pissshiver

Search Me, Baby

01.31.06 (7:25 am) [edit]
I love checking my stats to see how people are getting here. Many are coming from search engines, looking for any number of sexual deviancies. And landing HERE. I think it's hilarious.

Today's best? Somebody did a Google search for "I want to wear your ass like a hat." And found me.

They're just hobbies, people.

Love,
Dougie
(Currently listening to Charming Hostess, a band related to Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. This shit is WACKED THE FUCK OUT. I love, love, love it.)

8 Comments

I Need A Lover Who Won't Drive Me Crazy

01.30.06 (10:31 pm) [edit]
An hour after I got to work, I decided I was an idiot for being so uptight about giving the note to Amanda. She'll love it. I know she will. Do it, you spineless twerp. Go for it.

So I went to lunch armed wth pen and paper, determined to copy it from memory and give it to her.

She wans't there.

Fuck.

She wasn't there yesterday either. According to Paula, she had dental work done and took yesterday off, then showed up today feeling like shit and went home early. I hope she recovers quickly. That wonderful smile needs to be back to normal.

So I read my Hunter biography and ate my second five-way in two days. Took a shit later that made the walls choke.

I told Bob about a girl I met Friday night when I made a stop in Shelbyville on the way down to Cincy. At a gas station. Her name is Wendy. Cute blonde, nothing amazing, but cute. And psychotic.

She was telling someboedy where the restroom was when I got to the counter with my stuff. Then she started telling me about the restroom. How she wouldn't go in there, how she went in there a year ago before she worked there and got sick, how you never know what trucker just fouled the place, and how her boyfriend left her alone with her newborn, and...all this in about 45 seconds, and how the fuck did we get from evil bathrooms to her boyfriend leaving her? Her whole tone of voice was very weird. She had that deer-caught-on-the-headli ghts look in her eyes, like she expected Satan to jump out of the skin of me or any other random asshole when she least expects it, to devour her soul.

But hey, she's pretty cute.

Sirens going off in my head. Dude, this chick could cut your dick off in the night and sew it onto the front of her pants and run out into the cornfields screaming the Polish national anthem. She's fucking NUTS.

Nice rack.

I asked Bob. "Why am I finding myself so attracted to fucked-up chicks these days?"

"Because you're trying to compensate for how fucked-up you are."

"You're such a great help."

That must be it, though. Let's find some utter lunatic to distract me from my own psychosis. Look! A serial killer! What a babe!

I know what I need! A girl who cut the head off her own baby and boiled it in beef broth!

A female Hannibal Lectar! There ya go! I bet she can REALLY suck a dick! Ouch! Watch the teeth, bitch!

A goth chick who takes me into her black bedroom, and the bed is made out of human skulls she flayed the skin off of herself. THAT'S gotta be a girl who won't whine about taking it in the ass.

I need to get laid. SOON. Before this shit isn't a joke anymore.

I pretty much got the fuck away from Wendy. Cute little wackaloon, but I ain't going there. OK, I'll have a few twisted daydreams about it.

I'm going to Hell.

I told Bob all this and he said, "How did we get from damaged to outright sick that quickly?"

"Dude, look who you're talking to. I'm the damaged-and-sick combo platter, motherfucker."

So I lightened it up with a little talk about anal sex websites.

"You've gotta love the names of these sites. I think my favorite now is Her First Anal. What a name. Her First Anal? Like it's a fucking Hallmark moment or something.

Roses are red, violets are blue
But there's soemthing brown, all over you."

I enjoy making Bob walk quickly in the other direction.

A great weekend, lots of stuff. I'm still writing that post. Coming soon to a blog near you.

Love,
Dougie

8 Comments

Dammit

01.30.06 (8:01 am) [edit]
Doubt springs eternal.

I had a brilliant idea. I thought I'd copy the lyrics of XTC's Then She Appeared down and hand them to Amanda today. Just to see her reaction, if I could knock her on her ass.

I wrote the first two lines down then suddenly got a cold shot of water on my head. Is this too weird? Too much? Is it sweet and romantic or fuckin' creepy? I've known her for six months. I've said all SORTS of crazy things to her and she still has that amazing smile and always treats me like her favorite customer. She still talks to me first soemtimes, tells me how she's doing before I even ask, shares part of herself with me. Gives me that killer flash of those deep, amazing eyes. Why am I suddenly doubting this?

Part of me KNOWS she'll love it. Why am I listening to the part of me that doesn't believe a goddamn thing?

I had the idea a while back of making her a CD of some of my stuff. I folded up on that too. Dammit, I don't want to be an unadventurous little twit afraid of his own shadow. Why am I so fucking unsure all of a sudden? After all I've already done to make her know I'm crazy about her?

I'll wait until next week to do it, but somebody help me here. Should I do this? I don't really expect anything more than to just blow her brains out with an incredible piece of writing. (Which, unfortunately, I have to acknowledge the true source of, Andy By God Partridge, because I simply am not smart enough to write something that good.) And now I'm doubting. Fuck. I was so sure of this ten minutes ago.

I hate the way my brain folds up on me sometimes.

Dougie

Looking For the Next Best Thing

01.29.06 (11:06 pm) [edit]
I love Warren Zevon.

I worked hard, but not for the money
Did my best to please
I used to think it was funny
'Til I realized it was just a tease

Don Quixote had his windmills
Ponce de Leon took his cruise
Took Sinbad seven voyages
To see that it was all a ruse

(That's why I'm) Looking for the next best thing
Looking for the next best thing
I appreciate the best
But I'm settling for less
'Cause I'm looking for the next best thing

Looking for the next best thing

All alone on the road to perfection
At the inspection booth they tried to discourage me
You'll have to come around eventually

(And you'll be) Looking for the next best thing
Looking for the next best thing
I appreciate the best
But I'm settling for less
'Cause I'm looking for the next best thing

Looking for the next best thing
I'm looking for the next best thing

I Loved Her More Than Twice-Baked Potatoes

01.29.06 (3:39 pm) [edit]
Said it before, say it again - Mystery Science theater 3000 is the greatest thing that ever happened to television.

Love,
Dougie
(Currently watching Attack Of the Giant Leeches with Katie)

This Movie Sucks, Fernando

01.28.06 (11:45 am) [edit]
Picked up Katie this morning, and we're in Indy for an hour or so, having lunch and watching MST3K. Overdrawn At The Memory Bank. The most "what the fuck?" movie I've ever seen. Gotta love it.

Stayed with Bill last night. When I got there, I saw something. his house inspired me to look up. Stars. I hadn't really seen them or bothered to look for a week. They were beautiful. All of a sudden, I felt very small. My problems very small. It was good. Liberating.

We drank and listened to music, and slept. Laying a sleeping bag on the hardwood floor (he's in a big three-bedroom house built in the 1870s, but has almost no furniture) actually felt good. A good night.

A good morning with Katie so far. We drove here and listened to XTC and assorted other poppy nuggets. I sang along a lot, and we talked some serious things, but also had fun. She smiled a lot. No matter what the weather, her and the clouds are still beautiful.

Up to Marion to see my grandma soon, play a gig tonight. My girl is here. I'm letting go of yesterday's frustrations. Headache, but otherwise not bad at all.

Love,
Dougie

The Only Thing That Never Let Me Down

01.27.06 (5:10 pm) [edit]
Away from you
I stayed away from the healing sound
You, the only thing that never let me down

I feel it when I touch my strings
When that perfect note is found
You, the only thing that never let me down

When mere humans make me lose my grip
Come crashing to the ground
There's always you
The only thing that never let me down

When failings of myself and others rise
I can always jump in you and happily drown
You, the only thing that never let me down

I didn't return the favor
I ignored your sonic advice
My ears disconnected from my heart
My fingers from this wooden device

But you're blind to our sins
Your forgiveness so easily found
You, the only thing that never let me down

Play me

No Remorse (OK, Some)

01.27.06 (4:35 pm) [edit]
I just deleted something very long, because my head was having a hard time getting back out of my ass. I'm confused. As to how people who claim to be concerned about you can take several paragraphs of pain and extract ONE thing from it in the name of what they consider to be "eztreme", as if they have any clue what that word even means. I'm not even talking about one person. I've got this three or four times in the last couple days. Something i did the other night - which I do know was wrong, and I deleted the mention of it for good reason - is aparantly what sticks out from the whole fucking thing. I know these people care about me, I don't want to be shitty about it (which is why I just deleted everything I wrote for fifteen minutes) but I'm tired of people who don't share my priorities putting their values onto me as if it's just a GIVEN that they are right. They're not. People who apparantly think physical property is more valuable than your soul. I know they don't REALLY believe that, but it sure as fuck is what comes out when my pain, what was taken from ME, is minimized for the sake of the stupid shit I took. I kow what I did was wrong. What that CUNT did to me was far worse, and I'm not buying this "Well, people do bad thigns to each other" horseshit, because "people" DON'T do this. ASSHOLES do. And half the assholes don't even do this shit. What the fuck? Some of these people talking to me should know this, because they've been through worse than I have. But they'd rather hide their pain and pretend it doesn't exist. I have no time for that shit. In fact, I think it's disturbing and unhealthy, and I think people who do that are more fucked up than I am sometimes, even though they're so good at pretnding otherwise. I'm not saying my reaction was particularly healthy. It just makes a fuck of a lot more sense within actual human nature than not taking a shit for a month because you're afraid somebody else might not like the smell. God, I hate when people take a criticism and turn it back on me, and now I can't help but wonder if I'm not doing the same thing, and being far too fucking humourless about it at the same time. I'm just not very happy right now, I feel that my own emotions and thoughts are being pushed down in service of something far less important, and I really don't want to give the wrong idea, because I know these people mean well. I just don't share their view of...most things. I don't have to be right every time. But I've seen no proof that I'm wrong this time. But I suppose I should expect it from people who value what is "proper" over what is right. Which is why this world is so fucked up. I know they mean well. I also know that I can't think of them as anything but being wrong and delusional, tied to a view of the world I no longer have any use for. And I really, really hate being so self-important and I'm trying very, very hard not to be shitty and treat them they way they're treating me, because I DON'T want to do the same thing back. I'm just very frustrated by people who think they know more than me and obviously do NOT. I've got shit to do, and I'll get over this eventually. Have a good night. All of you. Doug

So Many Ways To Die Bitch, Die

01.27.06 (12:07 am) [edit]
Based on good advice, my last post has been edited. Not deleted, I didn't feel like that. It's still...maybe I should. Not yet. I cut out something that I didn't need to have said, though.

It took a while to sleep last night, but I did better than I thought I would. It was fucking terrible, and I felt about fifty thousand things creep through me and dance around like fucking demons in some bad Browadway musical. I kept hearng her laughing at me, the evil cunt. I hated EVERYTHING for a while. Especially that fucking bitch.

This morning, I tried to banish that shit from my mind by thinking about somebody else. Nice happy thoughts. OK, kinda dirty ones. You're reading this, so hi there. :)

Then I drove to work listening to Ween. Do a search for the lyrics to Piss Up A Rope. It will change your life. I was singing along merrily drinking my coffee. The tide was turning already.

I KNEW I could count on Bob. Bob is a great friend, because he has absolutely no respect whatsoever for other people's pain. I admire him for this. Cruel fucking bastard, he's funny as shit.

He was laughing at me before I got halfway through my story of last night. I can take it from him, because I know him and he's a really good guy. but he seems to live for tales of misery. Which must be why he likes working with me so much, because I can entertain his ass ALL day.

"You shouldn't hang out in bars."

"Well, yeah, I don't really like them to begin with, but where else do I go? I'm not into church, you know. I'll get lawsuits hitting on anyone working here. "

"I'd suggest the supermarket, but your luck there has been bad." Evil laugh.

"Fuck you in the ass, Bob." A merry good-natured reply. I like him. Fucker. LOL.

I told him I hope she gets the world's worst ever yeast infection and dies stuck to her chair.

"That's a bit complicated. I'd just be happy if she got hit by a bus."

"But that's not creative enough. I'm craving personalized justice here. To satisfy MY needs. Because MY pain is important, dammit. Come on, there's SO many ways to die bitch, die."

I think I amaze even him sometimes. Hee.

Emotions were all over the place for a while, but I stabilized by lunch time. Ate a ton of chorizo sausage. Hey, you've just GOTTA sometimes. But the back and forth from hate to self-loathing to anger to sadness to fuck knows what else turned into a nice layer of sarcasm, and I've pretty much got my sense of humour back. That fucking cunt.

A song appeared before me today. I imagine a two-step country beat behind this.

---

Whore, whore, you fucking whore
Wanna kick your ass through the fucking door
Whore, whore, you fucking whore
Hope you get an infection, makes your pussy sore
Whore, whore, you fucking whore
I hope you fucking die
Die

Whore, whore, you fucking whore
Hope you choke on a rancid apple core
Whore, whore, you fucking whore
Hope your ass gets fucked by a minotaur
Whore, whore, you fucking whore
I hope you fucking die
Die

---

My friend D9 suggested a place to me a few months ago, and I called him tonight to commend him on his excellent taste. If'n your ever in Indianapolis, south of downtown at Kentucky Avenue near Morris, just south of I-70 is John's Famous Stews. I got the medium beef stew. It KICKED MY ASS. I was in and out in 15 minutes (had to eat fast to get on to guitar lessons) and I loved the place. Kind of a dive. Old beat-to-hell waitresses. Fuckin' great food. I'll be going back OFTEN.

Fun teaching. I like my students. Some good kids, some cool adults. Good place to teach. I hope it keeps moving forward. It could develop good if I figure some things out schedule-wise.

One student came in better this week than she felt last time. Last week she was hopped up on vicodin after having an ovarian cyst rupture. Ouch. Shit. I told the guys later, "Ever have one of those empathetic moments where you feel other people's pain? I'm a GUY and my ovaries hurt just thinking about that."

I was tempted to go back to the bar tonight. but I'd rather listen to Todd Rundgren's Back To The Bars. It would be a stupid, ultimately meaningless gesture going back right now. I'll go back eventually. I have the feeling it isn't a regular hangout for The Cunt. If she's doing this shit to people often, she's going to end up getting the shit beat out of her or worse. I figure she moves around. Or maybe it was a one-off thing and I just happened to be the asshole she picked. But I saw her going back in, and I took that as her looking for more.

Who the fuck knows. The better part of me is hoping she gets over whatever was done to her that made her do this to me. But most of me is still feeling evil towards her.

for a while, I was feeling evil towards everyone. I keep running into these brick walls where I have to face my own weakness, my own failings, my own dark, twisted, evil side. Seems that nearly everything that has happened to me with women lately has forced me to take a harder look at myself. It's a GOOD thing, but it sometimes has to happen in shitty ways.

I asked for experience. I asked for a full range of stuff to sink my teeth into. I'm getting it. Susan used to use that phrase with me - "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it." Good advice, but hey, I'm GLAD I'm getting it. Well, not at the time. Certainly not last night. But what else do I do? Sit here and jerk off, never go take any fucking chances? I MIGHT get lucky that way, but the odds are pretty remote. I sure haven't had good results that way before. I'm sick of being scared of my own shadow, running away from shit out of guilt and fear. Staying with what I KNOW and staying away from the unknown. FUCK that. I'd rather get psychologically cornholed by some wretched cunt in her SUV than live the way I've lived for a long, long time. Really. I'm more equipped to deal with it now. I'm learning to let things slide off. Takes a while sometimes. But in the long run, very little of anything MATTERS. That's not cynical or fatalistic. It's LIBERATING. The things that do matter are to be taken seriously. But most shit doens't matter, except that it's more experience. More to learn from. So why not get a whole bunch of the shit? The utter randomness of this universe, the realization that my ife has more to do with MY CHOICES than some invisible deity pulling strings - this shit is making my life much, much better. It means I can recover from things faster, can put aside the pain easier. I'm not nearly as far down this road as I want to be, but it beats the FUCK out of the religious nonsense I had pounded into my brain for years. I try very hard to respect other people's need for that shit sometimes, but I have no use for it at all anymore, I just have some of the residue still in me to powerwash out. I want as little to do with it as possible. I still have a sense of some kind of basic force out there, but I really don't give a fuck. If I take what I'm given and use it well, I'm doing something towards honoring that force, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. If there's more to it than that, I'll figure it out eventually. Right now, religion can take a long walk off the edge of my cock. I'm more into living HERE than worrying about where I'm going. I'll get to where I'm going. I'd rather savor this moment like a bite of that killer stew I had tonight. And if something comes up that tastes like shit, spit the fucker out, grab a brew to wash it down, get the fuck on with yer life. It just doesn't matter.

Is this all a bunch of horseshit? Tell me if it is. I know NOTHING and am making this - all this, all my life - up as I go along. I figure it's OK. Anyone with any brains won't take most of what I say seriously anyway. :)

Love,
Dougie .

4 Comments

You Fucking WHORE

01.25.06 (11:07 pm) [edit]
Prepare yourself. This is about as pissed off as i've been in a long fucking time.

My last student cancelled, so I left early and decided to go to the bar I'd checked out last week in Greenwood where my band will have a gig in a few months. I was hoping to have a beer, maybe find out more about what music the place has, and find a female to have any encounter of any kind at all with. I got what I asked for. Dammit.

She was beautiful. Told me she was 32, but looked several years younger. I sat two seats from her, and we started talking almost immediately. Very friendly. Very warm, if somewhat removed from it all, it seemed. Lovely face. Long straight blonde hair. Curve city. HUGE rack. Round in all the right places. Amazing ass. She looked so soft and warm. Blue eyes, the only part of her that seemed remotely to have an edge.

She said her name was Cathy. I say "she said", becuase I no longer believe a fucking word she said to me.

The conversation wasn't much. We don't have much in common. But we hit it off anyway. I bought her a drink. I don't think i've ever actually done that in 35 years, bought a woman a drink. We both had Amber Bock on tap. (Beats the shit out of the bottled variety.)

She slowly started showing more interest. Looking back, it seems calculated. At the time it just seemed she was getting into me more and more. My heart was starting to race a bit. I was getting wood. This is a VERY pretty lady I'm talking about. An evil goddamn cunt from hell, but a very pretty one.

Eventually she said, "Let's go outside where it's quieter."

OK...

She took my hand. Wow. Those eyes looked so inviting. Took my hand and led me outside. To her SUV. The back seat was folded down. She invited me back there.

Did I mention how beautiful she is?

I wasn't ABOUT to pass this up. Months and months of borderline-psychotic sexual cravings, and here it's happening. I was dazed. I can't fuckin' believe it. This beautiful woman is asking me to make out in the back of her car. I felt like a high school kid.

I'm trying to fight through the pain and anger and hatred I feel right now to find the way I felt less than an hour ago. I'm not sure I'm doing it.

No clothing came off. But it was prettty heavy stuff, and felt wonderful. We kissed and groped for at least ten minutes. My hands were everywhere, and she didn't complain one bit. I wanted to go farther, but I was waiting. The signals were coming, but I was trying my damndest to do it RIGHT.

Oh, the signals were coming. The things she said and did were driving me nuts. The way her body responded. She wanted more too. Didn't she? SURE she did. It was all over the whole thing.

She put her hand in a very special place. Took my hand and put it on HER special place. My response was immediate. I was gonna get this girl off before I even had the pants off.

Her hand was on me maybe 15 seconds. Mine went to work on her for a couple minutes.

I did a good job. I have a couple claw marks on my left shoulder and the memory of an INCREDIBLE sound from her as proof. It was WONDERFUL. I put myself aside long enough to do my best to please her, and it worked. God, the look on her face...

It's been a long time. And for a moment there, I felt like the coolest guy on the planet. For a moment, anyway...

I was still trying not to go too fast, but hey, she had hers. I figured it was time for mine.

I was wrong. Boy was I ever.

She had stiffened up so much when her time arrived, and she COLLAPSED when it was done. Wow. I'm good! Wheeeeeeee!!!!!!!

Now she brushed her lovely golden hair from her face. "That was nice. You were really good."

It should have made me feel even better. But the way she said "was" and "were" sent shit up my spinal column than took me waaaay off guard.

"Thanks. Maybe we'll do it again sometime."

Uh...OK....Uh...can I have some too?

For a minute, I actually felt some guilt. Shit, be happy you had something at all. And besides, go with what she's comfortable with. If this is what she wants, you can't expect her to...

Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT. In any other situation this would have been true. I DO try to be sensitive and not ask for more than a woman is willing to give. But this ain't that. This is something else.

You fucking cunt.

"You were really good."

"Uh, thanks...uh..is this over? Because...I could use a little help here."

"Sorry. I've got a babysitter waiting on me."

Full-force blind rage hit me like a goddamn wall of bricks. The look in her eyes had gone from a woman totally satisfied to a CRUEL FUCKING BITCH. She was SMILING. This FUCKING CUNT had not only just used me, she had planned it all along, and was HAPPY about it.

I tried very hard to hold back a massive attack of the kind of pure anger I used to feel seventeen times a day, but I've been BETTER recently. I get pissed, but I can control it better. It doesn't last as long.

Not this time, bitch.

"I hope you appreciate how nice I'm being right now to just leave, because any other guy would be a lot less forgiving."

I forced that out of me and opened the door and climbed out.

The rotten whorebag LAUGHED at me.

Go. Get the fuck out. NOW. Before you do something you'll regret for a very long time.

She was still laughing. I was about to snap.

I have felt a lot of anger and rage in my time, more than I should sometimes. But I hate violence. I've broken THINGS. I don't believe in hurting PEOPLE, even though I've felt like it. I never felt more like it than I did tonight. I hate violence towards women, and regard men who do that shit as about the lowest people on the planet.

Except for people who take what they want, give you nothing, throw it in your face, then laugh about it.

My instinct was a bad one. I wanted to rush her, knock her ass to the ground, grab the back of her head, and pound her goddamnn skull into the pavement. Multiple times.

"Got you pretty excited didn't I? Well, you got what you probably deserved. Men have been doing it to me for years, honey." And laughed some more.

WHAT? WHAT?????????? I'm standing here with a painful erection, my brain overloaded with hate-chemicals, listening to you laugh at me becuase of some shit somebody ELSE did to you? Who the fuck are you? What right do you have to fuck with me like this?

I wish I'd been able to say that. What came out was, "I hope your pussy rots, you worthless piece of shit. Burn in hell."

I turned around to leave. She laughed HARDER. "You should see the look on your face, Doug!"

Am I on Candid Camera? Is this a movie? This CAN'T be happening to me. This can't be REAL, can it? I was so full of confusion and hate and fuck knows what else, I was blubbering by now.

"You...you..." I snapped. "YOU FUCKING WHORE!!!!!!! I SHOULD RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF AND SHIT DOWN YOUR GODDAMN NECK, YOU FUCKING CUNT!!!"

I ran the rest of the way to the car. Like a little kid who just got his ass kicked by the school bully. I felt like the kid who just had his toy broken in half and sand kicked in his face. I thought I was going to cry.

By the time I got the car started, I was. Like a pathetic fucking little kid.

I saw her as I pulled out. The bitch was WALKING BACK INSIDE THE BAR.

I drove across the street to the liquor store. It was all I could think of. I need something. A half pint of rum will do.

The woman at the counter looked at me. "Are you OK?" I was still wiping tears off and practically shaking with hate.

I told her what happened. She looked horrified.

I was just making out with a woman. She got a huge orgasm from the deal. I got blue balls. Then she threw my ass out like a piece of trash and laughed at me.

I never ONCE felt this bad after the divorce, and I felt goddamn wretched for months. Every day. Nearly every minute. That was NOTHING compared to this.

It would be ridiculous of me to compare this to rape. It's not even close. but for a couple very irrational minutes, that's what I thought of. You fucking CUNT. You set me up and knocked my fucking ass right down, didn't you? You CUNT.

Die. You fuck.

WHORE.

I can't believe she LAUGHED at me like that. It was like Satan right before dragging your ass to hell. I swear, she sounded EVIL. I'd like to feel sorry for her with whatever happened to her with other guys to make her want to do this to me, but FUCK her. I've felt pain in my contacts with women before, but I've known what I did to bring it on. This time all I did was buy a pretty girl a drink and let her lead me to her car.

Lead me by my DICK.

I'd feel guilty about THAT, except SHE DID IT. Talked me up, told me I was cute, wanted to run her fingers through my hair even as we were at the bar. She PLAYED me. I got my hardon honestly. That bitch USED me.

I did all the work. She dropped a few things into the stew, but most of what she did was talk to me, tell me what I wanted to hear. SHE got 80% of the physical sensations, and got it big time when she came. Shit, she sure did. I felt so GOOD when she did. I felt like I'd really DONE soemthing. I made a woman happy.

CUNT.

I've had to stop a few times writing this. I'm still feeling it. I want to go back there and throttle that bitch.

Goddamn it.

i need to go to bed. I hope I can sleep.

WHORE.

Dougie

5 Comments

The Short List

01.23.06 (11:22 pm) [edit]
1.) Listening to Bill Hicks right now. I want to be like him when I grow up. Well, except for dying at 34 of cancer. I'm 35. That would suck.

2.) My friend Bill gave me some palo santo yesterday. Holy wood. The room smells really good. Huhuhuh, "holy wood", huhuhuh...

3.) Going back to work after a really, really great weekend with Katie and the band SUCKED MONKEY COCK.

4.) I want to fuck a girl half my age, and the Jesus-based guilt is melting away because, fuck it, she's legal.

5.) You really need to hear some Redd Foxx. Been listening to a best of album, and it's fun shit.

6.) Legalize it. People I care about are being fucked over by a society full of hypocritical bastards saying "this Bud's for you" while throwing people in jail for pot. FUCK these assholes. I don't even like pot, and I'm ready to go smoke a bowl just to piss these fucking cunts off.

7.) I was talking to a friend today about some stupid bitch I heard on the radio. Some cunt who follows Fred Phelps, the "God Hates Fags" psycho- Christian. Bitching about Brokeback Mountain, because, after all, movies about gay cowboys are far more destructive to our precious piece of shit society than sending our kids off to stupid wars, not educating them, and pretending there's no such thing as racism, sexism, or anything else those goddamn Hollywood liberals are bitching about.

My friend says "What will it take to convince thes peoeple?"

Nothing. Forget it. They've made their goddamn choice. They arne't bitching about movies becuase it has gay cowboys. They're bitching about gay ANYTHING. If you made a movie with nothing but other Christians stoning gay people, there'd still be a group of lunatic Christians bitching that the rocks aren't big enough.

"Those liberal Hollywood faggots! They're making the rocks too small!"

Fuck 'em. In the ass. With a big black cock. THAT might change their minds.

8.) There is no eigth thing.

9.) If I could blow myself, I'd never leave this chair again.

10.) Wild thing, I think I love you. But I wanna know for sure.

Love,
Dougie

Confidence

01.23.06 (12:35 am) [edit]
Katie was so much fun today. Much of our time was at a nearby mall, with a big play area/arcade called Wonderpark. She rode rides, climbed up in the treehouse, and played games for tickets to spend on candy. Walking through the mall on the way in and out, she held my hand and skipped along, making up happy songs. She was so happy today.

She played for a while with the cutest little redhead 3-year old boy you've ever seen. Who just so happened to have one hell of a cute Mommy. One minute I was watching her bend over, a nice round ass presented for full view through tight jeans, her tight sweater (Rack City!) riding up her back, exposing slightly tanned skin. Very curvy and filled out in a way that made my weenie warm.

The next moment she was standing next to me. Talking to me. Then sitting down next to me. She started the conversation. She had the smile as she sat down and asked me how old my daughter was, shook her shoulder-length straight red hair from her pretty (yet somewhat hardened by experience I could only guess at) face, and leaned back into her seat, only two kid-sized jackets and pairs of shoes on the bench between us. A slight flash of her eyes showed something. Some kind of interest. Two single parents, with kids of similar ages up playing in a fake treehouse together, sitting on the bench with a spark or two jumping about.

I kept it together FAR better than I thought I would, seeing as how a very sexy divorced redhead who looked ready for some action herself was actually talking to me. Something in her eyes...what was it? I don't have women come up to me. They tend to move quickly in the opposite direction. Was I reading too much into it? Wanting her to want me, like a fucking Cheap Trick song? But no...she was talking to me, smiling. Those eyes. They had the appearance of detachment, but it seemed to be a cover. Jesus. She's trying to hide what I'm trying to hide. What I'm NEVER able to hide. I think we're BOTH failing. It's there. It's been a LONG time since I've seen that look in a woman's eyes and knew it was for me. Fuck-energy flying. I'm NOT imagining this.

Am I? AM I?

Those curves. The tight clothes. The sin in her eyes. Hi, I'm Doug. This is Doug Jr. Excuse him, he's a little excited. Down, boy. Down.

She told me a bit about herself with little if any encouragement from me. Lives in Sharonville. Parents moved away, she went with them, then came back to the Cincy area, and they followed her back. Her ex sees his son when SHE takes him there. He has no car, over an hour away. "How convenient." "Yeah, for HIM." The biting sarcasm in her voice only made me harder. It sounded like an invitation. Hey big boy, prove to me you're not a prick like my ex. Then maybe..................

Unfortunately, I am a prick. Oh well.

She's probably around 30. I stayed cool the whole time, but it took a LOT of effort to keep from looking just a little too long into that face and try not to imagine...the things I imagine...

Her son was ready to go to the next spot long before Katie was. So Anna was gone. Mmmmm...Anna. That name and that face go together so nicely. I'd like to look into those eyes and say your name as I....mmmmm...Anna...

I thought I saw the slightest bit of hesitation, a slight look back over her shoulder at me, and I felt a hammer hit me in the chest. A sudden raging rush of fuck-chemicals burst down the floodgates in my brain, borderline-psychotic cravings sending tsunamis through the waters of my lust to crash on the shore of my self-control and bring the whole motherfucker down.

OK, my pseduo-poetic side is pretty ridiculous. What else is new?

I wanted to go after her. I had to sit still. The insane compulsion to fall to my knees and beg her to come back nearly split me in two. All I could say was "nice to meet you" and offer my hand. She shook it. Friendly. Reserved yet warm, and the reservation was obviously forced. She tried to look detached. Failed. For a moment. I saw it there. Goddammit, it IS there. She wants to stick around, but isn't sure she should. Letting the kid pull her to the next destination, like a flip of th coin. I WANT to fuck this guy, but if Tyler wants to go, we'll go. If he stays, we'll stay.

He went. She did too.

Was there some hurt in that look? Not simply hurt that she was leaving. Hurt in a deeper sense. The same hurt I feel. I wondered if she too had gone this long without the release I was so busy thinking about engaging in with her. Oh, fuck. Look at that ass as she's walking away. She bends over to check her son's shoelaces. A bit deliberately. As if to say "My back is turned, but I know you're eyeing my ass. So here. Have another look, Doug. It's the last one you'll get. I flipped the coin. It came up tails. Here's the tail. Goodbye."

Just that slight look back. She turned back around and disappeared. If only I could have grabbed her hand and taken her over to the tables at the Pizza Hut Express, torn her clothes off and fucked her over a table with an empty pizza box on it. For about ten seconds it looked like she might be INTO that scenario. Drip some of that garlic sauce the breadsticks come with onto those big fat tits and...oh FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

------------------------- --------------

Powerful sensations this weekend. A shot of confidence. At the gig last night, the guitarist's wife told me how much she liked the new beard. "It really looks good on you. You look great."

This coming from one of the 9 or 10 most remarkably, stunningly beautiful women I've ever known.

I don't feel this often. I usually feel like a turd in a box. The box has a couple air holes in it, just to let the thing breathe. Confidence of ANY kind is hard to come by here. Confidence of the sexual kind is chronically lacking. It came to me for the first time with my marriage. Felt like it was ripped off me like the skin off a traitor's back with my divorce. I don't blame her for that (though I did for a time) it's just a natural byproduct of divorce for some people, and seemingly built especially for me. I find it nearly impossible to believe that a woman would want to have anything to do with me at all until she actually DOES.

A few have brought me back up for air in the last several months, but not for long. I doubt if Jenny has a clue what she did for me. If she did, I've pretty much blown it anyway, since I'm convinced she thinks I'm an asshole now. I'm too obvious, can't keep my mouth shut. I'm lucky I haven't drooled on myself in front of her.

Amanda probably has a clue, but not much. She's locked in with someone else. But I still greet her with variations on "How's the prettiest lady around?" when I walk in to be served by her at lunchtime. I'll do it again tomorrow. But the boost she gives me no longer carries much past me walking back out the door. Dammit.

Melinda was so fucked up, who KNOWS what happened there. I got something good from it, but it was a goddamn mess. I keep thinking I'm seeing her. In a store, a parking lot, out of the corner of my eye. but I hope I don't see her again. I don't need that shit. She got a tiny piece of what she needed, I got a tiny piece of what I needed. And that's that.

Another fascinating little vixen has given me the boost in recent days. It's probably obvious to anyone who reads this shit I write, but I'm leaving it alone, because the Jesus-based guilt I can't seem to rid myself of has me convinced that anything I say in this case will send my ass to Hell. You have any idea what it feels like to be hellbound and not even believe there IS a hell anymore? I'm so full of inconsistency it's ridiculous. But she's got a hook or two in my ass, that she does. I just haven't been sure what to make of any of it yet. Little vixen. :)

Hearing it from the guitarist's wife last night sent shock waves through me. Later. It actually didn't connect at first. After a while, it occured to me that a woman who would easily make me fall to my knees begging for her love if not for the fact that she's married to one of the greatest guys I know, who I respect far too much to want to say ANYTHING...she just told me I look great. And meant it. The look in THOSE eyes was a thing to behold. Eyes that turn my spine to jello.

I've needed this. I was spiraling back down into self-defeat. Not in other ways. Shit, I've been a pretty fuckin' happy guy lately. Lots of things going well, if slowly. Better slowly than not at all. I've had few true complaints in recent weeks. But I haven't felt the confidence I needed in this department. Right now, I do.

Let's just hope it last long enough to be of use.

Love,
Dougie

Meet the New Doug, Same As The Old Doug

01.22.06 (10:35 pm) [edit]

Taken in Huntington, Indiana last night. Like the beard?

I Must Be Old

01.21.06 (10:20 am) [edit]
Written last night:

I was going to go out tonight and pass out promo shit for the band and the duo project. After my shower, I started wanting to stay in with nachos and beer.

I got an email a couple nights ago from our singer's wife with directions to the club we've got booked in down near me in Greenwood in July and October. I checked it out last night. Lots o' pool tables. Good prices on food. Amber Bock on tap. Tiny stage. Might be an interesting gig. I'm glad they're willing to come down here and let me be the one with an easy drive sometimes. Most gigs will be up there, and that's fine, but this is one more reason why I'm staying in Indy another year.

She had asked me about a place called Clancy's, which is only a mile from here. I've been wanting to go there for a while to check it out. So i took a promo pack down tonight and stayed about half an hour.

I have no idea if we'll get the gig or not. The band tonight was significantly heavier than what we do. Pretty good. Tight, very capable, rocking,...kinda boring. I blame the set list.

I must be old. I really don't "get" newer commercial metal. I can't tell any of this shit apart. It's like the 80s hair metal, except it's more pissed off and the clothes aren't as stupid. Who are these people? I turn on the local alterno-metal stations and my brain collapses within nanoseconds wanting a Dylan tune, some ELP, a Bach cello suite, an old Black Sabbath song. I GET that. I LOVE the old Sabbath, Purple, Zeppelin thing. I'm quite fine with the 80s Metallica/Megadeth/Anthra x kind of thing. I loved some of the Seattle shit at the time, still love most of it. (Soundgarden's Superunknown and Alice In Chains' Dirt still being played by me fairly often.) I liked Nine Inch Nails a hell of a lot. That's GREAT music to jerk off and hate people to, and Reznor's production ideas are fucking killer. Listening to Pretty Hate Machine right now, in fact.

(Side note: Sanctified. Oooh, dirty. I like it...)

I don't know who these newer guys are, and I barely CARE. I don't connect with it. I feel nothing from it. I never really listened to people for technical proficiency. That's great if you've got it, and much of what I listen to does. But I like PERSONALITY. I loved the old prog bands because nobody really sounded like that. You could pick out the influences, but nothing quite matches up with prime King Crimson, ya know? Or Sabbath, or Yes, or Steely Dan, or Pink Floyd, or Captain Beyond, or...Bach, Miles, Monk, Coltrane, Varese, Stravinsky, Dylan, Johnny Rotten. I see no fundamental crisis in loving both Ornette Coleman and the Sex Pistols. There's something I can latch onto there. Some CHARACTER in there that isn't to be found elsewhere. The notes don't matter nearly as much as what's BEHIND the fuckin' notes.

So fuck new metal. Unless it's REALLY ridiculous. I'd rather put on a Meshuggah CD. THAT'S new metal to me. Hey, if you're gonna be heavy and pissed off and scare your grandma, do it RIGHT, motherfucker. Do something that NOBODY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would listen to. THAT'S rock and roll. This other shit can take a long walk off the edge of my DICK.

I never want to turn into a "when I was you age, we had REAL music" asshole, because I HATE that shit. And fuck knows I barely try with new stuff these days, and there's probably shitloads of great music I havne't heard yet. Can't get yer information from radio, boys and girls. It just doesn't work. So if there's some really good, interesting, unusual new metal out there I'm missing out on, somebody tell me. I'm all ears. Well, a dick and ears. Let's be honest.

So I thought of all that while watching a perfectly capable band for half an hour. I also watched the women. A lot of them. And you know what? White women can't dance worth two fucks in a shitbasket. I think this is the only good reason to go to a bar. It's a sociology experiment. I'm so amused watching these people dance the same exact way to a third-rate Megadeth tune that their grandparents danced to Pat Boone, that I can't think much about the booze or getting laid. I can drink at home. I often DO. Women in bars never fuck me, probably because I can't dress myself properly, and I'm so busy being amused by how stupidly they dance that they just KNOW I'm unfuckable. Sometimes I'm nearly overtaken by the sudden urge to run out into the dance floor and do some psychotic John Belushi stunt. Probably pull a tendon or two in the process, but come on you fucking lame-ass white people, it's called DANCING, not "stand in the same spot and shake your ass a little bit and move your arms just enough to let us know your arms actually work while you stare off in the distance like you're looking at a statue of Jesus." What the fuck IS that? Someday I'm gonna break down and do some crazy shit like that, just to fuck with people. Sometimes the guys get behind the girls and grind into their butt. That's nice. But I wanna see one of these 275 pound girls (there were a LOT of those tonight) grab a guy from behind and slam his ass like she's fucking him with a 14-inch strapon. THAT would be funny.

I might as well just sit there. I also was seeing the guys. If THIS crew of retards can get laid, so should I. OK, they're probably mostly very cool guys. Most of them were about my age, maybe a bit younger, many older. And they were the guy equivalent of the music on stage. Couldn't tell them apart. Except for the one really huge fat guy with is hat on backwards. Ahhh, something different. Me, i'm some kind of anachronism. I think everyone on the planet cut their hair about the time I grew mine. But SOMEHWERE, there's a chick who looks around, lays her eyes on me, and says "THAT asshole doesn't look like all the others. Sure, he's kinda repulsive, but he's a little different. I'll go see if he wants to stand in one place and shake his ass with me for a while."

I had no drive for it. I can have a boner while packing pneumatic parts, teaching guitar, or sitting here in my underwear on the computer. At a bar - where you are SUPPOSED to be trying to get laid - I sit there and watch white people dance badly, drink overpriced beer, and leave half an hour later because I'm bored.

What the fuck is THAT? I had EVERY intention of bringing some drunken poon home, and I wasn't going to be all that particular about it. I wanna fuck, not have a goddamn beauty contest. You got tits and a hole? Come here. But I locked down when I actually got in there. My desire to fuck - raging like a goddamn flash fire any other time of the day - went off into a corner to hide and laugh about the bad dancing.

I can't figure my brain out.

So I must be getting old. but one thing hasn't changed over the years, the thing that has suddenly come back to the forefront of my brain - I still wanna assfuck teenage girls. Hey, at least there's ONE constant in my life, eh?

Love,
Dougie

Thank God For Iggy Pop

01.21.06 (9:54 am) [edit]
Listening to Naughty Little Doggie. Man, it's been ten years since this came out?

"Pussy Walk"

The other day I was walking down 14th Street
It was a beautiful summer day
The sun was shining
And I found myself surrounded by latin american and dark women

And as I looked at their ankles, Their knees and their thighs,
And the curve of their bodies, Their mysterious eyes
I couldn't help but thinkinng about their pussies
And I asked myself

Can your pussy walk
Can your pussy talk
Can your pussy smile
Can your pussy frown
Can your pussy prance
Can your pussy dance
Can your pussy walk
Can your pussy talk
Pussy, pussy walk

Now you know from time to time
My musical group and I have occasion to visit The high schools, jr. high schools and Other centers ol learning in this wonderful land of The united States of America
And when I do, frorn time to time
I run into the young girls that attend these places
And I see them smiling at me with their young girl clothes
And while i smile back, I never say anything
But inside I'm thinkin

Can your pussy walk
Can your pussy talk
Can your pussy smile
Can your pussy frown
Can your pussy love
Can your pussy shove
Can your pussy dance
Can your pussy prance
Pussy, pussy walk

And then of course Now all you men can relate to this
How sometimes you're suposed to go out of the house
And get something done
Like you're suposed to go to the store
And just go get a bottle of milk
Or just go to your job
And do it good and come back home
But on the way, my God
There's a girl, and there's another girl, and there's another girl
And pretty soon you're surrounded
And your eyes are going one way
And your head is going another way
And your nose is going up
And your nose is going down
And you're thinking about that pussy
And it's become a real distraction
And you've gotta ask yourself

Can your pussy walk
Can your pussy talk
Can your pussy smile
Can your pussy frown
Can your pussy dance
Can your pussy prance
Can your pussy love
Can your pussy shove
All right
Pussy...Pussy walk
Now walk it now

Song List

01.20.06 (12:51 am) [edit]
I'll be handing out CDs tomorrow night for the project with Dennis and I. He's leaving in six weeks, so this will be short-lived, but I'm probablty going to keep about half of this stuff for my own thing, which means revising the list I posted here some time back. I'm pretty happy with this. You'll notice that there's nothng newer than 1972 on here. I LOVE that particular purism, though my own gig will be much more far-reaching than that. On this list, i'm currently singing 2, 13, 19, and everything from 38 on.

1. The Animals - "House Of The Rising Sun"
2. The Beatles - "Here Comes The Sun"
3. The Beatles - "Rain"
4. The Beatles - "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away"
5. Bee Gees - "New York Mining Diaster 1941"
6. Buffalo Springfield - "For What"s It Worth"
7. Patsy Cline - " I Fall To Pieces"
8. Eddie Cochran - "Summertime Blues"
9. Elvis Costello - (What's So Funny Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding"
10. The Dellwoods - "(She Got A) Nose Job"
11. Bo Diddley Medley
12. The Doors - "People Are Strange"
13. Bob Dylan - "Just Like A Woman"
14. Bob Dylan - "Lay Lady Lay"
15. The Everly Brothers - "Love Hurts"
16. Tennessee Ernie Ford - "Sixteen Tons"
17. Bobby Freeman - "Do You Wanna Dance"
18. Jimi Hendrix Experience - "Hey Joe"
19. The Hollies - "King Midas In Reverse"
20. Buddy Holly - "Well All Right"
21. Little Walter Horton - "My Babe"
22. Elmore James - "It Hurts Me, Too"
23. Ben E. King - "Stand By Me"
24. The Kingsmen - "Louie, Louie"
25. The Kinks - "Tired Of Waiting For You"
26. Roger Miller - "King Of The Road"
27. Roy Orbison - "Only The Lonely" (Probably going to be scrapped because it's damn near impossible to sing for both of us, though I'm considering doing "In Dreams" just because I've got this Dennis Hopper complex that needs worked out.)
28. Elvis Presley - "Mystery Train"
29. Lou Reed - "Candy Says"
30. Rolling Stones - "The Spider And The Fly'
31. Jack Scott - "The Way I Walk"
32. Cat Stevens - "Wild World"
33. The Troggs - "Love Is All Around"
34. Hank Williams - "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"
35. J. Frank Wilson & The Cavaliers - "Last Kiss"
36. Neil Young - "The Needle And The Damage Done"
37. The Zombies - "Time Of The Season"
38. Lou Reed - "Rock And Roll"
39. The Who - "Substitute"
40. 13th Floor Elevators - "You're Gonna Miss Me"
41. David Bowie - "Ziggy Stardust"
42. Badfinger - "No Matter What"
43. Neil Diamond - "Cherry Cherry"
44. Otis Redding - "Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay"
45. Neil Young - "The Loner"

Rock And Roll

01.19.06 (11:38 pm) [edit]
Lou Reed at his best...

Jenny said, when she was just five years old
There was nothin' happening at all
Every time she puts on the radio
There was nothin' goin' down at all, not at all
Then, one fine mornin', she puts on a New York station
You know, she couldn't believe what she heard at all
She started shakin' to that fine, fine music
You know, her life was saved by rock'n'roll

Despite all the imputations
You know, you could just go out
And dance to the rock'n'roll station
And it was all right, hey baby,
You know, it was all right

Jenny said, when she was just about five years old
You know, my parents are gonna be the death of us all
Two TV sets and two Cadillac cars
Well, you know, ain't gonna help me at all`
Then, one fine morning, she turns on a New York station
She doesn't believe what she hears at all
Ooh, she started dancin' to that fine, fine music
You know, her life was saved by rock'n'roll
Yeah, rock'n'roll

Despite all the computations
You could just dance to that rock'n'roll station
And baby, it was all right, yeah
Hey, it was all right
Hey, here she comes now

Dirty Old Pervs Like Us

01.18.06 (11:39 pm) [edit]
Looking through my stats here on this blog, I found that somebody recently hit my blog after doing a Yahoo searach for "grandpa porn old men." I am HONORED AND PRIVILEGED to turn up in the search results for some psychotic spankmonkey looking for grandpa porn. It's DISTURBING AS FUCK, but it's also really goddamn funny. On with your lives, Dougie

FuckityFuckFuckPoo

01.18.06 (11:06 pm) [edit]
I ran my ass off for over 12 hours today, working harder for three days now at the warehouse thna I haveyet, teaching guitar, driving like fuck to get to the store to teach, I've had headaches, I've been irritable, and I've had all sort of shit go wrong.

And I STILL have a boner. Soemthing's going on with me, man...

The vitamins, water, juice, and veggies must be working. The lack of meat and alcohol (OK, I'm drinking some Anber Bock now, first time since Saturday) probably helps too. I feel strong. Well, my feet hurt like fuck, but mostly I'm OK.

Six months ago I'd not be writing this. I'd be in bed curled up in a fetal position, full of self-pity, rage, fear and loathing. Drinking gallons of bourbon, and wishing cock cancer on every single motherfucker who'd ever wronged me. Even the ones without cocks.

Tonight I'm listening to an old Genesis bootleg, happily thinking about the little money I made teaching guitar, and nursing an OUTRAGEOUS hardon from the sudden onslaught of fuck-chemicals aimed squarely in the northwesterly direction of one particular female who I'm not going to mention. Tee fuckin' hee.

Work's been a bitch. We've had a problem for a while now of not getting the shit to us until the last minutes, which means fucking around for a while then suddenly working like hell in order to be done about 10 minutes before the truck comes to take it away. This week, the opposite problem. He got EVERYTHING to us and dumped it all on our heads at once. HUGE fucking orders, two to three times bigger than normal, ALL AT ONCE. No goddamn room for anything. Shit everywhere. It's a better problem to have, but it still is fucking nuts. We gave two skids of shit to one of the girls who usually works the smaller orders. Two or three hours work. She's probably still there doing it because she's slow as shit, but fuck it. At least WE didn't have to do it. i spent NINE AND A HALF FUCKING HOURS on the same goddamn order over the past two days, partially because it was huge, partially because some of it was mixed in with an other order by the idiots I work with, partially because I'm an idiot and didn't scan a part before putting it in the box, which meant spending half an hour cutting boxes back open looking for it before the supervisor came by and essentially said, "Fuck it. Ship it anyway and I'll take the heat if the part isn't there." Nice of him. He's borderline. Nice some days, asshole on others, but I usually get on with him OK, and I think I did right today by telling him the truth - "I fucked up and I'm an idiot, and now I'm diggging through boxes looking for this shit." I think he appreciated the honesty, so he gave me permission to do what I was about three mnutes from doing anyway. Send the goddamn thing out anyway.

Then I ran around doing the NEXT big-ass order. Yesterday the conveyor belt was backed up and I had to shuffle shit around. I was running around hard, doing things fast and efficiently, partly because I felt CAPABLE of it, partly because I wanted to impress the black girls whose asses I've been going NUTS over lately (there's two or three in there that make me want some brown sugar in a BAD fuckin' way) and partly becuase...oh fuck...I CARED.

I got done and walked up to Bob and Al. "I better slow down before you people think I actually give a shit about any of this." They liked that.

By five I had a headache and was making more mistakes, more tired. Today wes like that all day. Nothing big, just TONS of little things to make me batshit. I got through pretty fucking well for me, though I did say "fuck" about 796 times.

It's all part of my new holistic approach, which I've aimed at for years now, but never felt capable of until recnetly. It's loose, I certainly allow myself some indulgences, but I'm eating a LOT better, taking MUCH better care of myself. FINALLY. I've wanted this for years, but never felt I really could. I was fucked up over it, and felt like dogfuck all the time.

I went to a shrink last week to tell him all this. How I was diagnosed with ADD at 30, bipolar at 34. Spent two days in a goddamn mental ward. Barely slept for weeks at a time, constantly wanting to rip the head off some random asshole and shit down his neck, always tried as hell, feeling like my mind was going, destroying the only really good relationship with a woman I've ever had because of my goddamn mental illness.

But now i'm doing it all better, and I told him I ran out of lithium almost two months ago and hadn't bothered to get anymore, but I wanted his permission to continue that way, because I didn't want to make that decision on my own. (Though I essentially had already.)

He agreed. He was sort of a stick-up-ass guy, I didn't really LIKE him much, but he agreed that the approach I'm taking is better and if the lithium isn't necessary, I don't need to worry about it. It helped. I had nothing AGAINST it (unlike the other wretched fucking medications I was on before) but I'd rather take care of the actual PROBLEM than simpy massage the symptoms. Fuck that. There's the modern medical industry for you. Mask the pain but don't cure the actual problem. Fucking shitheads. My problem is that I'm in terrible physical health, I laid four thousand times more responibility on myself than my limited range of ability can handle, and I need FOCUS. I can NOT focus living the comfortable yet dichotomisitc life I was in for five years. I goddamn PROVED that shit. I'm better off stripping back the things I need to worry about to as few as possible, and taking my fucking vitamins, not drinking, and eating better. It WORKS. I don't need the drugs, I don't need to go see some annoying bitch who thinks that she has all the fucking answers for a hundred bucks an hour while I sit in a chair and whine about my life. Fuck that. I get more out of eating carrots and playing bass than I EVER got from modern medicine. I'm HAPPY for the first time in goddamn YEARS, because I'm finally MYSELF again. There's still issues to work through, but fuck it, so is it with everyone.

Genesis in 1973. God, I want to dig these dead motherfuckers up out of their shitty little watered-down dungeons and BEAT THEIR ASSES for not being this cool anymore. I've got a bootleg in called "In The Beginning", several CDS of sessions, from the Selling England By The Pound and The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway era. Right now, I'm hearing several tracks in a row of rehearsals for The Battle Of Epping Forest. NOBODY did shit quite like this. It's so full of personality and character, so full of ideas, of killer ensemble work, of goddamn MUSIC. It's ridiculously over-the-top, and I LOVE IT. You could make one big goddamn dogpile out of everything they've done for 25 years. There's more ideas, more FUN going on in this 12-minute work than on any three of their last four albums. Phil Collins PLAYS on this shit, for fuck's sake. How often does THAT happen anymore from that balding limey-ass fuck?

I'm into it tonight. Typing fast, cranking up tunes, ripping a hole in my briefs wanting to fuck something. Anything. Hey look, cheese!

OK, I'm not that sick. Close, but not quite.

Dennis and I recorded a version of Roger Miller's King Of The Road last night. Lots o' fun. I feel my timing rush a bit these days, but I have a better sense of groove than I sued to, and a couple hours a night with a metronome would be good fun if I could make myself do it. I'd like to, really. Fuck off this goddamn shitty job and spend 12 hours a day trunning Phyrigian modes in 17/8. But it ain't gonna happen, so what the fuck. Maybe I'll just go jerk off. Gotta have priorities, baby.

Interested in some of that Staffordshire plate,
Dougie

A Joke

01.18.06 (12:08 am) [edit]
Stolen from fark.com

A boy in the sixth grade comes home after school one day. His mother notices that he's got a big smile on his face. She asks, "Did anything special happen at school today?"

"Yes, Mom. I had sex with my English teacher!"

The mother is stunned. "You're going to talk about this with your father when he gets home."

Well, when dad comes home and hears the news he is pleased as punch. Beaming with pride, he walks over to his son and says, "Son, I hear you had sex with your English teacher."

"That's right, Dad."

"Well, you became a man today - this is cause for celebration. Let's head out for some ice cream, and then I'll buy that new bike you've been asking for."

"That sounds great, Dad, but I can I have a football instead? My ass is killing me."

Reason 679 Why I Should Have Stayed In The Fuckin' Desert

01.17.06 (10:08 pm) [edit]
Just went out for a minute. It's a goddamn winter fuckin' wonderland out there.

Now I don't mind snow. not my favorite thing, but it really does not bother me. What I hate are the MORON ASSMUNCH DICKBAGS I have to share the goddamn road with.

This is Indiana. It's not HAITI. WE HAVE SNOW HERE. Sometimes OFTEN. EVERY YEAR. But every time one goddamn snowflake falls, everyone is riding their brakes in fear of the motherfucking apocalypse. I hear Lewis Black in my head. "It's an inch of snow! It's the worst inch of snow ever! Flee! Flee!"

"I wanna live alone in the desert
I wanna be like Georgia O'Keefe..."

Yeah, Warren. I know what you fuckin' mean...

Dougie

Gonna Get Me A Playstation 2

01.17.06 (9:47 pm) [edit]
Just been reading over at http://www.landoverbaptist.or... for the first time in months. Funny fuckin' shit. Fans of wackjob-religion bashing will thrill to find out that if you accept Jesus as your personal savior, Landover Baptist will send you a Playstation 2! And thank Our Lord God that they exposed Chicken Little for the horrific homosexual Hollywood propoganda that it is.

Funny fuckin' shit, boys and girls.

Been reading up on who the fuck is running my districts here in Indiana. I intend to give some time to politics this year and I'm not sure yet who to go for (or after) just yet. Our state representatives in this area are both Republicans. Our US congresswoman is Democrat Julia Carson, who I've been reading up on. Interesting lady. Our US Senators are Democrat Evan Bayh (the Bayh family long known in Indiana politics) and Republican Dick Lugar, one of the few Republicans I still respect. I met him when I was in high school, at a political syposium for students held at the University Of Indianapolis (I live pretty close to there now) and I was one of the two students from my high school who got to go. He's far more principled and inteliigent than most of the neo-con swine running our country.

I'll poke around on local people as well and see where I want to devote what little time I'll have for this adventure. I did a bit of this work back in college (when I was still a Republican) and put in a couple hours of phone-calling back in Ohio in the 2004 election. I have no idea what I'll do this time or for whom, but I'm not sitting on my ass. I hate what this country has become, I hate the religion-drenched "values" so many of us cling to out of fear and ignorance, and I don't want my daughter growing up to have her life unduly influenced by these swine.

I was a walking erection today. FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. All I wanted, all I needed. You know how horny you have to be to be able to keep thinking about fucking even while spending nine hours packing pneumatic parts into cardboard boxes?

Went to lunch with Dave, the jazz guitar nut. I owed him lunch, since he's bought mine a couple times. We were walking out and I told him. "You know how far down the food chain you are to be online at 1:15AM researching state-by-state age-of-consent laws? I'm going to Hell, dude."

He laughed. "Hey, some of these young girls are more into sex than we are."

"Uh, I doubt that."

"OK, maybe not YOU. I hadn't thought about that..."

Good laugh there.

Later, I had to take a big hCinese-lunch dump. Now, I'm very evil sometimes in what my colon discharges. I know this. Hell, I'm even sorta proud. When you can make entire hotel floors clear within 4 seconds through the power of you ass, that's an ACHIEVEMENT. All hail poop!

But man oh man, what I sat through. My own deposit was nothing special. Took too long to finish, the greenish hue was slightly disturbing, but I wasn't bleeding or finding little Cthulhu-shaped corn in my stool. Believe me, I look. You can't be to cautious these days with the garbage in our food supply.

Two stalls down I heard a guy at work. I knew his voice. He wasn't talking. He was grunting and straining like he was giving birth to a 96-pound bowling ball.

The noises erupting from his bowels sent waves of dark, eldritch fear through my senses. The hideous, hellish, Lovecraftian sounds! Could it be that Yog-Sothoth himself had found a gateway to our dimension through this poor cheese-eater's anus? Dude! What the FUCK have you been eating? Pure lard marinated in habanero sauce? The MSG in my Chinese lunch didn't stand a chance against the terrible porcelain-melting horror in that stall.

Ye gods! The stentch! Randolph Carter standing before the open grave the night his friend Harley Warren was dragged into the abyss could not have smelled evil like this! My eyes! My eyes!

I would have lit a match, but the chemistry floating in that air could have caused a firey eruption that would make the FBI think Al-Queda had hit eastern Indianapolis.

Never in my life have I smelled something that could CHANGE THE MOLECULAR STRUCTURE OF DRYWALL until today. The very structure of the surrounding walls in that bathroom were in dire apocalyptic peril. I had to make my escape. I wiped my ass, washed my hands, and escaped for air and a gallon of water at the fountain. I think I saw a couple hundred more white hairs as I glanced at the mirror on my way out. I'm telling you, fine readers, The Colour Out Of Space is BROWN. Ol' Howie Phillips Lovecraft himself would have created a fine maddening novel from my experience in the Hell-Stall today if he'd only lived to tell that tale.

I REALLY want bourbon right now. Must resist. Must think about something more desireable....no...not...shit, I'm back to square one where I started this morning. Oh, my sweet perversion...Gotta go grab a Donnas CD and jerk off all over myself. Have a good night, you fuckers.

Love,
Dougie

A Pic

01.16.06 (11:06 pm) [edit]

Taken just outside Adelphia, Ohio on Bowsher Lane. The property in the background was owned by my gggg-grandfather's brother when they moved there in 1803. Two days after I took this, I left my home in Cincinnati.

Good Wolves (Slight Return)

01.16.06 (10:35 pm) [edit]
Looks like tblog is going through some changes, which I think I actually like. Now that I remember to do html (which I havne't had to do before on this blog, and in fact, I've forgotten at leas thalf of the html I used to know), it might even have PARAGRAPHS. I think I'll leave the old run-on posts for the fuck of it. My mind doens't work in paragraphs, why should you fuckers get to read it all broken up?

OK, here's that post from yesterday again:

A GREAT day with Katie today, following a very good day with the band. And a good week for that matter.

I was reminded on my first two days of teaching guitar out of a store in five years (Wednesday and Thursday) of the day I walked out of the theater with Sheryl after watching Jack Black in School Of Rock. I turned to her and said, "I am the lamest fucking guitar teacher on the planet." The kids I'm teching now have SEEN that movie. I have some catching up to do.

I got my oil changed Saturday and drove the short distance to my new insurance agent, who I found Tuesday. A VERY cool husband and wife team. The wife is my "real" agent, but her husband is the coolest hippie insurance guy around. He turns 57 on Tuesday. We exchanged some interesting road stories and philosophies (how often does an insurance salesman tell you that "life is like a stream, catch a leaf and float on?"? and he turned me onto a few potentially interesting (and well-paying gigs) for the band. I have two promo packs to pass out this week.

The gig was fun. Not a killer, but the best in a while. The time flew by. My hands are feeling it, but I got through and there was little to complain about, except for my throat being a bit ragged, possibly the reason Mark didn't call on me to do a song by myself. I have Just Like A Woman down to a T now, along with Lay Lady Lay and Here Comes The Sun. I can pull two dozen more out of my ass if I have to, but those three were down and ready to go. Oh well, maybe next time.

I did enjoy singing the harmony on Jumping Jack Flash. I don't know why I get off on that song so much, but my weenus gets erect every time we do it, and I love the way my voice mixes with Mark's on that. Usually the guitarist is singing backup too, but not on this one. It's a nice feeling.

Got home at 2:30AM, still wired, and was out the door at 8AM for Cincy. I somehow got through the day fine, but I'll need to pace myself for a while. I've got a LOT of shit going on for the next couple months at least. It's a good thing, but it's tiring just to think about. Beats the fuck out of doing nothing, though. Been there.

Katie looked beautiful today. In my favorite dress of hers, with newly cut hair (just a basic trim, bot it really looked great) and even some lipstick. A four-year old. I told her that she does NOT need makeup to be the most beautiful little girl I know, but it is very cool that she's experimenting with it anyway. Let her have her fun. She's so cool.

On the way to the children's museum in Dayton, she told me about the wolves in the trees on the side of the road we were driving on. "They are killers. They kill people."

Uh...WHAT???

"But look! They decided to be nice! They're friendly wolves now! They want to be our friends! They'll never kill anyone again."

I was both weirded out and touched at once.

She spent the rest of the drive to Dayton petting invisible wolves (two of them strapped into her carseat on either side of her) and telling me how fast they were growing up to be big mommy and daddy wolves to have little baby wolves of their own. What a cool (if slightly warped, and I'm all for that) child I have.

We were at the museum for over three hours and she spent a third of that time playing with a little girl named Taylor, whose grandpa had her for the day. They even held hands as the went from place to place, sometimes Katie would have her hand on Taylor's back as she led her along. It was like they were best friends, and they only knew each other for that hour. Katie can be very shy, but she gets over it VERY quickly with the right person. It broke my heart to have to tell her it was time to go and say goodbye (in all likelihood forever) to her new friend, and she spent a moment staring at the wall looking SO fucking sad, but it's my job to be daddy/time-cop, and it was time to leave. She got over it quickly, and we had a great rest of the day.

We ate at her favorite Chinese place (she loves General Tso's chicken, and I've developed one hell of a taste for sushi rolls and mussels. Best damn egg drop soup I've had in eons) then we hung out at Half Price Books. (I got her a Strawberry Shortaake book and myself an unauthorized biography of Hunter Thompson i've been craving for months, which should derail me from reading Bradbury's Martian Chronicles, which I just started yesterday.) Then back home.

I felt more pain leaving her than I have in a while, not helped by our extra week apart between this and the last time, but we'll be back on track again and next week should be fun, probably staying in the Cincy area and visiting our friend Bill. The week after that, I'll take her for the whole weekend and she can see the band play at the Eagles again.

We played an American Legion last night, and kids can get in there until 10:00, but even though it's a huge room, the smoke is thick and the ventiliation bad (this coming from a guy who's been into Winchesters for a year or two) so I'm not taking her there. I'm all for lung cancer. If you choose to get it ON YOUR OWN.

Left Cincy on I-74 to an XTC compilation. If you should doubt the utter fucking genius of Andy Goddamn Partridge, read THIS motherfucker from their Nonesuch album, and consider that he wed these lyrics to a bouncy, confidence-filled, almost STRUTTING pop number, which lends a sense of hopefulness to the overall proceedings that is not found in the words themselves:

The disappointed
All shuffle round in circles
Their placards look the same
With a picture and a name
Of the ones who broke their hearts

The disappointed
All congregate at my house
Their voices sob with grief
That they want me to be chief
Of the tribe of broken hearts

Once, I had no sympathy
For those destroyed and thrown away by love
Seems, your ring upon my finger
Signifies that I've become the spokesman of...

The disappointed
Will bear me on their shoulders
To a secret shadow land
Where a sombre marching band
Plays a tune for broken hearts

And day grows darker now
Everywhere, everywhere

The disappointed
Are coming in their millions
They're spilling from the bus
As a monument to us
Made of bits of broken hearts

The disappointed
Are growing every second
They blot the sun to black
At the bottom of the pack
I'm the king of broken hearts

I want to FUCK that song. Sweet, tender fucking.

Then, just as I went past the new rest area east of Batesville, I swtiched from XTC to The Donnas. Talk about fuckin'. My innermost dirtiest dreams are of being gang-fucked by these four little vixens. Brett, Torry, Alison, and Maya...my weiner is hard...

Alison is a fucking goddess whose pussy I'd glady worship at the altar of at the drop of a hat. But Brett...mmmm...what a voice. Just the way she says "honey, please" in Take Me To The Backseat (my fave toon of theirs) is enough to make me abandon all pretense towards logic and reason and plunge myself into that wonderous...wet...oh FUUUUUUUUCK.

It's one of the grest it'll-never-happen fantasies of our times, but hey. Some women still believe in fairy tales, so let a guy have his bullshit fantasies he knows full well will never happen. There's certainly more Dirty Sluts than Prince Charmings out there. A fact no woman likes to hear, but a fact nonetheless.

I admire The Donnas for their raw rockin' energy, with balls most guys will never have. I admire the way they turn sexist rock cliches on their head with a killer sense of smarts and humour. I admire their utter luscious HOTNESS. But above all, it's just nice to hear women be HONEST about their sexual priorities in a way that 98% of the women *I'VE* met are incapable of. With the kind of riffs that AC/DC would give a nut for.

Listening now to Cream at the Royal Albert Hall. The new double live CD. Hmmm...I WANT to love this. I can't. I like it. Don't love it. It has its moments. But damn...all the proof I've ever needed that rock reunions are unnecessary is summed up right here. It's good. It's not needed. The best that can be said about it is that at least it makes Clapton actually PLAY something for maybe the third or fourth time in twenty years. Tasty shit from EC in lots of places.

But I never listened to Cream for Clapton, except inasmuch as I wanted to hear that slow-handed motherfucker BURIED by Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker. Doesn't happen here. They do well, but it's not the Cream of old. It's just old. Jack nearly died a few years back, Ginger LOOKS dead. There's more spark than SOME old fuckers could muster, but these guys used to rip the goddamn sky apart. They used to SURPRISE me, even with the same out-of-nowhere lick I'd heard a thousand times playing the goddamn thing over and over again pointing to the speakers and screaming "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCC CCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!" like a drooling idiot.

Jack Bruce is God, don't let the graffiti fool you. FUCK Eric Clapton. My personal lord and savior plays a Gibson EB-3 through the nastiest, fartiest tone the '60s could POSSIBLY have produced, a James Jamerson/Charles Mingus-emulating white boy jazzhead from Glasgow with an ego the size of Scotland and the killer back-catalog to back the shit up. He even confused Zappa, for fuck's sake. How cool is THAT?

He played a lot of notes. Way the fuck too many notes. And did it with a sense of personal groove-osity and twisted appropriateness that I've spent twenty years now trying to cop the tiniest shred of. The Jack Bruce I love is on this new Cream album, but only as a ghost, a memory. The Jack I love ripped my speaker cones to hell and back some seven minutes into a live version of I'm So Glad that changed my life forever and taught me that BALLS means far more in this bullshit world of rock and roll than "good taste" EVER will. The guy still plugging along in 2006 still beats the hell out of that lameass shitstain J.J. Cale wannabe on the six-string, but he ain't the same. Which is sad. But there's just enough of the old Jack Bruce breathing roughly through the toned-down strains of the new album to keep me interested. And I suppose that's better than nothing.

I'm tired and need a shower. Be well, motherfuckers.

Dougie

test 2

01.16.06 (10:19 pm) [edit]
test

testes

testicular

goddamn paragraph, asshole!

does this shit work?

fuck me

love,
dougie

test

01.16.06 (10:17 pm) [edit]
test testes testicular fuckin' test paragraph cocksucker motherfucker love, dougie

Stolen From Sheryl's Blog;

01.15.06 (10:09 pm) [edit]

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Eraserhead667!

Eraserhead667 was first grown in America by the grandmother Maria Ann Smith, from whom his name comes.
Some people in Malaysia bathe their babies in beer to protect them from eraserhead667!
In Vermont, the ratio of cows to eraserhead667 is 10:1.
Scientists have discovered that eraserhead667 can smell the presence of autism in children.
Neil Armstrong first stepped on eraserhead667 with his left foot!
It takes more than 500 peanuts to make eraserhead667.
The moon is 400 times closer to the Earth than eraserhead667, and 400 times smaller.
If you break eraserhead667, you will get seven years of bad luck.
Eraserhead667 can give birth ten days after being born, and is born pregnant.
During severe windstorms, eraserhead667 may sway several feet to either side.

You Look So Underfed.....

01.13.06 (2:15 am) [edit]
I just had my first two nights of teaching guitar in a store in years.

It was fun. I had ages from 6 to 52. TWO guys age 52. One of them kinda looked like Martin Sheen. He's a metalhead. So's the 6 year old. His mom (who I'd fuck in a heartbeat, gawd DAMN she's hot) said he's into goth. He didn't say much. Little prick made fun of me for taking 5 mintues to tune up his shitty guitar. OK, he's kinda cool. I just like calling 6-year old boys "little prick." I think it's funny. Fuck you if you don't like my hat.

Made some money. Not as much as I wanted. Two students didn't show (which is to be expected) and most of them paid by the week instead of the month, which is annoying. On the other hand, I taught an extremely cute 30-year old "attorney at law" (according to her voice mail) who digs Sonic Youth, has a nice rack, and is a bit overweight in a way I really, really like. Short black hair, somewhat pale, kinda "fucked-up alterno-chick" vibe. I managed to hold it together, but I'd really like to bury my face between her legs for an hour or two. I think she's cute and fun and I hope to show her alternate tunings she never dreamed of. Huhuhuhuh. My favorite Sonic Youth album is "Goo". Goo. Huhuhuhuh. That's cool. Huhuhuh.

Since the guy who runs the store gave the rest of his waiting list to another teacher (assbag motherfucker) I guess I'm stuck at the warehouse a little longer. Which is good since it's really MORE money, instead of scrambling for more money, so I can't really complain. I'd like out of the warehouse, though. It's getting old, I'm sick of hearing the people I work with bitch about their worthless jobs (it sucks, but I KNOW that, I don't need
to hear about it) and I'm tired of running the other way when Jenny comes by. I HAVE to. I'm terrified of the lawsuits that will happen if I actually open my mouth near her. She thinks I'm full of shit. I KNOW that. She thinks I'm an asshole. I KNOW this. So I try to avoid her. It's better, really. I kinda think I realty went over the edge, and she really isn't worth all that, but she IS really amazing. Just to LOOK at her for four seconds at a time. I lose my goddamn mind. So I'm better off staying the fuck away from her.

I thought I saw Melinda at Kroger tonight. It was someone else. I'm glad about that,. I don't think I can take anymore of that shit. I bought some strawberries and canned beans and got the fuck out.

Listening to Goo now. Kim Gorden (who can't sing for shit) is singing a song about Karen Carpenter. Kim is also the bass player. She looks like she's been hit in the head by a truck full of crack, but I'd fuck her on principle. She's in a REALLY cool band. That counts for something.,

I had on some Donnas the other day. I want these girls to gang-fuck me. That's my fantasy. Four hot babes who sing songs about wanting dick, lined up to do me. It'll never happen. I'll be lucky to fuck Quasimodo anytime soon. But a boy can dream, right? The Donnas also do the best goddamn straight-ahead rock and roll I've heard in years. Turning all the sexist bullshit of rock and roll on its head, they play heavy riffy rockin' shit better than most mammals-with-penis can dream of. I love' em. Alison in particular. Holy SHIT. I'd suck on that bush for DAYS.

The thing with Dennis is on its last legs. He found out today that his lease is up sooner than he thought. Six weeks, and he'll be back in Massachusettes. I'm gonna miss him,. But he'll be back close to his REAL band, and that's good for him. I love working with him, I love hearing him sing to my guitar, but it's better for him to be doing what he's really good at - nasty screaming Stooges-derived punk rock. We're going to try to get a gig or two in the next six weeks, and we hope to play in Fairmount at the James Dean Festival in September, but it will be over soon. Oh well. It's all good. I've enjoyed working with him

www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/LayLady Lay.mp3

This is our version of the Bob Dylan classic. We're going to try to record more in the next few weeks, and I'll post more. Good luck out east, Dennis. He has almost two decades on me and is still reaching for similar goals. I hope he gets to taste some of it.

Listening to Tony Banks' A Curious Feeling. About as good as it gets. He never did it this good again, and it's been 26 years now. I was listening to Genesis again today, and it occured to me all over again that it's really not the fault of that asshole Collins that this band went to hell, even though he sucked too after a while. I blame Tony Banks. One of the most brilliant and distinctive rock composers or his era, cheesing out for the sake of a few hit singles. Fucker. Oh well. Doesn't matter. Go buy A Curious Feeling. His third-rate production values and crappy guitar/bass playing leave a lot to be desired, but the songs themselves are beautiful.

Also listening to a lot of Chris Rock lately. I'm into comedy about as much as music in the past few years. Rock's take on race relations, marriage, and fatherhood are priceless. Go buy his Never Scared CD/DVD. It's BRILLIANT.

I really like porn. I thought about this again tonight. (OK, I think about it every seven seconds...) Fuck the naysayers. Porn is God's gift to mankind. Anytime I can see pictures of tits, I'm a happy boy. Porn has a really bad name in this country, mostly due to the efforts of uptight Republicans and hypocritical women who don't understand that EVERY GUY ON THE FUCKING PLANET has the same porn collection you're trying to make your insignificant other feel guilty about, If your guy says he's not into porn, he's either A.) A lying sack of shit, B.) Gayer than Richard Simmons in a hot-tub, or C.) A religious nut who you don't want to be fucking in the first place. Porn is ESSENTIAL FOR THE SURVIVAL OF HUMANITY. Right now, the Pope is jerking off to Teens Who Crave Cock. I GUARANTEE it. Trust me, ladies. The fairy tale is over. Prince Charming is punching dykesonfire.com into his browser and you CAN'T SAVE HIM. Just the facts, ma'am.

Somebody Else's Dream. Tony Banks goes Zeppelin. I love this album. Too bad about six people still listen to it. When I did this with the tribute band, the guitar player addde a KILLER solo. I wish the "rhythmic challenges" would have been resolved so it would have been worth listening to. Fuck. The only album I've ever been on and it sucks monkey cock.

I'm drunk right now. Fuck it. Have a good night, you rotten swine.

Love,
Dougie

7 Comments

Not About Us

01.12.06 (12:36 am) [edit]
Copyright 1997, Banks/Rutherford/Wilson

A little piece of something
Falling gently down down down
No one understands you like I do

I’d rather be beside you
Everything we know so well
Tell me what you feel now
Show me what you think of it

It’s not about us anymore
It’s all about the reasons
That we think we’re fighting for
It’s not about hate
It’s not about pain we always feel
I know we have our problems
But we’re not the only ones
It’s not about you it’s not about me
It’s not about anger
It’s more about the loneliness we feel

How can I begin to
Ask for some forgiveness
For all that we have taken
There’s nothing left now

Just a little piece of something
Falling gently down down down
No one understands you no no
Like I do
There’s nothing left now

It’s not about us anymore
It’s all about the reasons
That we think we’re fighting for
It’s not about hate
It’s not about pain we always feel
I know we have our problems
But we’re not the only ones
It’s not about you it’s not about me
It’s not about anger
It’s more about the loneliness we feel

Genesis Sucks/Letter To Katie

01.12.06 (12:16 am) [edit]
Listening to Calling All Stations, the last Genesis album. First time in a couple years. Wow. They really aren't very good anymore, are they? I WORSHIPPED these fuckers for a long time, and they used to be worth it. It's been a long time, though. I derive some twisted enjoyment from this album, just because I'm so familiar with these guys that even their rancid cabbage farts sound sorta vaguely OK, and because I really like Ray Wilson's voice. But man, Banks and Rutherford are two tired old men. It's hard to believe this album is over 8 years old now. I gauged my life around these guys. They made me into a musician. They changed my life. And now...they really kinda suck. Eight years ago? Fucking Christ. I remember buying this album the day it came out, driving home all excited over it. And slowly losing my enthusiasm. Eight years ago? Fuck, I'm getting old...

What I wish I could say to Katie right now:

Honey, I know it's hard for us to be apart, but I really think it's going to be good for us both in the long run, and Mommy too. I think about you all the time, and I miss you terribly when I'm away for a whole week, but I never, ever stop loving you. I think I love you more now than ever. Every day I know more of why you are important to me, why I love you.

I didn't want to be so far away from you, but I feel that I have to do things for myself, and in doing those things I'll set an example for you. I don't want you to be afraid of being yourself, of taking chances, of doing things that other people close to you might not approve of. You have to follow YOURSELF. Some people try to get you to stop following yourself. They try to make you like them. Fuck those wretched shitbag assholes.

(OK, I wouldn't really say that last sentence to a four-year old. Just seeing if you're paying attention.)

When your Mommy asked me to leave, she was doing something for herself, and for you. She knew that we couldn't be happy the way we were. And I knew she was right, even though it hurt me an awful lot to have to admit that. She wasn't happy. I remember when Mommy was happier, and she was a lot of fun to be around. And you know what? I see that in her again now, since I left. I know your Mommy is a lot happier now, and that makes me happy, because I never wanted to hurt her or make her sad. But I DID. Sometimes this happens, honey. We do things we don't mean to do. And sometimes the only way to stop is to have somebody stop it for you.

It's sad that you had to be caught in the middle of this. That your life has had to change so much. But I really do think you'll be happier in the end. We didn't want you to grow up with a Mommy and Daddy who were always upset with each other. That would be worse for you. I know that might be hard to understand or believe right now, but it's true. My mommy and daddy were always upset at each other, and they've stayed together, but I grew up wishing they hadn't. I hated the tension that was always between them, and wanted to scream at them to go the fuck away and leave me and each other alone. Now that we're all older, I'm glad they are together. They are doing better now, if not as good as i'd wish. but when i grew up I knew they didn't love each other the way they should, and it made me sad. I think we'd all have been happier if we'd lived apart. but they made the decision to stay together, and now it finally seems right that they did. It didn't for years.

(Oh fuck. One of the few good songs on Calling All Stations just started. Not About Us. A rather sappy ballad, but I rather like it. I remember a time when it made me think of someone else. Now it makes me think of Sheryl. Damn. Nice song.)

I wasted a lot of years, Katie. I stayed in my room and didn't go out much. I didn't LIVE much. I was a fucking pussy. Oh, that's right. You're four. I can't say that. But this is getting really serious and I have to amuse my readers somehow, so bear with me, OK?

I took this as my chance to make up for those years. To try to reclaim what I thought i'd lost. You see, I hated myself for the five years I was with Mommy and you. I loved you guys, but I hated myself. Because I wasn't being who I thought I was supposed to be. And now that I CAN be that person, I have to do it, because that's one of the few things I think I'm worth two hairy fucking shits at teaching you. Oops. Bad words again. Just don't say them in front of Mommy or your teacher. OK, sweetheart?

I'm not good at showing you a lot of the things I wish I could, but I CAN show you how to be funny, and how to be your own person. That counts for a lot, even if I totally fucking suck at showing you your AB-fucking-Cs. Dammit. There I go with those fucking bad words again.

(The Dividing Line. Which PRETENDS to be 70s-style Genesis. Actually, a 12-year old could come up with this mongolid-level harmonically-stale unadventurous horseshit. In fact, I think I wrote it when *I* was 12. Fucking Tony Banks. You used to not suck! Damn you!)

i don't know what's going to happen here in indianapolis, honey. I might fuck the whole thing right in the ass. but it feels like it's OK. I feel like I'm getting somewhere. Slowly, but it's happening. I taught five guitar students tonight. For the first time in years. I made money. I made music. It ain't slamming pentatonic scales on Cream covers with Guinness on tap up at the bar for half price on breaks while drunken blondes show you their tits, but It beats the fuck out of working in a goddamn warehouse for 8 bucks a fucking hour, and if you are doing that when YOU are 35, I'm cutting you out of the will and leaving all my shit to someone else.

I was just kidding, honey. I don't care what you do when you're 35 as long as you are happy and not hurting anyone else. Besides, you don't want any of my shit anyway. i already willed all my Molly Hatchet 8-tracks to your Uncle Spoooooooock when he left for California, that lucky fucking bastard.

(If I actually talked this way to my daughter, I'd have Ozzy's money by now, dontcha think?)

I'm trying to do for myself, and BE myself, because I need to be, and because you need to see that. Even if I DO fuck it all up. It's better to fuck up than not to fuck at all. Or something like that. Shit, I don't know. Hey, you're 4, you're not actually reading this, and somebody else out there is having a good laugh. What the fuck, eh, honey?

You need a Daddy who is out there being his own person. Not a Daddy sitting in the basement drinking and wishing he was somewhere else. We got by for four years like that, because I was able to hide it from you. It wouldn't have lasted much longer. You would have seen through me, and known how much of a pathetic shit I was. I think you kinda knew anyway. Your mommy sure had it figured out. But she's smarter than me anyway. Be glad you're with her. I'll always do my best for you, but my best is still pretty shitty compared to Mommy's worst. She can take care of you in ways that I simply can't right now. Maybe someday I can. But not now.

I want to show you so many things, but I have to pace myself. We have limited time, and I mostly want to have fun right now. I want to play you Captain Beefheart albums. I want to show you where your great-grandmother will be buried, probably very soon. I want to drive you to places your ancestors lived. I want to take you to the desert. We can take our shoes off and run in the sand and thank fuck we're not in goddamn Indiana where it can't make up it's mind what temperature it wants to be from day to day. 17! 42! 76! 40 below! Hike!

I want to pull off the side of the road at 9:00 at night 15 miles outside of Roswell, New Mexico and look up at the stars together. You won't fucking BELIEVE what the sky looks like from there, honey. I want to laugh with you at the goofball in the t-shirt shop in downtown Roswell who has been selling pseudo-alien merchandise to hillbillies in RVs for far too long.

I want to read passages from Lovecraft and Hunter Thompson for you. That'll be a few years, though. i don't want to fuck you up that much just yet. And when you're older, we'll go get drunk at a Keneally concert and yell "Show us your tits, you hairy hunk of man!" OK, Mommy might not like that. But hey, if you're 18, she won't have to know anyway. Right? Besides, she has the hots for Beller. Shit, *I* have the hots for Beller. Who am I kidding?

You're either going to grow up to be a walking Psychology Today back issue, or the most balanced kid in the history of mankind, sweetie. Remember, your daddy is a fucking twisted asshole, but he loves you and will always do his best for you. He's not so good when other people are concerned, but he really, really wants to do things right for you.

Almost ten months ago, you sat in my chair in the basement as I was getting ready to leave home. Most of my things were packed. You sat in the chair I'm sitting in now, and you reached up with the first fingers of each hand to my face. You pulled my mouth into a smile and said, "Stay happy, Daddy." You weren't even four years old. I knew then just how perceptive and soulful you really are. You haven't changed a bit. Heck, if anything, you're even better. Katie, you kick ass. I'm proud to be your daddy. I hope I can make you proud too.

Love,
Daddy

Get Ready

01.10.06 (11:42 pm) [edit]
Rare Earth In Concert is currently making my dick into cement. Sweaty white boys at Motown, doin' up some killer rock/r&b groovin' shit. TWENTY-THREE glorious early-'70s minutes of Get Ready. What the fuck more is there to life, anyway?

I managed to have a good weekend in spite of being away from my daughter. Saturday was relaxing, and the wedding was great. The least religious wedding I've ever been to, which made it a LOT more enjoyable for me. The string trio was a great touch. A lovely chamber-esque version of I Will by The Beatles. I'm pretty cynical about marriage these days, but some people make it work great, and I hope it works for you and your lady, L.A. Thanks for inviting me. You guys look great together, and even I was pretty fuckin' mushy for a while there. Good luck. You're gonna need it, motherfucker. :)

Sunday I thought about Katie more, but I managed to keep it together. Spent a lot of time at the guitar, more than I usually can wrap my brain around. And in the mid-afternoon, I realized how warm it was. It might have hit 60 out there, and I went to a nearby park. I'd been there with Katie before, and I wanted her there with me, but I was able to do things i'd never have tried with a four-year old.

The last time, we walked some trails back in the woods, but now I kept pushing along into less-used trails that were growing over. I found myself moving at a good clip for some reaosn. Looking around and enjoying the scenery, but still moving faster than I thought I should. It almost felt like I was running from something. Alone in the woods, escaping from some predator. What the fuck was THAT about?

I followed Buck Creek around, it's at least 60 or 70 feet across. Maybe more. I wasn't sure how to get to the other side. There were bridges for the smaller creeks off it, but not the main one. Finally I started to find trees fallen across the creek. The first was impossible to get down to safely. When it fell, it had taken a lot of earth with it, and the trail was right next to the 4 or 5 foot drop off the side of the bluff.

The next was a bit safer. I grabbed a long stick (huhuhuhuh) and broke off some twigs from the end. I made my way across the creek (which, according to tests with my new walking stick, was at least four feet deep) trying to keep my balance on the fallen tree, then on a couple other smaller ones. It took less than three minutes and I was on the other side.

I hit the trail again. Wow. How long had it been? Twenty years? I'd walked through the woods with Katie this summer, had done it sometimes on my own recently. But when was the last time I got out there alone and really took some chances of semi-bad injury? I stayed inside for nearly my whole 20s. But I was an explorer when I was a kid. Went out in the woods often. Never far, but it felt like a big thing when I was a kid. Climbed trees as far up as I could. (There's probably a special interest group of "concerned parents" out there trying to ban that activity.) Stole a cigar from my uncle and went to the woods to smoke it. Probably 11 or 12 years old. Coughed a goddamn lung up on the first puff. Fucking pussy.

But it had been years. Decades.

I followed the trail on the other side, apparantly cut by an off-road vehicle. Then, after going past another tree-bridge, I found the trail disappearing. There were signs up saying "Indy Parks Property - No Weapons Allowed Of Any Kind" but it seemed to be away from the real park. Probably not intended for public travel. Fuck it. I pushed on.

A dog barks. I see two of them 150 yards ahead. I pull my stick tight. They look at me. I look at them. The black and white one barks again. I pull the back of my jacket over my head and put on my best Mike Judge impersonation.

"I am the Great Cornholio! Are you threatening me???"

They ran away.

"Come back! I need TP for my bunghole!"

And I did. I REALLY had to take a shit. and I wasn't sure how to get back across the creek. I wasn't even sure it mattered. The restrooms had been locked the last time I was there, with Katie.

I pushed forward.

The trail ran out altogether. I jumped across a muddy patch where a stream cut across a slice of low land. Up a little higher now, hearing the traffic on I-74, probably only a quarter mile away from this point. A house up ahead. Was I even on park property now? There had been a sign only a few hundred yards back. But there had been no real bridges acorss the creek. And I had to shit. And nothing to wipe with.

I dropped my rancid deposit on a pile of rotted leaves and left. Clean up later. I felt like an overgrown squirrel. Shit and run.

I went back the way I'd come. I'd passed another fallen tree. It was a bit of a drop down to it, but it looked very sturdy across the creek, which was more shallow at this point. I could see through the trees on the other side, to the cars in the parking lot.

I held my balance across, and saw three figures coming my way. Two girls and a guy. The brunette had a camcorder pointed at me. Watch the fat hairy guy fall into the fucking water.

I made it across at the same time they got to the fallen tree. The blonde (utterly fuckable in a high-school cheerleader way, though she was probably closer to 25) asked if it was hard to cross the creek there. "No, not really." And on they went.

Back on a normal, wide trail. The kind I could be on with Katie. I walked it for a while, back towards the car, taking a couple long ways around. I probably had gone four miles.

I threw the stick in the back of the car. I pulled out as a couple were walking into the woods form their SUV. About my age. Good looking guy, lovely woman. Brunette. It was warm enough for shorts. Great legs. They had their dog with them.

For a moment I felt something tear at me. The desire to be there with another person. A woman. Walking through the trees together.

But why? I'd had a good time. I was back there for well over an hour and had nothing but fun. The most relaxing bit of exercise I'd had in a long time. It was GOOD to be alone. I'd not thought about anyone but Katie the whole time, and her only at the beginning and end. During the rougher parts, it was all me. And it was all good.

I called Katie on the way home up Thompson Road. They'd had a good day too. Sometime I'll go back with her. When she's 8 or 9, maybe we'll cross the creek together on those fallen trees. Maybe someday I'll be there with someone else. I thought about Amanda. But mostly I knew that even though I'd had to spend a weekend away from my little girl, it had been good. Necessary even. I won't have a day to myself for at least a month, maybe two. Tomorrow I start my new teaching job, and I've now got gigs six Saturdays in a row. Seeing Katie on Sunday after a few hours of sleep. I'm glad to do it, but this time off was important. It felt good. Only a few hundred years ago, most of this part of the country looked like that. Trees for miles. Fallen trees to cross the water on. I'd come closer to the earth than I had in a long, long time. I'm happy to be in a warm apartment now at the computer, listening to a Rare Earth CD. I'm happy to have what I have. But sometimes it's good to get back in there with just the trees and the birds and the creeks and the air and just BREATHE.

I need it more often. It's a place where healing occurs.

Love,
Dougie

What Is This Shit Called Love?

01.09.06 (8:36 pm) [edit]
Reflecting tonight on my absolute stupidity whenever there's a hot woman nearby. I CAN behave like an intelligent human being. I CAN put words together into actual sentences. But where my dick is concerned, I'm a goddamn idiot.

Not always. Sometimes it's actually quite easy to not become a drooling mutant in front of a beautiful woman. I'm not sure where the dividing line is between the two extremes. Why I can keep it together sometimes and lose my mind others. I saw Jenny today and was completely together. I saw Amanda yesterday and almost completely lost my shit, and drove off yelling at the windshield "Holy fuck, she's beautiful!" At least I didn't break down in front of her, but it was close. One quick flash of those insanely remarkable eyes and that smile, and I was a fucking jello platter. I KNOW she knows this. But at least I didn't SAY anything. Because what I wanted to say was "I am in desparate need of eating your pussy. Can you bring napkins by when you return with my coffee?"

Yep. Jello. A cheesy 60s pop song came into my head as I sat there, a song my band used to do. A jello mold is easily worked into different shapes, you know...

Bend me, shape me anyway you want me,
Long as you love me, it's all right
Bend me, shape me anyway you want me,
You've got the power to turn on the light

Somebody kill me. Please.

I stopped at a gas station this morning. A 30-something year old woman behind the counter, long straight blonde hair. Reminded me a LOT of Susan, the ex-girlfriend I talked about here recently. Same hair, same body. Face was different, but not by a whole lot. I seem to see women that remind me of her more often lately, for some reason I probably don't want to think about.

I dropped my change on the floor, spilled an ounce or two of coffee on the counter, and nearly tripped over a chewing gum display on the way out the door. I looked right into her eyes and...oh my fucking Christ in a pastry dish. All I said was, "Good morning. Keeping busy?" Inane horseshit. But she looked back and she HAD to know I was about to start leaking fluids out of the corner of my mouth like some deranged misfit child. She smiled back. "Oh, it's not too bad." and that was the end of our fascinating discussion. And, as I said, I nearly went face-first into the floor over a fucking gum display.

As I went out the door, another woman was walking in. INCREDIBLE brunette. Straight dark hair halfway down her back. Knee-length skirt showing a killer set of legs. Very professional looking. Very, very beautiful. Something of a Teri Hatcher vibe to her.

I walked right into another guy two seconds after I saw her, because I was still looking at her instead of where I was going.

He laughed. He was looking too.

"Holy fucking shit", I said.

"Yep."

My cock was hard for two goddamn hours after that. Which makes work difficult. I was going to drill a hole into a cardboard box full of pneumatic parts and fuck THAT. but people would be looking. And besides, I'm not pulling my dick out in a room full of black guys. I'll lose that contest in a motherfuckin' heartbeat. Dammit.

Sometimes I wish it would go away. but I know what it feels like when it does. I never really lost my sex drive, but there was a period about a year ago where it was down to about as low as it has ever been. It SUCKED. I felt crippled. It was because of depression, but it made the depression worse as well. I felt like my dick was broken. As much as it sucks to have fuck-chemicals swarm into my brain like killer bees on crack and make me into a goddamn walking boner, it's worse to feel almost nothing. Because you still LOOK. You can't help but look. But the feeling is totally different. It's like being in a cage looking outside. You're looking, but you just KNOW it makes no fucking difference at all. Fuckin' hell, that was HORRIBLE. I'm glad I'm not in that position again.

I woke up this morning the usual way, thinkng about Amanda. As I was crawling my way out of sleep I heard myself saying "I love you." Oh shit. What the fuck was I dreaming? It had to have been about her, but I didn't remember it. I just knew she was there next to me. Her head on my shoulder. Waiting for me to wake up so we could devour each other again.

But she wasn't. And I was telling her that I lov...

Goddammit. I'm thinking about this shit FAR too much. It's not killing my productivity, but it's definitely putting a chokehold on some of it. CONCENTRATE, you fucker. You've got shit to do. This psychotic jones you have for pussy is going to fuck you up good. Shit, I was about ready to go PAY for it last week. What the fuck is going on with me? In the immortal words of The Pagans, what is this shit called love?

Dougie