Poetry...

Written 1 November, 2008 in Tomb (the bar), Georgetown, Washington DC

Hollowed Oak
hard shell and watered full

Silent twist - contorts frankly

tumbles with the waves
until it tumbles against
and cautiously rolls back


Written 26 November, 2008 on a stoop with a cigarette, Chinatown, New York City

Doesn't want the ten-dollar foot rub
But rather he wants to want - to want
the impulse to take
whatever a city
throes at its candidates for change

Change - the percolating pitter-patter,
pedestrians being pedestrian,
Proving that travelers walk
but the city moves
- with or without the foot rub.

Here's some poetry that I've stuck in moleskins and am showing to my...highly...limited audience.

***
In dust and dark settle into Black night
Cellular aim.

(I don't know what that meant)

***Friday, 25 July 2008
Unemployment Poem
I am dollar,
Nay! a cent fallen down the well,
through the fountain,
Across the class!
to the bald bay of space on Mr. Tchaikovsky's head!
-and back down the well
-against the brick flipping heads
tales,
heads,
tales

***Monday, 28 July, 2008
Am I eroding? Am I the king of the world around
or a Pauper,
proper only as the-the grinding gag of mass in the back of movie lenses
and political plant for kissing?

If a King,
my kingdom is its own mockery,
self-proclaimed wit
and
ebullient of silence and dusks

***Friday, 1 August, 2008
What am I if not a dream of design?
If not a model of skill
Scrapped and labored and-

***Friday, 8 August 2008
I fill with sadness in the presence of beauty
in that it fleets unfettered-
I only know my happiest moments
head the tales of their real value,
a loneliness-the same

Magic is a sin,
Miracles are exacted pain upon everyone around,
less fortunate,
more responsible
for neutrality from which miracles arise

The cracked vase of happiness is indifferent to most,
but mine is unglossed,
unsheathed,
noticing all like a spectre above the naked emperor
-We all make asses of happiness, it's only real when robed

-Honest happiness lies in virtue
if virtue is what comes most often,
Despair is Seneca

***Friday, 29 August 2008
If anything other than time,
Let Art be clarity,
let it be peace
-the parting of clouds to let the sun
obscured
preferred
Let Silence lie,
Let Wind Whisper
Let Lovely people be alone,
-of plugged ears and shaded eyes,
-unsettling peace but satiating company

No table should be full
-solitude - let that be art
Let their plugged ears and shaded eyes
-mirror and defend against an obscured sun
***
All the "poetry" was written between surgery on my shoulder and my job with the DNC, approximately. I don't claim to be good, I just know that they're honest for better (relative) or worse (probably).

Oh, haveth thee a spare computer?

WTF?

They make you use a damn computer for everything these days, make you rely on everything digital, then they take your computer away and like that, your wandering the analog forest in bare feet.

I'm on deaf Sam's computer right now. I hate Apple.

And now, here are some things I don't like:

Anything of or related to Tampa Bay
Social Conservatives (that's right, grandma!)
Tummy aches (never have an orange after a hot dog)
Being without a computer
Craigslist (I do what I must)
Jerks
Shit on my hands
Soft fruit
Genocide
Mustache-haters
There's other stuff but I cannot remember

You know what I love?

Women
Books
Pens
Legal pads
silk
coffee-table books
The Kinks
funny misspellings.

Aren't blogs valuable?

Maybe from now on this can be called the "We're Fucked" web log.

Ladies, gentlemen, you've now arrived at the end of America as we knew it.

No one, no one ever had the guts to say it, but the whole reason that this country was founded was so we wouldn't have to look at each other; so we would have the right to be left the fuck alone.

It's over now

The Bush Administration has carefully preserved bad policies from the administration and congress before his presidency, and thus we've arrived in this economic hell where the banks all knew, ALL KNEW that they had free reign of the marketplace and of people's wallets. The reason that the bailout is bad is because it's the best we have to offer right now. That's how far we've descended into madness, a Republican president is proposing that we socialize the debt of our big companies, with the conceit that while the money is meant to clear the debts of the people who defaulted to the banks, those banks, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, AIG, Bear Sterns, all of whom will never, ever hand the money over to the people, which means they will be paid double for the money that they lent out. For instance, if you owed a hundred thousand dollars to AIG over a loan you took out to purchase a house and you defaulted, AIG is about get a check that the government loaned you in order for you to not be in debt to AIG, but they won't clear your debt. You will still owe AIG, with maybe a break on when you have to pay it back; they've doubled their money.

I'm a canvasser for the Democratic National Committee, and speaking with a gentleman the other afternoon, he told me that maybe 100 million people pay taxes in this country, which translates to $7000 dollars put on each taxpayer's shoulders for all this debt, and then don't even start to add the other costs this administration placed on the people of the nation.

The fact is that the entire political process is a political projection center; not projections of who's going to win elections, but projections of who people are at their worst against the opposition. As a member of the DNC, and having done work for the other side, I can see that most Democrats who care so much about people "doing their part" (bad English) really don't enjoy doing their "part" themselves. Republicans who are so fierce against Government handouts are more than willing to give to their party, while Democrats who claim the banner of altruism really mean that other people should do the parts, not themselves. I hear it every day summed perfectly in the line : "I can't help today but thank you so much for what you're doing." If you're on your feet in a public place at two thirty on a Wednesday and you're a Democrat, you have time to stop for a measly canvasser who's busting his or her own ass just to see some change, whether it's in his or her pocket or in his or her White House, bar none.

As for the projection, the Republican party railed against Socialism in all its forms for so long that it finally adopted its inherent and central philosophy. Corporatism and Socialism are the same, the same, the same, the same philosophy. In the news today, the government siezed Washington Mutual bank (what a name of a company to get siezed) and sold its accounts to JP Morgan Chase bank, presumably with nothing off the top, making me wonder who in the fed is invested in Morgan Chase, because there was no bidding on these accounts I believe. Either way, it's time for us all to get shovels; we're either about to dig until we spark the spade on the rock of truth, or we're punching a grave large enough for this country to fit into.

Best Video Games By Console...

NES: Super Mario 3
My first console was a N64, so I don't have console experience before it save for friends' homes and cousins' homes, and I remember this game just blowing everything else away, ironically because it seemed to emulate novels or board games rather than movies with it's non-linear, chapter-by-chapter sections and levels. It was simply so vibrant, and whenever someone pulls out a Nintendo now Super Mario 3 is the first game we stick into the console, draw a blank screen, eject, blow into the circuit, plug back in and enjoy.

Runners up:
Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Arcade, Techmo Bowl, that first Zelda game I remember was pretty fun. The other games I know are well-regarded like Contra or Metroid I never played, so I can't include them. Also, whenever I hear the Double Dragon theme I pine for my childhood a little bit.

(Note: On Facebook, there's a tool called NES whereby you can play any Nintendo game, no charge).

Super Nintendo: I'll say Super Mario All-Stars
How does one choose? I just read that Super Mario World sold 20 million copies, but what's better than that game packed along with every other Mario game? It's a little like choosing a Greatest Hits album for a favorite, but there's no single cartridge more worthy of ownership for this console. That said, I remember playing a good amount of this console at friend's places, and there were so many classic works. Mega Man X was insane, a brilliant 2-D shooter. I remember loving the Aladdin game, and Street Fighter II was perfect (I was always Ryu). Donkey Kong Country was a game I always played in hotels, and Star Fox was perfect.

Sega Genesis: Toss-up between Echo the Dolphin and Sonic the Hedgehog II
It's hard, because I always liked Sega Genesis more than I liked Super Nintendo just to be a contrarian, so most of the games were interchangeable and fun for both. As for Sega’s own titles, I loved Sonic the Hedgehog. The first two, and then the badass Sonic and Knuckles that would hold another Sonic game on top were all very cool. One time, my old friend Mike Muir and I attempted the coveted Sonic 2 on Sonic and Knuckles on Game Genie, but in the end the codes were just too much to handle. One game that oft-forgotten was Echo, which is probably one of the five most inventive games in the history of the medium. The concept of a sonar-wielding, language-deprived mammal trying to save the sea is mind-blowing to conceive of. Also, thinking about it now it was probably the first "sandbox" game in the vein of Grand Theft Auto and all those. Echo could go back and fourth between places new and since visited; all this leading to a game no one was used to.
Runners-up: the rest of the Sonics, After Burner II, and the Mortal Combat games were enjoyable, games mentioned above with Super Nintendo.

Nintendo 64: Ah...I'll have to go with Zelda: The Ocarina of Time.
Goldeneye, Mario 64, I apologize, but Zelda was just a different animal. I loved the other games, but Zelda sucked me into a world I'd never seen in video games. As a young boy growing into maturity, I took to this game thinking it was some fantasy lark; rather, it was the most mature game I'd ever played, and probably still is. Playing this game where young Link moves between seven years which brought plague and terror to Hyrule, I couldn't fathom the direction of the story and the craft to took to make it. It was the first time where cutscenes mattered to me enough that I wouldn't bash "A" button until there was action again. About a year ago I downloaded an N64 Emulator (called Project 64), along with a bunch of games I remember enjoying (if you have Torrent software you can download it here: http://isohunt.com/torrent_details/29513212/project+64?tab=summary).

Going back to Zelda, it was the best original story that ever emerged from culture in my formative years, the first time a video game ever could claim that mantle. To this day in the emulator I'm stuck in the Water Temple; I won't look it up online. One day I feel nostalgic enough I'll find my way through, and feel like a kid all over again, little more than seven years and a worse world from when I first beat that same temple.

That being said, the other great games deserve their separate mention: Goldeneye the game at the time was better than anything else. It was nearly a better story than the movie itself; Bond was a colder, less calculated and therefore more honest character in our hands than the movie's hands. The honesty of the game was that you had a gun and it was your mission, around the globe to shoot the bad guys. In the mean time, the game was three-dimensional, the graphics were the best at the time, the threats were viable, the missions all distinct labyrinths, the soundtrack obviously thrilling and the gear, not just the weapons but the watch, the big board, the camera, the access keys, all amounted to a thrilling shooter that was never bloated or overdone.

The distinct opposite of this was, happily, Super Mario 64. There just wasn't a more fun game than this, collecting stars any which way Mario could. The third dimension did for video games what fire did for meals; in the end there was no going back.

Runners-up: Oh, there are a couple, Mario Cart, San Francisco Rush, Diddy-Kong Racing were all great racing games, along with Star Fox 64 (I played that as much as the top three), Super Smash Bros., Star Wars Rogue Squadron, the first level of Shadows of the Empire was great, too, Perfect Dark was Goldeneye's smarter sister, Wave Race, Donkey Kong 64 was a great follow-up to Mario 64, WCW/NWO was fun when we all snuck alcohol, 1080 Snowboarding, and I'm leaving out many. Note: I never played Mario Tennis until freshman year at Emerson, but that was a fun time, too.

Playstation: I never owned this console and felt too old to play it when I went to friend's homes, but I remember a ridiculous amount of press for when Final Fantasy VII came out. Resident Evil 2 I remember playing and creeping myself out, otherwise I'm just not qualified for this thread.

XBox: Star Wars: Battlefront I & II
Not counting a PC which I only played Wing Commander II and Lemmings on as a little boy, XBox was my second console, and thus I began to read reviews of games and seek those better than others. My tastes for novels, difficult writings and foreign films were far greater than my tastes for video games, but whatever I played I wanted to discern between the good and the bad and keep every experience a lively one: enter Star Wars. Originally I wrote Halo: Combat Evolved in this section, but it’s not honest. The battlefront games, with the section-by-section onslaught between forces was far more entertaining to me, in that the battles might have been the same but the action never was. Taking on the mask of the Stormtrooper and losing forty men taking one corner of the Cloud City was something I couldn’t have enough fun doing. The second game exploded the world by offering the opportunity of flight, taking down Star Destroyers and X-Wings without a second glance. It made even the new Trilogy interesting to me. Two great games.

Runners-up: Halo I and II were brilliant, with dark, complex stories. Battles between Covenant, the Flood and you were always something amazing to behold. The Grand Theft Auto 3-pack is an indelible collection. Splinter Cell was a brilliant anti-shooter. The opposite, Medal of Honor: Frontline had a great representation of D-Day. Gun is a game no one’s heard of, and it was unbelievable, Grand Theft Auto as Western. Madden 04, 05, 06 were all classic. Naturally, MVP 2005 was the best baseball game ever, and better and faster on Xbox than PS2, along with downloadable rosters, making it the perfect game. Also, Mercenaries was terrific.

PS2: The battle is between Vice City and San Andreas. I suppose I have to go with the latter, because the world was just so damn big. I love taking a motorcycle into the country and forgetting about everything else. I never owned this console, but for a few summers I owned one living with roommates, and I can say definitively I’ve enjoyed it a lot. PS2 gets to claim GTA as its own until IV came out (and IV is better on 360 than PS3), so here’s the battleground. Madden 08 was the best Madden, encompassing the best of Madden past and streamlining the series into its simplest, most enjoyable run.

Runners-up: I’ve never played them, but I hear the Metal Gear Solid games are amazing. Guitar Hero is as famous as it is for a reason, it seems. Simpsons Hit and Run is nearly the Simpsons Grand Theft Auto that everyone is still waiting for, MVP 05 is definitely my most-played game on there, etc.

It is at this point that great or troubled as they are, video games took a distant back seat to my life, so I’m not quite up to the task of uncovering the greatest 360 or PS3 game. I don’t own a PS3, and have only played about two minutes’ worth of Madden and Marvel Alliance and saw only better graphics and bloated prices. For 360, which I own, I have I think five games, Grand Theft Auto IV, Halo 3, Call of Duty 3, and a Mercenaries-like game called Just Cause. Four games. One day, I’ll get Madden 09 I’m sure, along with this game Bioshock which I’ve heard great things about. The truth is that these big consoles rarely attempt anything that’s not bloody or anti-kitsch, and I feel that the games opposite of those are the ones I remember most fondly. I’ll probably get a Wii once I can work or swing a bat again, at which point I’ll have games that make me feel good, rather than leaving me cold and disgusted with myself. As great as Grand Theft Auto is, eventually I’m just channeling frustration into pumping Faux-York City full of grenade casings and crashed cabs and Bazooka shells. Where’s the love?

Humor (?) Article

Drinking Ice Water from a Mason Jar In the Sunny Morning

By Matt Shirley

Drinking ice water from a mason jar in the sunny morning is the newest sensation, and all the kids are just buzzing about it. Ice shares are through the roof, and Prego reported a net gain of ten thousand percent over the last fiscal year (which is similar to a calendar year except that the calendar is made of money), meaning that this new market trend might stick around for at least a quarter or two. Some politicians on either side of the aisle are now wondering if this isn’t a dangerous new staple of hipster accessorizing.

“Traditionally, I would expect the drinking of ice water from mason jars in the sunny morning to be a relic of depression-era scare tactics by third parties promoting fringe policies,” says Senator Lindsey Cherry Honeysuckle (D-Arkansas), “but as devoted husband, really, a devoted husband and father of six-er-one child, the fact that it’s become so popular with young people really puts my bag of ice cubes in a bucket.”

The process itself of drinking ice water from a mason jar in the sunny morning is a relatively simple procedure, consisting of taking a mason jar, filling it with ice (frozen water), turning on the tap and placing the jar underneath to catch the rushing water. Once the water is trapped, thermal equilibrium melds the temperatures between the ice and the water to make the water taste colder than it was from the tap.

The last step before the process is complete is going outside as to see the sun, so the sun can see you.

Doctors say the effect of the sun on the Mason jar is a simple illumination, but a powerful one. “In the cylindrical jar, two planes illuminate between the bottom of the glass and the water line,” Doctor Horatio Hornsucker (I-Nevada) said. “The light shimmers against the water, inducing a mind-altering state of which few really break from.”

“Uhh,” said James “McDice-Ski” Macaroon (X-Rhode Island), a sophomore at University of Oslo.

His fellow student, Jimmy “Punching Bag for a Fucking Face ‘Cause He’s a Little Bitch” Smith (å -Sweden) had these words: “It’s like drinking water in Technicolor. Whoa, I’m so liberal.”

Concerned parents are definitely not left from the equation. Many of whom are buying bottles of water and sticking them in refrigerators, in an effort to scare their children straight, including Betty Spew (&-California).

“I heard that gay Mexicans are puttin’ Peyote tabs and mint extract in Mason jars and selling them at discounted rates so the kids get addicted then have to apply for a frequency card to get on the Gay Mexicans’ mailing list in order to get stronger Peyote and more refined mint,” Betty spewed in a blur before taking a deep breath and blowing cigarillo smoke in her infant twins’ faces.

Some parents out of Texas (R-Texas) have gone as far as to join a local parish to form an anonymous group to deal with those addicted to this solution, forming the DIWMJSM-A led by Friar S. Roast ( :) -Friarland). “Socrates drank Hemlock from a Mason jar, which has inspired these children, our children, my children to wake every morning with the permanent reminder of suicide lingering upon their heads. Although there was a terrific picture on the cover of US Weekly of Val Kilmer drinking ice water from a Mason jar in a sunny morning. I think it was in Acapulco. He was shooting The Saint 2: Touchy, Feely, according to the magazine and…oh, wait, you know, I think it was Sidney Poiter. Just wait, I’ve got the copy somewhere around here. God, I beg of you to deliver this-oh, found it. Ah, it was Val Kilmer. And yep, Mason jar. Say what you will of his small talent and horrible acting choices, the guy can still set a trend.”

Bukowski

This is an idea my friend Chris Pond had for a comedy "fanscript" of Cheers, starring a supremely disgruntled Charles Bukowski. I wrote out the beginning of the script.

FADE IN:

INT. BAR - DAY

CLIFF, FRASIER, CHARLES BUKOWSKI ARE SEATED AT THEIR USUAL PLACES. SAM AND WOODY ARE BEHIND THE BAR. CLIFF IS SCRATCHING HIS HEAD. NORM WALKS IN.

EVERYONE EXCEPT CHARLES BUKOWSKI
Hey Norm!

SAM
Hey Norm, how many beers does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

NORM
Prob-

CHARLES BUKOWSKI (exclaiming)
My wife left me. It's what I get for MARRYING A WHORE!

CHARLES BUKOWSKI THROWS HIS BEER ACROSS THE BAR TO THE FRONT DOOR. REBECCA WALKS THROUGH THE DOOR AT THE SAME TIME, AND IS STRUCK DEAD IN THE FACE AND KILLED.

OPENING CREDITS

Russert

My piece for my friends on Tim Russert

It was only a few years ago that television was chock-full of great journalists America knew by face and voice; these men included David Brinkley, Peter Jennings, along with the "60 Minutes" heydays of Morley Safer, Ed Bradley and Mike Wallace. Along with those figures, Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Jim Lehrer, and before John Chancellor and Walter Cronkite. Of the men still alive, all of whom have long since passed their most critical hours, where they tapped the vein of newsworthy zeitgeist like an intravenous drip.

Since that time the best journalists have been comedians save for Tim Russert, who's "Meet The Press" became the only incandescent force in the Sunday talking head circuit. All the famous interviews of politicians had two voices, one as recognizable as the other; Cronkite interviewed Kennedy on the patio outside the Oval Office, David Frost with Dick Nixon on "Frost Report," Ronald Reagan with Jim Lehrer in the office. With Tim Russert we got two presidents multiple times, most famously with Bill and Hillary Clinton in 1992 after the Gennifer Flowers incident before Bill was the nominee, or with George W. Bush in the Oval Office a year after we went to war with Hussein in Iraq. Along with these two-term presidents, we have a plenitude of interviews with the two presumptive candidates in Sen. McCain and Sen. Obama by Russert, all of which will serve as the template for proper cutting-edge journalism and be taught and studied for a long time to come to anyone serious about the profession.

When I was a little boy I used to watch the Sunday talking heads with my father every Sunday. My first words ever, I swear, were "AT&T Right Choice," because AT&T bought all the advertisements on "This Week with David Brinkley" and "The McLaughlin Group," our two favorite shows (please, I implore you to ask my father or mother about those first words, they were all I said for a good portion of my early childhood). Russert was good but Brinkley was of the old school and seemed a little crustier enough that he stuck to our television as his time winded down. Soon it became apparent that Dad was missing some great interviews in Russert, so we retired Brinkley before he did around 1996. We rarely went to church, so my sermons came from the contrarian journalists who broadcast on that day of the week. My sermons were to ask questions, to never settle for ideology or complacency. Tim Russert was my pastor from 1995 until 2004, when my hangovers sermonized that I should turn to the bible sitting above my head on top of the toilet bowl at Emerson. The last few years I re-familiarized with the man, deeply religious, a man who loved his father and his family, but more important than ever he was the man who never gave in to the people across from him, which is the most important lesson one can learn on a Sunday, or any other day for that matter.

I think I'm becoming an old man...

Forget the straight razors and harmonicas and granola, I actually feel older.

Am I over?

Well, drunk again. I don't know if I'm over this chick, or any chick for that matter. This game is torturous. Fuck this, I'm watching Citizen Kane. That's right.

Am I back in the game?!

So I'm not drunk, but I'm...of drink. Got my heart broken on Thursday, and tonight I got a lady's phone number. I walked her home with Eli. I think that I can hang in this game, although there's no doubt it's tough. I'm not the cute one in the group, this is known, but I'm a good person, and I can make someone else feel good. It's so hard anymore, because there are so many deviant guys out there, and so how does a gentleman make himself known? The worst guys of the bunch hijack the trademarks of chivalry (i.e. holding doors open, buying at meals) with the explicit purpose of parlaying them into sex, and then forgetting them. This is by no means a new phenomenon but, ah, it really sucks to be a nice guy.

...

You know, it's not over. I can't just write something kind of funny, kind of sad and expect this pain to be alleviated. It takes time, naturally, but it's not just that. I really hurt. I really ache over this. My chest is almost sentient and crying out in pain of this. It's too hard for men, anymore. It's too hard for men who are willing to embrace emotionalism, self-loathing and rejection. My favorite philosopher is Seneca, but my passions refer much more clearly to poets than philosophers, and Sophocles chief. I'm so much more emotional than I wish I was, and stopping it would be trying to dam one ocean from another. It's a terrific pain of having one's heart broken, even of one is ready for it. And I was on the phone with her, and I told her that I needed her to tell me that it wasn't going to happen, and she did. I finally got what I wanted out of our relationship, and for the moment I was content. But as the conversation whittled to to its end, I was rushed by circumstance and our goodbye was less my emotional attention and swapped with the chore of turning talk into silence.
And then the questions arise. Chief in this tribe for me is always the same: how do two people fall in love-no, that's not it. The question is "how do two people fall for each other. That, my loyal read-that, Matt Shirley, is the question.
You know what honestly is funny? I just bought three books today, one is another version of Macbeth, my favorite Shakespeare play, one is the Sporting News Fantasy Baseball prospectus, and the third is a moleskin journal that I'll keep in my breast pocket. Macbeth...fantasy...baseball...and one for my words. I've got to say something-anything, really.

So there's this letter I wrote...

Clearly inspired by the night's events, I've come to recognize some of the poetry in my heartaches. The following is a letter I wrote to a girl when I perceived her as becoming aware of my attraction to her. I loved her, but I was too afraid of just telling her that, so I wrote her this. She will be referred to as "K," and I've removed some of the intimacies.

K,
I feel that you perceive me as getting too close to you, or trying to manipulate something. I have to emphasize the fact that this is not the case. I think that you can honestly say that in a few short moments we've learned much about each other, and grown to enjoy one another's company. I think I've overstepped myself for such a recent acquaintance, and I'm sorry for encroaching. I never, ever wanted to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just thought that we were having fun and beginning to care about one another. I have no advice worthy of you hearing for (her boyfriend), your future or your mind; I only know that all I know about you right now is that you're simply wonderful. You are my favorite company I've ever been around, bar none. It has been so hard coming back here after basically a failed experiment in following my wishes over my (circumstances) in going to Boston, and you're the only reason I'm still putting up with it. And my habits are changing, too. My diet has changed only since meeting you. I'm becoming a better man just by knowing you. And this has got to be so strange for you to hear, but I'm a writer, and I've spent my whole life looking for the good things. The moment, last Saturday night where I picked you up for the concert, it might have been my favorite moment of my whole life. I just felt that there was such a beautiful, kindred spirit whom I was finally sharing with. And it hurts to say this, because you could only perceive them as flaws of mine, but it's true.

The point is, that I think I'm just going to tuck that thought away, and all these moments between us I'm going to hide away so that you're not put off by me being so effusive about seeing you or being in your presence. I'm so sorry that I have to put you in this situation, but there's no way that I can't tell you that I miss you immediately upon the moment you rise from your seat next to me, or the moment that I have to turn away to pretend to think about something else. I don't even know why I'm sending this letter necessarily, but that you said that I'm nothing at this moment, and it wasn't an insult, but a truth. I'm afraid of you thinking I'm trying to make this more for you than just a simple acquaintance until you can return to the people you care about. I feel ashamed for letting myself feel so much when you think I shouldn't have, but like I said, I'm a writer, and I have to look for the wonderful things. And it's in the security of me saying that I'm a writer that I would do anything for you. I need to feel that kinship.

I wanted to ask you out for a drink tonight, or anything, but I not going to, and I don't want you to feel pity or any of that. I want you to treat me as honestly and free of sentimentality as you wish. I'm terribly impetuous, and it's a burden for some, but I know right now that, even as I have nothing, I'd give up all of it to be near you, never to try and trick or seduce, but just enough that I would be able to see you, and not be ashamed in thinking that it's going to be one of my best days.

Always,
Matt

Cyrano, anyone?

Moving on...

I have to be successful. I'm moving on from another heartbreak, another emotional chasm and I must move forward. Much akin to the contents of an old bomb shelter, only frequented greater than any number of storms or nuclear scares could compound and multiply, my necessities are the music of the lost, movies shock with froth and creme', and literature of athletes who only bother to love that which has two-hundred and eighteen stitches and is smacked with a wooden plank three of ten times it's thrown (one and a half of ten if you're from DC); all this amounts to emergency readiness). I told another woman that I wanted to be with her tonight. I'm three for ten (if I forget a few wild pitches) going into the night, and this one was the knuckler of all. It was so slow coming in, I should've done any number of things to save face; maybe it was two deceptive and I shouldn't have swung, maybe I should have leaned in, and it would have hit me. Neither happened. I swung and I missed, hard.

Hard.

Fucking hard.

It's nearly funny now, come to think of it. I'm no Casanova, just as much I'm no Lou Gehrig. My swings are hard, and yet I miss routinely. I wish I was better at it. I wish I was a swinger like John Travolta and Reggie Jackson, but I'm no pro, I'm no prospect, I'm not even in the beer leagues. I'm just an emotional little-leaguer, waiting to get called up to swing again. I'm Casey at best, and the Mudville nine have never seen a loser like me.

So, I'm drunk.

Still drunk.

So, I'm drunk.

Yeah. I'm drunk. Girls are pretty. Sternberg is funny as shit. My phone is...I'm ambivalent. Fuck the not-Nationals in the national league. You heard me, Cincinnati.

Yes you are

Mike Cushmac is looking at my board.

So anyway...

I have a cold. Everything sucks.

Alright

Alright, I thought I had this all worked out, but my first post was in Hindi. Not good. Any, the point was to announce my presence as a Blogging force in this world, as well as the fact that it's ten degrees outside. The single-paned bay window trio that lies ahead of my is shimmying in its place, a likely sign that it's going to be a cold night. Hello, hoodie.

Trivia night was tonight. Not just any trivia night, but supersized, angry $250 dollar trivia. We came in second. I was borderline. Fuck, it's too cold to transcribe my inner monologue, which is just me saying "fuck, it's cold" to a series of nude bartenders serving me Black Label and speaking in German. Uhh...goodbye.

आईटी इस कोल्ड अस अ बित्च