tedbedlam

Sometimes too much. Sometimes too too much of many many things. Filmed an interview Tuesday nicely lit and ill-rehearsed. A short and sloppy yesterday for some nursing students. Stupid and comedic. Cheap cheap cheap. Like Spike Jonze minus the culture, talent and vision. Some low-end practice hanging around cute girls isn't unappreciated though.

Celebrated with so much alcohol and varieties of chemical long tracts of time disappeared from memory. People seem to rely on me to finish their drinks, it's like Bukowski's Game and the trick is to get the drunk drunker so everybody wins. Huzzah and hooray!

I played good fucking pool though and failed miserably at trivia. When I say good about pool I really mean passable and when I say failed miserably I really mean failed miserably. Let's hope I Improve during the GRE.

Blackouts remind me of what it must be like to die during a dream. Only handfuls of memories, benign incoherent. A miserable revelry of bar tunes and head-noise and a smile that shines like headlights and my eyes are open and my eyes are closed and my eyes are open and my eyes are closed.

Some days I imagine myself an altar ego. A child with no name who emerges from my worst nature under the cover of night and musked with fumes of cheap booze. He feeds on the fables and failures etched into my hands and brain. The bruised knuckles, empty bottles, the voice mails, missed calls and unfamiliar hallways.

Once I woke fully clothed in a room painted pink as a pony with the covers tucked neatly around me, snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug. I explored the house, the house was empty. I looked to my feet, I had no socks and no shoes. Four or five good sized shots were left in my bottle of Sailor Jerry which I had started that night. I wrote a thank-you note in sparkly pink gel-pen and walked a mile and a half with no shoes past a military base outside of town until I found familiar territory. These were the strange days I wandered into houses. These were the strange days of floods and tornadoes, police stops and snide remarks fallen trees and crack whores. Have you ever seen an owl hunt down frightened animals in the middle of a storm? It sat atop a telephone wire tearing out black lines of entrail. I was later fucked that night by an elementary school teacher drunk on sake after meeting at an impromptu party when a tree demolished my friends' house. Trends lead me more and more to believe people get laid more if they are drunk and cruel.

My altar ego has eyes of black and eyes of white. My altar ego has knuckles of brass, glass bottles whiskey-stink, a beer gut and skin made of wet dollar bills. He breaks old liquor bottles on the ground and rolls about in the piles of glass. In his skin, he is collecting spines along his back along his legs and on his face. In dark corners he finds and skins the homeless and wears their hides to wander around, feeling as close as he ever has to a human being. He ends his night with a sharpened spoon, toothed like for grapefruit to scoop out the memories. I imagine he eats them to make sure that they're gone, leaving an awful taste in the mouth and the grumble of guilt in my gut. If these things were true, it would explain a lot.

...I just realized those hoes are kind of pimping me with this nursing video... do I learn nothing from my rap videos?

I think my understanding of commenting etiquette is incorrect after reading other peoples' blogs. The jumping back and forth from one page to another for call and response just isn't doing it for me, so be advised. If I respond it will likely be here.