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My fourth blog. Amazing yet disconcerting. Don't worry; this'll go away in a year or so. |
What's up you guys? I figured that if I had the will to disconnect myself enough to write "Big Grab" ![]() ![]() ![]() I...don't have a front door. I live in a god damn boarding house basically. There, I said it. Google it...the Gable Inn in Cortland. The front door is very bright, almost pastel blue. Like, matte neon Easter Egg blue. Front door to the bar on the main floor, front door to the upstairs floors with rooms like a hotel but not a hotel. Like a parking space. My life is condensed into a a spot big enough for a car to live in. Bed, dresser, a few totes with the remains of my past. Six totes actually... ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Guess it's time to go through that shit again..if you ain't needed it in six months' time, ya don't need it ever. ![]() I'm a minimalist. Out of necessity. I had me some contentment in the finer things, the ordinary stuff...but I guess I wasn't happy with that and let it get the best of me, so I'm learning still how to do without...and I've picked up a few things along the way, like diagnoses and whatnot. Things I should've known better of when I had better time to make use of different resources. But that's neither here nor there. Sometimes I can be sitting here in the darkness, almost comfy in my shitty little world. I can lull myself to sleep with the help of pharmaceutical aids and a routine of snacks and televised absurdities. And I'm alright. But my window gives me clearance to the intersection nearest my domicile, and at the kitty-corner opposite is both the police and fire stations. Shortly best put, sirens are a part of my every day experience. Even at night with the blinds drawn, if a cop pulls over someone near the Tompkins/Main/Port Watson intersection, their berries will bleed into the cracks of my shades. It's a shitty college town with already-broken people. I guess there's no harm in getting a dark room flooded with sirens, as long as it's not me they're lookin' for. But fuck man...you gotta be kiddin' me when they come to my door on the second floor lookin' for someone who hasn't lived here in god knows how long. You get me, already runnin' from my own past, already tired of all the shit I've been through with everyone else, at 5am when I'm collapsing all over myself and flinchin' on my own convulses, in somewhere I don't even know anyone else, and you're convicting me of a crime before I've even seen a jury- before I've even seen a face or a shower?- fuck you. Fuck what you claim you stand for. When the blue light in my room isn't from my laptop, when it's from the sucka light of your infrared whooping stick, and you think it's ok to disrupt my not doing of anything? Fuck you and fuck that. Sorry I gave you nothing to look for or more into. Sorry your turning all I had up and down didn't give you shit for whatever your little spineless operation wanted. Sorry you couldn't figure out that I was clean and baseless. I don't get that intrusion back. You get to move on to the next room. I get fear and hate, along with accusations, stamped into my psyche. I've dealt with girlfriends doing that, but the fucking authorities? Over an "Oops, my bad!"? And you wonder why I don't support cops. My uncle was a cop. He controlled his racism to fine points. He had reasons for all the shitty things I tried to reconcile with. No. Just fucking no! No. No. Oh my head...what have I gotten into? Plainly put...don't go to the blue lights. Do not willingly open your doors to them. They don't show up to "welcome wagon" you. They're not there to remind you of all the good shit you've done. Ain't no knockin' to say "Hey! Person Of The Year who didn't need us for crime!" GTFOH. Blue lights my ass. If someone even tries to hand me a Labbatt Blue Light I'mma be suspect of them as well, as per all good citizens should be of beer-drinking afficionados. You don't need my distaste! You don't need my disliking! Let me be! I'm not a law-breaker anymore! Let me froth over paltry shit, and not your homophobic gang-bangin' in the barracks. Make love, don't cop. ![]() I have not ![]() I've been to cities where songs were written, and I've never felt the same vibe. Will Smith's "Miami" wasn't the same version as my Miami experience. Neither was my Washington DC time. I don't think anywhere I've been has been like what anyone has written about, to be honest. We all go through things at different times, for whatever reasons, and some places are more notable than others. And I'm sure there are many people who live in small towns that have spawned an author and his/her readers can relate to details, but no. I have not been there. And I feel like a dick a little, because I've worked in a bookstore that has had local authors in for signings. But usually I was on the retail side, and the crowds were not that big, and the books were more about common knowledge than anything else worth discussing to a larger crowd. But...for the sake of conversation, I guess the latest "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" movie had some scenes filmed in Buffalo ![]() Anyway, no, I haven't read something that can extol the virtues of Delaware Park (a Frank Lloyd Wright creation), Mighty Taco, or the Buffalo Sabres in literature form. I can't even put together a cohesive blog entry sometimes, or else I already would've. I miss Buffalo so very much...if anyone were to be considered the WDC Sons of Buffalo, let Kåre เลียม Enga ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Again I've written myself into a corner as far as music is concerned. I thought about it, but I won't stoop to Vanilla Ice's "Ninja Rap", and I'm not bowing to the supremacy the Goo Goo Dolls have on the WNY territory. And I'm not goin' into that Aesop Rock song I've shared a gang of times before with the Buffalo supercut. Ugh...so much to be proud of and so much more to distaste. Why does even the sucky music suck so much, like Mr. Big? There is not much to be proud of, like other cities. Well, fuck it. I don't care...one of the things I've been proud of as my time as a Buffalonian is my card-carrying love of its indie scene and gawd love Girlpope for all it is, was, and never will be. And oh my fuck...someone's put their entire second album up on YouTube, so instead of "So Far As Now" I'll be in a half hour of glory because this is Buffalo late-90's rock in its fucking glory. "Can you see it come around? All the things you once put down?" I miss those days. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Oh dear lawd OMG...ok, I'm done writing things today for y'all and I'm done looking at things. I have things to do! You sinners be brave, and you thoughtful people be careful, and y'all just dive in til it's naptime and we'll still love you when you wake up. Peace, you know everything's the same, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! ![]() ![]() |