Here again. I remember how the holiday season used to be. Sent to silence after years of work with one visit. Thanksgiving was the significant holiday, not Christmas. Why did she come around to Brooklyn or New York even? Lakeland, FL was a smaller place when I was smaller. I was much more articulate this time in telling her the problem. Lots of food, excitement, happy anticipaton. I guess the mother issues will forever stick.

Moleskin journals are popular in Williamsburg. Funny hats. I cheaped out and purchased a canvas journal. A shot of Jameson and a can Tecate for six. Grand was my plan to use my new journal as the rough draft for a print periodical I’m starting. This DJ tonight is hit or miss— not enough to rename this entry to London by the Smiths. Oh the cards had a different destiny for my virgin book. I’ll go back to drinking an Atomic shortly. Half way through penciling my first article, I was stricken with plague of anxiety and ruin which has only one cure. I met a savvy lady here last night also from south Florida. My hand guided the knife to cut out the first page to make room for the ensuing poetry that will never be published. Ok, she looks a lot like Metric’s face. I wonder how many journals of poetry of mine will be found after I die.

No lyrics to this song. Rolling cigarettes suck in rainy, cold weather. I’ve seen the Appleseed Cast live three times. Sneezed. Old Canes live play an amazing show too. Could be an early night fo me. Remixing the Low Level Owl albums is a blasphemous affair I do consider. Change of plans with a call from a drinking buddy; stay the alcohol course. I’m still burning. A bar tender could easily play the fire department or pyro. Fires can last as long as there is tinder and oxygen; element and catalyst, subject and element, son and mother.

Australia has no equivalent of Thanksgiving; convicts rather than pilgrims. The entire line is: “You don’t understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let’s face it”. I’ll have my turkey in sandwich form this year with a vegetarian friend. Can I still be? The orphan Turkey Day. Was Brando’s character’s internal struggle greater than his external struggle? I forget what time of year Dresdin burned from the phosphorus bombs. I may have come up with a film studies dissertation focus. Oh, Heath, everything does burn.

So where from here? Spoiler alert. Someplace cold definitely. Kristen has less talent than an empty bottle of homemade moonshine and Robert’s eyebrows should be donated to alopecia patients. I do like my scarves and thinly framed, shivering, early twenty year olds. Dakota’s character’s pain ability motivates me to read the novels. Halifax is close and yet far away. I can’t exactly decry the Twilight series since it carries my favorite theme: monsters are loved too. I know exactly where I’ll end up next, some place with a view of a burning city.

My enemy’s doppelganger is sitting in the same bar as I. One of my enemies rather; small potato. Hoping the worst for that one means the worst for a once good friend also. I can live with that. The Yankees are up still. This city lusts after that sport. I had my final round interview with the company that manufactured my laptop. It was colder when I took my leave onto Madison Avenue. My ultimate enemy wont give me my heart back. I’m making everything better now. Where was she while I was broken?

Last night I had to purchase gloves. My hands were freezing but I couldn’t see my breath. With my excessively sharp and cheap pocket knife, I proceeded to cut off the finger tips. Hobo gloves. The strings are unravelling.

Detached is my preferred life style. The cheese puffs in front of me probably have no dairy products in them. The last time I attached a location or object to a peron was before I took up armorsmithing. I will have a twizzlers though. Who am I kidding? Something took over to fill every hole that serves as a connection to anyone beyond me. Us. This bar that I had a first date for the first time in Brooklyn is just a bouie in some ocean that I swam past. Nothing. Her face erased, her name forgotten. Taking on water. No more clothing that weighs down to remove. Alcohol isn’t a bouyant element. One of us doesn’t want to swim forever.

Inspiring was Witch Hunter Robin. That friend married that enemy. One girlfriend I had, came over with her hair tied in the fashion of Robin. Never attend a wedding when you can’t offer congratulations. Through the fog I couldn’t hear a girlfriend’s encouragement or a friend’s happiness. Blink into the more recent past. I struck a deal with an amazing beacon to let her cut my hair if she gets hers cut like Motoko Kusanagi. Sweet, sweet nothing.

1992. PHP was created. First category 5 hurricane experience. The Everything Is Wrong album. Got a new aunt through a marriage. Sixteen years later. Temperature’s dropping. Maybe if I played for a team, things would be different. A brilliant date ended with a new friend. The visiting team has nothing for me and home team is getting wise. I hold a label that every ex girlfriend of mine knows, despite being unaware of each other: nonchallant. Sitting on the horizon spectating the sky and earth. Last song on the album.

Lisa Edelstein who plays the character, Dr. Cuddy, on House is one of my favorite actresses. Anyone can be lonesome anywhere.  ‘Cuddy’ initially caught my attention when by a character she played on, Ally McBeal. Winter is my favorite season. Leaf colors, scarves, introspection. And a feeling. When it’s cold I’d like to die.

Is it clever to admire beautiful faces on public transports by way of reflections in windows? It’s a superior method than to stare at her only to have to explain that the way her hair covers the left frame of her glasses is my only chance at a happy day.

“I didn’t ask” my favorite line from Tim’s Batman. It was Joker’s response when his coked-out tart told him that he looked fine. What a mindset to pick up in elementary school. I may never be wonderful. The sun doesn’t shine on me.

I think she’s Indian. Too bad I’m learning Russian. Oh, I’m sure she’s far more skillful at the English language than I. What does she study? What’s her passion? I wonder. One day I’ll never say hello.

I have yet to see a Hasid rock out a sticky sweet pair of aviator sunglasses. How could this be? Oh well. She got off the bus. Exit beauty. Enter my favorite game: what’s her name. Quite a simple game really. Just develop communication and interaction for as long as you can without finding out a name. The game is lost when the name is learned. That’s also how one wins.

I had a Cuban sandwich for lunch. I wanted volcano-board my boss today. Minor joint pain at 26. If i were on the lamb, I’d hide out in the apartment next to the case detective. I can’t wait to see Guy’s Sherlock Holmes. All would-be icebreaking conversations. To the bar I go. Such cruelty.

“Be careful, I am charming” was a combination of words I used with a girl once. By the end, I couldn’t find all the pieces of her heart. It’s been less than a year since but it’s impossible now to recall the stars in her eyes. Another whiskey, please. She’d say that girl was lucky to have a different bus stop than me. Shots! Wait. Make that one shot.

I rock out Oakleys in as much frequency as plaid boxers. I’d like to go to a gallery which showcases a photographer’s series on gorgeous women wearing headphones. I’d meet one of the models at the gallery’s opening. Kinda tall, short hair, angular features. We’d discuss Austen, Gibson, Rand and Trollope. After blinking, she’ll be holding my hand as we both stand in front of the monolith from Space Oddessy as it pronounces us awesome and awesomette. Together we’ll find the button to end the world and press it. That would be my incredible love story. But I don’t believe in the sun.

One day I’ll vanish. The rambling of an excitable 7 year old echoes still in the now suppressed 26 year old.

Today I’m wearing the tie I picked out earlier in the summer for an interview in the city. My stepmother disapproved of the tie. From the rooftop of my present workplace in Clinton Hill, I think silently ‘Manhattan is a prettier cage’. The tie is almost a plaid pattern and matches only a few shirts. I’m wearing one of those shirts today.

How confident are the people who try to motivate me? I placate them. Bosses, teachers, etc. I wore my nicer tie yesterday to work and took a long lunch much like today. Someone’s turning rabbit. My soon to be ex boss never heard that motivation comes best in tight sweater and high kicks. Then again, he would have made an ugly cheerleader. Why leave? I’ll just leave the next one. How did I become so permiscuous with jobs?

Maybe it’d be easier if I was made of little ticky tackies. I did attend university. But academia is vanilla sex. Self taught is a talented whore.

I thought I saw Vincent Gallo in the subway. It was just a hipster. Dress up. Show up. Clam up then drink up. Fits for work, school and dates. Suprisingly, I like wearing ties to work. Just not tucking in my shirt. That combination only works for a model. Or a clown. They all look just the same. I’m pretty sure either profession would exacerbate my feelings of vanishing.

In my intervew I was asked what sparked my interest in programming for the iPhone. Simple really. I miss a certain flavor of games that aren’t being made anymore. And the money. Guess I’m just a material girl in a material insane asylum.

I don’t know how to play poker. Spades, Asshole, Solitaire. All of them. I forgot. I do remember the persons I’ve played with. Their tells. Their expressions. In one hand of any game I remember how to play. I just need to sit down at the card table and the light turns back on in the room. With everything just how I left it. All the little boxes.