I made a major compromise with myself. I’ve given up most of my basic cable package. Well not given up. I totally had my dad block half my tv channels.

Will i miss them? I can honestly say not one fucking bit. Now sure i have Netflix to fall back on so it’s not a huge sacrifice. I gotta say one thing. It is such a fucking pleasure to not have any clue of what is going on in the world.

Since I was 12 I have been entirely too aware of the world. I grew up way too fast while being too naive and I have insanely varying maturity since.

At 12 i was 40, 16 i was 8, 20 i was 30, 25 i was 50, 30 i was 16 again and now might as well be 80. Anyway the point is not hearing Donald Trump talk (or dems if ur conservative) is some of the best therapy ever. I also feel less 80 which is good but not quite teenager thankfully. Acting 16 is far more natural to me then however the fuck an adult is supposed to act.

I also have given up alcohol for the new year which led to quite the blackout and hurried 940pm liquor store run on new years eve but i digress. I think my liver is happier.

Oh and no more gaming either. Probably the hardest of all. I really thought there would be more creativity but all I’ve been given so far is how many different genres of music over how many different decades can I blast to potentially piss off my neighbors.

I have listened to 700-1000? different artists the past week. I wish i could find a way for spotify to churn them out to a simple file to post. I will never get tired of this. I could seriously spend all day listening to new music and playing model search.

More sacrifice is coming. Will I live? Die? Have a major meltdown? Have an epiphany? Signs point to yes.

Time for me to be 16 again. Framing Hanley is back together and I’m about to drown. Harder. Faster. Louder. Until it’s so loud I’m taken to the show in my dreams. Here in my head.

By SpaceDog

2018

Well another year has come and another year has gone. I could entice you with mundane details of this thing i call life. Or a top 40 list of things this year that pissed me off or made me feel bliss.

I’m not going there. I’m too amused by the fact my neighbor keeps pacing post crescendo. They seem to have various issues with trip hop, dubstep and goth. The flavors of the night.

Everything around me is gray and i could not be more delighted. Sure my bathroom looks like Cookie Monster blew a thousand loads in it (bathbomb incident). The kitchen is red because I almost cooked it but instead i had a war with a large strawberry.

And I sit here in all white. At this exact moment, i could be a Mormon or Madonna in the Like A Virgin video. My penis will decide which one i am later.

The woods are oh so quiet. Just a few turkeys gobble rejoicing November is over.

There was a train of thought. I lost it to Yemaya. On her altar of blue. I smell the bad boys lurking. They hide three octaves from my face.

We fade. As the incubus lays me down with a final kiss. I see your jealous reflection in the mirror. A worthwhile blog no more.

By SpaceDog

Vapid Fall

The sounds of autumn

Rancid sperm hitting decaying leaves

Menstrual blood drying up on majestic tree trunks

As he cleans it with microcloth

It will all be done soon

This terrace of forgotten fears

Ice cream falling down their faces

Bliss til it burns frozen

Scorching what was left of his youth

They came home

Out of sorts

The parkay floor it wept with dust and neglect

She said she tried said it mattered

It never mattered….never mattered

Still i run

Still i crawl

Can cry about it while i unsnap your bra

Trouble find me like Jacques Cousteau

I’m stuck under the puddles of the ocean

Breathing in your soul

Nipple slip…..nipple slip

Cavernous tunnels gnaw at me

Moths swarm… hide the light

As she lets Lucifer swallow her whole

So i could run so i can crawl

My eyes became three

I could see it all

Lies of autumn reanimated again

These fallen wings, these fallen friends

The dirt conquers all i see

Yet these wicked lies eat at me

I tremble at what you took

Melancholy remains

All i wanted was you

Sweet sweet Damian

By Spacedog

Yay Cinema Part 2

So what happened that night a few weeks ago?

I saw A Star is Born. The movie itself was relatively enjoyable, good music, mostly good acting, a bit long winded. But a solid 8.

Yet i left with much more hope. Much more joy. A sort of magical energy in me had awoken.

Of course as I originally planned to write part 2 the next day, malady had to occur. I spent the last days of October vomiting and shivering under a blanket.

Luckily i found the cure. A big hunk of the reefer. Which also made chuck more up. Vomit on command is one of my more charming qualities along with sneeze on command, making the corners of my eyelids move, and turning a 2 day, 2 part blog into a 3 week long ordeal that even you the reader could give two shits about.

So yeah there is nothing left to squeeze out of the tube at the moment for me.

The end.

Or maybe more. I’m having to write this from a 4 inch iphone 5 and reading on this thing is making me nearly as dizzy as trying to read a sample aspirin bottle.

By SpaceDog

These little earthworms…

Tap tap tap tap.

Something profound was about to happen.

A post. A chant. The burning of a circle of candles. Spelling my name in a random parking lot with powdered incense.

Instead i sit here like a ghost falling asleep to Ross Lynch on my TV.

The music is always playing. The music is always playing. Not for pleasure. It’s pain.

Radiator blasts. Apartment discomfort. The cute men turn into trolls with dissected penises.

. (Was going to put a pic of one but i lost the pic, my stiffy due to the pic and now half of my dinner due to a prolapsed asshole while trying to find aforementioned dual penii)

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. I crave the silence. Nothing nothing. Sprinklers going off in flood warnings. Puddle divers everywhere.

Tears. In the river. In my supper. No cranberry sauce for you. Heretic. Golden shower. Vomit is coating the floor. It matches my new drapes. Should i leave it? Should it stay for the night?

To keep the puddles company? Lay with the trances. Deliver the quiet. Not real at all. He heard. He heard.

Ganja memory.

Yay cinema! part uno

Every since I can remember I have always been a sucker for a great movie. I will literally drop everything when one of my favorites comes onto my television. I will do what I call the G rated Hollywood cyber stalk when I come across any new actor or actress I’ve discovered who can act and is pleasing to the eye. I will literally pan down the list of movies someone has been in and try to watch as many as possible in that one day. Clearly, this has made my amount of blog posting suspect at best or if we are being total honest non-existent.

There is no real great recollection of my first movie. When it comes to theaters, that movie was E.T. I cried at the end though I really cannot remember. Literally the next thing I remember about movies is making characters that I thought should be in movies. Not in specific movies. In my movies.

I would see these people in my head while in somewhat of a meditative condition. They would tell me all kinds of intricate details about their lives, their dreams, hopes, desires. Of course, since I was 12 and had little knowledge of the world, these were not exactly groundbreaking. I hid them from everyone. I had suspicions that my parents were reading any little thing I ever wrote and I really did not want them seeing.

So all my childhood characters and playmates ran away. In the beginning they simply made their way to the trash can. Later in my teenage years, the pyromania took full effect and they were always burned. Sometimes by a chant, sometimes by the dead silence of the night, it was a way to let them go again. I didn’t need them taking space in my head just in case they were some kind of malevolent spirit.

For a very long time all of these people, characters, and even a few animals went away. Perhaps it was my dabbles in drugs (or lack thereof as I had rampant visions during my teenage nuclear winter years), my self-deprecation gone awry, or modern technology sucking the life out of me. Most likely it was just everything pilling up into some great big shitstorm all at once.

Then something started to change in the past week. It all started with a seizure. I always portend seizures as a sign of change or trouble and I was not sure exactly what this one would bring. The majority occur when I am passed out or crunk as fuck so it honestly was quite the surprise. Luckily I was seated and it was relatively mild, no loss of consciousness, no loss of surroundings.

Afterwards things began to take remarkable change in my life. I noticed myself laughing again and honesty could not remember the last time I seriously laughed at the complete mundaneness of the world.

Something opened up inside of me. It was almost sexual in nature but without any arousal. It felt like being proud of having snagged someone for the night who is out of your league. It felt like passionately kissing a former lover at the train station never to see them again. Waving goodbye at them with the passion of 19th century mob at a departing ship. A few fake I loves exchanged was the cherry on top of your amicably departing orgasms.

Yet this wasn’t sexual. This was more. This was everything. Yeah sure the internal sadness is still here but it’s kind of like this eternally pestering buzzing noise in my apartment. It can always be drowned out. I was doing a decent job swimming until last night.

That is when it all changed yet again.

To be continued…..

By SpaceDog

Don’t Tell Me My Dick is Crooked When It’s Perfectly Straight

I did my least favorite thing in the world yesterday. I went to a new doctor. In the past when I have gone to new doctors, I have always looked at them as these great big ancient buildings like the Colisseum or the Great Sphinx, marvelous and magnificent but crumbling and old.

Well getting older sucks because all my youthful indiscretions about doctors being these relics of the past are becoming fantasy. I had a doctor who actually listened to me and asked questions. One that actually typed fast and knew how to work a computer. She even used a smartphone. I know I should expect this out of people in the world we are in today especially from someone younger than me but I sort of live in my own universe.

I never see anyone out in public paying with their phone. When I use my phone to pay with pretty much anything people look at me in awe or say they do not accept that as payment. Honey, the cash register don’t lie. Look I payed with my phone. I am some kind of Houdini. Not really. I just have loved tech from the day I first even knew such a thing existed.

Anyway back to this doctor. The reason I do not see a whole hell of a lot of doctors is because for every one doctor I see am always told to go see about 10 other specialists. Well it is more like about 4 I mean it is only about that many body parts or areas of mine that do not work and mainly that is because I am a fat lazy fuck.

It was just highly amusing being told all this, because being told all this was basically the reason I stopped seeing my last set of doctors. You seemingly have no idea what is wrong with me and then tell me to see about 5 other doctors. Listen… I know I am fucked in the head, have no semblance of time, space and reality… or sentence structures…

or paragraphs.

I know my teeth suck, my eye twitches somewhat, I walk like a Hunchback, I say inappropriate things, have a slightly abnormal heart, and smoke like the Marlboro man. I came for you about my stomach. I mean if you wanted to destroy my prostate I would understand but don’t tell me to stop pissing in the sink when I came to you about the leak in my roof…

Anyway people in general need to stop pretending they can offer you the world or give two shits about every aspect of your being when all they care about is a diagnostic code, a pharmacy refill, and their direct deposit.

Who knows if I go back….the anxiety kills. The pain is still real. I thought about getting high on god knows what for the first time in about 10 years because well you know doctors want to know every drug you ever tried as a teenager. Well goddamn it how about all of them. I was a curious little fucker.

The only reason I am not curious about random drugs now is they haven’t made any good new ones in the past 20 years. Maybe longer. That’s for another hour. Another post. Also well they do have these things called teenagers now too. They are good for new music, friending on social media and looking at the 18/19 famous pretty ones. Never make contact with one in person however as they may and will ask for cigarettes, alcohol purchases, or if they are trying to fuck one of your friends they tend to come down with a massive case of can’t shut the fuckupitis.

Done. For now. No idea…. brain malfunction….

The Rage Within

Have you ever had a wonderful customer service experience that made you feel happy, elated or even just a bit more than satisfied? Well this blog post is not for you. If you’ve been neglected, fucked over, or treated like a criminal keep on reading.

My issues began almost 5 months ago. For some reason I wanted to check my prepaid card balance on my WetZeller card. (names have been changed to protect the guilty, cuz that’s how me do in Merica.) Well it just was not right, there was nothing there. There should have been something.

Well I call in to these lovely folks and get some guy with a thick Indian accent. Pretty standard for a lot of low rate companies or tech companies. I get a canned response and dispute the charge when I find out what it is. A purchase at a Walmart. OMG NO NO NO. Yuck. I haven’t bought anything at a Walmart since I found my soul. The sneakers I bought there once succumbed to the rain. I have been through every addiction on the planet and Walmart actually provided the low point of my life. I bought their underwear. That will forever be my low. The Wets say they will get back to me in 24-48 hours.

Fast forward 3 weeks and 4 calls later. Every call I get the same canned 24-48 hour response repeatedly. The Indian guy turned out to be a blessing. It was Bulgarians, Jamaicans and gypsy thieves after that. The Jamaican woman decided that when I raised my voice mid sentence, she was going to shout into the phone at me. That was tons of fun because I had to hold back. I still did want my money back so I could not bust out with much other then lamely calling her a mean person.

My frustrations continue another week. A full month later I get a response asking for IDs, police reports, a copy of my bank statement, license, proof of residence and proof that I was in my country at the time of the transaction. Deadline:one week. Otherwise they would assume that I was completely full of shit. Now I get ID and police report but I have never been asked for proof I was in my country. I do have a smartphone so I clearly can prove it did not leave this area, but I don’t really have proof I am where I am on a daily basis. There is no need for me to be a daily consumer of anything other then food, water and oxygen. I don’t slither to a methadone clinic everyday, clock in at a job, or go to adult day care so this could be an issue.

The ironic part of all of this is this was all over $50. You would think it would be some insane amount like $5000 or even $500 but no a mere $50. This was the time I also found out the charge was in California. I’m a fucking friend in Pennsylvania who made a charge 7 hours before the fake one. So basically I would have had to hijack a plane from the local airport, convince the flight to head to LA, convince the police to escort me high speed to some random Walmart in the LA Suburbs so I could randomly buy $50 worth of bullshit, and then take a flight directly home so I could call the next day and cry fraud. I wouldn’t fly around that quickly if I stole 5 million dollars and certainly not for $50.

Luckily I had been to the doctors that day. I only go every 6 weeks so I happened to luck out. Otherwise these crooks would have absolutely taken my money. Still though I had to not only provide completely detailed receipts but had to get a “permission slip” from my doctor saying I was there. Then I had to get it notarized. I still have no clue why this was necessary other then to try and make my issue cost more then $50 for me to solve so my money could be pocketed.

Then the wait happened. Again. My EuroTrash contact would string me along a little at a time. She needed a clearer license picture. She needed the monthly statement of my charges, not just the page I printed out. It seemingly went on forever. It was only 3 months in all actuality.

Then I go the great news seemingly out of the blue. Your money has been refunded. I am not sure if this happened so suddenly because I threatened to get my local government involved. It only took 3 days after I made that promise for my money to get back to me.

The money was staring at me in my account. Yet it showed up as being a rejected refund. No one knew what was going on when I called in. I waited 2 more weeks for them to tell me it was available. So I tried to use the money right away. Decline, decline, decline. Someone then suddenly knew what they were doing and said we need to cancel your card and issue you a new one.

This is the part that got me going absolutely batshit. Why wouldn’t you have cancelled the card right away when I told you 4 months ago? Were you waiting for me to put more money on my account so you could buy some suspect meat, forbidden fruit, or earbuds that make music sound like something that is used as a torture device? Waiting for me to send in my bank statement with the account number included?

So I had to wait for this card to come in the mail an additional 2 weeks. It finally came, I gambled the money away rather quickly and chopped that shit up. It was found money so there was no need to save it or buy anything worthwhile. I put it into the same category as drug money or escorting money. It should be spent as quickly as possible.

All in all, my ordeal ended up taking me 3 days short of a full 5 months to get a refund. The extra month of waiting after they refunded me was just the cherry on top.

I sort of wish the rage would continue. It was great motivation for losing weight, running and punching things. I probably should have bought a punching bag but being the reincarnated Jew that I am and current part mad Russian I decided the wall would be better. I must say the wall held up much better then my knuckles.

The rage ended. Or a brief period. Then something worse then fraud came along.

A peppy middle aged woman lacking a sex life. She was not trying to get with me so I can still breathe. She is next in the crossfire…….

By SpaceDog

Enjoy the Silence?

Silence is cherished by many people in this world. Personally I cannot handle it one iota whatsoever. That awkward silence when you meet someone new and realize they completely suck balls. When there is nothing more to say, nothing more to do. When you try and make small talk with someone (which I hardly ever do) and they give you that dumbfounded look or just a nod of the head.

Even in non-social situations I absolutely cannot stand it. I suppose I like the song Silent Night, but truth be told, the only holy nights I am having these years involves far different holes then the original song and mainly mine getting penetrated. I can grow a very poor beard so I’m definitely not Jesusy in the least unless you prescribe to the theory he was a homo.

I more or less go with the Trump theory. Jesus is fake news.

Silence is meant for death. Now that also does not mean I want you to never shut the fuck up either. Those people have a special place in hell and hopefully are not very chaste because a dick in their mouth is pretty much the only thing that will ever get them to be quiet. I’d prefer it be a nasty dick maybe they will get some disease of the mouth, but nothing fatal, I mean I’m not a total bitch. Most STDs have cures these days.

I cannot wake up in the morning without hearing some kind of music within the first 5 minutes of being awake. If it even takes that long. Today it took longer. I got into a massive fight with Alexa. She can be a real fickle bitch at times. After about 5 tries of having her fail miserable, she got thrown across the room. She is okay and said she will not press charges, so I am quite the happy camper. She really just do not seem to like my using my Spotify or playing music anywhere except out of her sorry ass speaker. At least she beat boxes better then me.

When I try and read something I have a real lot of difficulty doing so when there is silence. I mean I cannot listen to metal and read though I haven’t really tried. Quite possibly with some pussy hair metal garbage from the 80s I could but legit death metal would put me to the test. Honestly the more layers, instruments, words that are not screams, the better.

I feel a bit odd that I can do this. It’s probably not exactly normal reading and listening to music. I also tend to have a whiteboard by me at the same moment, jotting down randomness. It’s the exact moment I wish I had some kind of music talent as well but maybe I will tap into that some day as well. Because even though I am no longer a teenager, when someone says no you can’t do that to me, all I hear is a big resounding “Yes.”

Silence when shopping is one of the worst things in the world too. Seriously if I do not have my earbuds with me at the store when I’m there alone, I will turn around and the shopping will happen another day. I don’t want to hear your child, your musak, your rascal shooter, or about your hard ass day. Just stop,stop, stop!!!!

Maybe this is the millennial side of me. I’m kinda like a frosted mini wheat generationally speaking. I think the proper term for it according to the internet is the AOL generation. I prefer to think of myself as generation fuck you. As in most of the time you are more then likely an idiot and while I really want to tell you to go fuck yourself, I will show restraint but only because the Jameson hasn’t paid me a visit yet.

So now I will sleep with the music blaring, reading a book by the candlelight, and with the TV on with close captioning so just in case I happen to sneeze I will have something to keep me busy for those 5.9 seconds it takes me to blow my nose. Please silence stay away.

By SpaceDog

Puddles, Insomnia, Ghosts

(All my blogs from now will have a song attached that tries to go with the blog ranging from quite well to quite well but only after 10 mixed drinks. link is below my ramblings.)

I had great big plans for today. A wonderful schedule written on the whiteboard. A premade breakfast in its properly place. And then you showed up. It happened when I least expected it. It always does.

Your face showed up on my ceiling. In between the tears that tasted so salty on my lips, I caught your glimpse. I briefly smelled your scent, heard you tapping at my window. Then it was all gone, just as soon as it began.

My puddle diver. I cannot believe it has been over five years since you went away. It seems like it were just yesterday. That I could see your smiling face. Hear your carefree.

Sure, I have to dig a little deeper ago then five years, because five years ago you had lost your shine. Well not the shine, I could never see you not bathed in some kind of wonderful light. Time had taken away your smile. Time had dulled a certain part of what made you so wonderful to me. It was subtle at times but probably was much deeper. All I could see at times was my ignorance in a reflection.

I know you are still here even as I write these lines. I’m for some reason listening to Ani DiFranco. She was always more your lesbian side. Mine was this ridiculous interest in sports, but not like playing them because I didn’t want to mess up my great skin.

We were once young and well in comparison to you I guess I am the younger one now. Any age is a much more desired one then the agelessness being a corpse provides. Ageless beauty is some myth an undertaker decided to vomit onto the general population one too many moons ago.

I still remember painting with you. I had camped out at your house for an entire week, not some stormy weekend that eventually became our trademark (and demise.) You painted me a shirt. It was the silliest thing ever yet I cherished it so much. I even wore it in public a few times. I was so proud to wear your colors.

Then I threw all the colors out the window. We all did. It was my own personal prequel to 13 Reasons Why. I was such a horrible person that I’m sure I would have made the list more then once. So afraid to help because I was still so afraid of how I felt about you. I was always completely petrified. Even though you are gone, I’m still lost because of you.

Yet here I am now. I’ve been waiting 5 years to write this. As if I am somehow immortal. Some alien form that is going to outlast the cockroaches. Sadly, this shan’t be the case. I simply want redemption. While I cannot have this with you, it is something I deeply need for myself.

I cannot sit my the window any longer watching life pass me by. Instead, I will run. Flat on my face. I will fall. A lot. It is no longer my time to just stare out at the rain. Because I am the storm. And you forever are my Puddle Diver.