i am reading mary robison

jesus told me to read mary robison

i went to the library

i am in heaven

i am reading mary robison

i am reading the words on the page

here are the words

i am reading them

i am in heaven

jesus told me to go to the library

to read mary robison

so i did

and here i am

i am in heaven

i did not value worldly possessions

i owned no digital television

i slit my neck by the east river

i am in heaven

i shake hands with jesus

i shake hands with a dog

i am in heaven

thank you

i am in heaven

i am in heaven

Alicia,

You will not get away with this.

You will not run around in that little tennis skirt, behaving the way you do with lipstick on your mouth.

You will be exposed as the fraud you are.

I can’t believe what I’ve done!! The constant phone calls about my debt finally got to me and, before I knew what I was doing, I was at Manchester Airport with my shiny new red and gold credit card. I booked on the first available flight, I didn’t care where it was going.

It was quite a long trip but I didn’t spend the journey thinking about what would happen when the plane landed. Instead, I watched the films, listened to music, read the in-flight magazine - I got really interested in an article on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder where people have to keep doing the same things over and over, like counting. I think the woman next to me wanted to talk but I blanked her because I didn’t know what I would say if she asked where I was going. Or why.

After the plane landed, I found the bus station and caught the first long-distance bus. I don’t know anything about the place where it’s headed. We’ve already been traveling for some time now. We’ve driven through small villages where cats looked up curiously from their perches on warm windowsills then, remembering that curiosity killed the cat, they hid their fear in sleep. Passed through cities where ravens strutted along office block rooftops and sirens screamed in the background. Up through the hills and down into the town of Altvistle where we stopped for lunch, omelettes, at the Loaf and Wheel. Then we forded the great river, Rothwyll and drove for many more miles before drawing up in a run-down bus station.

The driver told us the bus needed some maintenance which would take about two hours. I headed straight for the internet café I’d spotted on the way in. First thing I did was to send Jez this email:

Hi Jez

I’ve done a runner. Left my little flat in Manchester to start a new life in … who knows where.

What can I say? Except, of course, that I’m sorry. I just couldn’t take it any more. Even my hopes for a possible future with you were drowned by the constant pressure of being in so much debt. So, I’ve flown away. Remember, I told you about how I felt when I went for the helicopter ride over London. How I wanted to take off. Well, now I’ve done it.

Maybe my leaving won’t be too difficult for you. After all, you have your boat and you’ve started a new life too. In some ways, I wish that you could sail over here and see me, but that’s not possible is it? Narrow boats don’t travel over the sea.

Still, if you ever wanted to come and see me, when I’ve settled, maybe we can arrange it. I think, now, I might be able to afford a plane ticket for you if you want one. Just let me know.

Whatever happens, though, we must keep in touch. When I’ve found a place to stay, I’ll send you my address.

Lots of love

Toni
xxx

This café is called The Webbery and it has a giant spider’s web painted on the ceiling. I’ve just noticed that the threads of the web lead down the walls to each computer. It makes me think again about the links between us that the internet makes and it raises my hopes that I won’t lose touch with Jez. Or Brim. They’re such special people.

Now, I’m going to go for a walk around this town, whatever it’s called. Maybe I’ll buy myself some supplies, like toiletries and a spare pair of knickers. God knows what the place where I end up will be like. I hope there’s more shops than there seems to be in this dump of a town.

Hey everyone! Have you missed me? Isn't this amazing - I've managed to find an internet cafe by the canal - in fact its in a boat too. Its permanently moored by a marina, and it does all day breakfasts and big steaming cups of tea, but you can also log on on a laptop and send emails etc - all while stil bobbing gently on the water. I like this life, you know. I've not felt so relaxed for ages, even though I'm still a bit cold and damp and probably in need of a good scrub down (not that easy to get a decent wash under the "shower" that only drips half a teaspoon of tepid water at a time). But I'll go back to my mother's tomorrow and get my washing done. Tim said he'l come pick me up. It was great last weekend with Toni here too (though Tim ended up hanging around a bit too long - I just wanted him to go and ;leave us alone, but he didn't get the hint (or choosing not to - probably more likely). Toni really got into the spirit of it all - she was pretty good at steering and pulling the boat in to the bank with the ropes and everything, considering she's only a girl...

Back to work on Monday - that's going to be the real test - can I get there from the boat (I've found somewhere to moor where it should work out - reckon if I dust off my bike I can get to a station that's only a few miles away in about 10 mins) - can I get clean enough to not get any snide "personal hygiene" comments from my lovely co-workers.

Just had a look at Brim's blog and he seems like he's not in a good way. Come join me on the boat, mate - that'll take you out of your head for a bit. What'dya reckon?

Hey, my cup of tea and egg/chips/beans/sausage/tomato has arrived, so I'll sign off now, dear readers... happy sailing....

life is futile

life is stupid

life is sad

life is meaningless

life is unfair

life is cruel

life is long

life is short

life is stupid

Yesterday, P. and I were taking a break on the roof, listening to sirens off in the distance and having a smoke. Ravens kept landing on the ledge and hopping around, looking for a gum wrapper or maybe a stray RFID chip; their feathers glistened oddly and they seemed to move as if sleepwalking. I would've inspected further, but I was too tired, and anyway P. was trying to tell me something useful. She's been running the unit since November.

"We're tired of waiting, basically. We've played defense too long, and at this point we think it's better to just take control of the situation."

I nodded, as if I understood. Actually I couldn't remember what she was referring to. Actually I wanted to say that after so many reorganizations and personnel changes and strategic plans I can barely remember who I work for anymore.

Later, P. put me on the phones. I called one man whose daughter is involved. He told me that he understands but the connection was bad--too much routing--and I couldn't tell from his voice whether he was faking it or not. I told him that malevolence doesn't always have a source, that sometimes it just wells up in unfortunate places in the world. I asked, "When a man starves, who is to blame?" I've said this before to somebody, I'm sure.

My work day is long, my nights at the hotel room are short and high-pitched. I park on the bed, clicking through 1000 channels but not finding anything that seems at all related to my life, which I suppose is a selfish demand but I can't help it. I'm sick of all the songs on my iPod, too.

I'm flying back tonight and get to go back to my life. I miss New York when I'm away.

Jez, Jez,
I must confezz,
My life’s a mezz.

I had such a good weekend with Jez. I went down to stay on the narrow boat he’s thinking of buying. I wouldn’t say it’s the nicest boat I’ve ever seen, there’s a strange smell (dog?) and it’s damp. But it’s got great character and is obviously built to last. The name, “Lone Star” is painted on the side in red and gold in traditional style. On the doors is a painting of Che Guevara and, inside, there’s a little woodstove. When it got cool in the evening, Jez set it burning. It was a bit smokey but we opened the Che Guevara doors and it soon cleared. Generally, the boat has a really hippy feel to it. I kept saying things like “cool,” and “Right on, man.” It’s very Jez.

He’s such a great guy, although his friend Tim’s a bit of a pain. I laughed so much, especially when we were feeding the ducks on Saturday afternoon. We had some serious conversations as well, when we went for a walk on Sunday morning. I think he’s as dissatisfied with his life as I am with mine. I can imagine us having a real future together.

But then I came back here and I’ve spent all day answering calls from people chasing me for money. All day. I still haven’t rung for that loan and I don’t think I ever will. I can’t face the thought of tying myself to paying that amount of money every month. But if I don’t do that, then how am I going to pay back my debts? I’ll end up in court, I know I will.

How can I have a future with Jez? How can I expect him to make any sort of commitment to someone like me with my problems? I know there are a lot of people with worse problems. There’s that guy under house arrest, the one who killed cats. I was reading about another guy the other day. Ezra Kire his name is. He’s a musician who is homeless in New York. That must be terrible. I don’t think I’d like to live on the streets there. Or anywhere really. And my hair dresser was telling me about someone whose daughter, Aliss, is missing. I can’t think of anything worse than that.

So I’m not saying that I’ve got the worst problems in the world. And I’m not saying that, maybe, me and Jez couldn’t work it out. But I am saying that my pride probably wouldn’t let me get seriously involved with someone when I have so much debt.

What on earth am I going to do?

This morning it finally arrived, the spoils of my latest trading coup – a genuine mollydoll, crafted by the malleable hands of the Softest Person. It’s not the first of his dolls to come into my possession, but it’s certainly the most important.

Immediately, I set to finding a place to display it. The mantle and center of my kitchen table did not seem quite right. I really thought it best if I had it displayed before noon, so I asked Lucy for her advice, but she was too busy. “You’ll know the right spot when you find it,” she said, and retreated to the attic to test the transistors and radio dials.

Then I looked for Aliss, but she was hiding in the back pantry clutching her rope doll; she does not like to be disturbed when she’s huddled back there amongst the bags of onions and potatoes.

I returned to my bed chamber with my mollydoll to dream of a place to display it, and the gorilla film crew was set up to film every minute of my consideration. The lead gorilla, though, did not have his camera trained on me but it was pointed under my bed. So I looked under there to see if it was the right place for my mollydoll, the greatest acquisition of all my trades and commerce. Instead, what I found a steamer trunk, one that I had never put there myself, but that was certainly there.

I pulled out the trunk and placed it at the foot of my bed. I opened it and this is what I found:
dusty old remote controls (no batteries)
plastic shopping bags
cords and rope and lengths of plastic sheeting
a plush-toy cat wrapped in shredded rags
blocks of dried-out molding clay
a sharp little pile of cut-up credit cards
a plastic samurai sword
a busted old transistor radio
a yellowed stack of weirdly childlike newspapers
a goddamn motherfucking gorilla suit

To this collection, I added my mollydoll. Lucy was right: I did know the right spot when I found it. I locked the trunk and pushed it back under by bed to be re-forgotten.

So my Friday morning flight didn't start out well. I had put off packing until the last minute so my bags were a mass, and of course when I got to the airport it turned out I had put my tools in my carry-on. This meant a full-on search, and lots of questions, meanwhile I was in a crap mood: I hadn't been getting enough sleep and the headache had returned. I couldn't find my Advil and was nervous I had left it on the kitchen counter. "They're for my job", I told the security staff. "I'm a media analyst."

I couldn't tell if the looks in their faces were of boredom or suspicion or complicity. Eventually explanations were delivered and I got on the plane with my tools. And with an apology, not that that's the sort of thing I take pleasure in anymore.

But the food on the plane was top-notch, I have to say, and the hotel I'm staying in is pretty nice. The room itself is good but what really stands out is the bathroom. I think at a certain point, the hotel room comes down to the bathroom ... I've had a lot of long soaks in the tub, this opulent multi-step marble thing with a view out straight to the windows. The windows have these really curious shades on them, they seem to refract the light so that the fires outside look tranquil and distant, like stars twinkling in the sky.

Been working pretty much non-stop since I got here, and that'll continue until next week. Other than that I suppose it's a bit boring since I don't know anybody in town. There's a cocktail waitress in the bar downstairs who's flirting with me, but I suppose she's just being nice.

Anyways, if you see me on IM just hit me up, if I'm online at all it means I'm taking a break. In the meantime, I'll be back next week, just in time to start shopping for that cookout.

Mother

My reality TV debut was the other night. I didn't see it, but my mother did, and a simple "I saw you on TV last night" would have sufficed, but she thought it would be funnier to come down when I'm eating my breakfast and take my orange juice while making gorilla noises. I told her that I didn't think it was funny, which of course only encouraged her. So did repeatedly screaming "SHUT UP" at her, which was a bad move. Not because I shouldn't tell my mother to shut up -- that's almost the only thing I say to her -- but because she got a reaction out of me, which means she'll probably be doing the gorilla routine for at least a month. Though today she dropped the acting like a gorilla bit and settled on just making stupid remarks. I was eating a banana and she yelled across the room, "PUT THAT AWAY! THEY CAN SMELL BANANAS," so I threw it at her, aiming for the lamp next to her, but I actually hit her in the face. Oh well.

give me that forty ounce

give it to me

give me that bagel

one dollar bagel

i talked to biker joe today

he needed some money

he had binoculars

he gave me his binoculars

i had twenty dollars from a show

i gave it to him

he said, 'when you see me point and say biker joe'

i said, 'i will point and say biker joe'

he said, 'i might not come immediately but i will come'

i said, 'you will circle around'

i said, 'you will come'

My house arrest is many things, but one of the things it is not is lonely. For instance, at least six women visit me each day. And now two women live with me. One, named Lucy, is a sort of protector, and the other is a more vulnerable one, a girl, named Aliss. Together our household is full of humanity, and, as such, there is no need for animal companionship. This is not a lonely house full of cats.

Even if the laws of this land did allow me to possess a cat, I can’t imagine that would turn out well for anyone.

God, what a boring week I've had - even though I've only been at work four days it feels likes its gone on forever. Dull, dull, dull - all the usual assholes giving me a hard time and the coffee machine broken too. Reduced to drinking instant out of mugs with nasty rings on them and all chipped - adn if you use the wrong one (like the smudged pink one that says "life begins at 40") some overweight secretary with bad breath gets all uptight with you ("That's my mug" said in an annoying squeaky voice, following by filthy looks the rest of the day). Anyway, at least I can leave it all behind for a little while. Off to the mighty ship tomorrow - and Toni's coming too!!! (Just hope she doesn't hate it and then decide she hates me and pushes me in teh water with a lead weight tied to my ankle...). My mother thinks its all hilarious (the boat thing, not the Toni thing) - she's been giving me lists of things I ought to take with me (like a rubber ring in case I fall in and an all-in-one ski suit for the bitter cold). I'll show her. I will.

Okay, so, since I just got about the 20th email asking me about this, let me just say this once and for all here: The thing about the name is, I didn't have any particular reason for not using my real name, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. The initials are the same, which is basically just a hint for people, though pretty subtle, I guess. There are actually a lot of Anthony Park's in the world, I'm just not one of them. If you Google my real name you basically come up with nothing, which I suppose is how I like it. And no, I'm not joining MySpace, Christine, so give up now

So yesterday I took a break from work and went for a walk. I figured, hell, it's pretty much summer so I should try to enjoy the weather a bit. Ran into Scott, this guy I knew about a year ago. He dated a friend of mine for a while.

It was funny running into him in Hell's Kitchen, he didn't know I was up there for the day and I thought he worked at an ad agency by Times Square. We chatted for a while about little things, bands, the weather. I offered him a cigarette but he said he only smoked Parliaments these days. Then as I lit up, he said "hey, what's that on your hands?" I told him I had been helping some IT guy at the office move a desk and there must have been something on it. Luckily I still had that rag on me so I wiped my hands clean pretty quick.

Scott was in a hurry and had to go, but it was nice to see him anyway. It's funny how small the city can be. I finished my cigarette, trying to think of all the different ways to walk from the office to the West Side Highway. Then I went back inside and got back to work.

Another boring day in a boring flat in a boring place with nothing, nothing, nothing to do except to go to a boring job at 2 o’clock. Still I’ve got the day off on Saturday. I’ve sent Jez a text asking if he wants me to go down to see the boat. I hope he does. I’m so sick and tired of the same old life, day in, day out. No more poker, no more highs and lows as I win and lose. No more nothing. I’ve even sunk to watching morning television, that programme with Philip Schofield and the fat woman, Fern I think she’s called.

They were talking to Shayne Ward who won X Factor the other day. Did you know he’s a twin? And from round here. They said that Will Young’s a twin too. It got me thinking. Perhaps I should do something like that if being a twin helps somehow. Obviously, I couldn’t do X Factor, I can’t sing for toffee. But maybe another sort of show. Make life more interesting. There’s always Deal or No Deal. That might solve my debt problems. It looks like fun too, staying in a hotel for several weeks, making friends and going on the show till it was my turn. I could win £250,000. That’d be good although there’ve been a few low wins recently. If I only won 1p, I’d have to go into hiding. Would be too embarrassed to show my face. But I think I’ll find out how to get an application form. It’s worth the risk.

I wouldn’t mind Big Brother either. I know they have to rough it sometimes, hardly any food and all that. I could spend my summer sunbathing and playing games though. It has to be better than this. I wonder if they’ve done the auditions for this year?

Have to be careful with reality TV. There was that one where they convinced people they were going to be astronauts. You’d feel so stupid wouldn’t you? And then there’s the one in America where they set you up on a date but then a gorilla, or at least a man in a gorilla suit, comes in and wrecks it all. It’s bound to come over here. I couldn’t cope with a gorilla messing things up, even if it wasn’t real.

Maybe I’m better just waiting to see how it works out with Jez. He might be just the touch of excitement I need to improve my life.

walking to the store

buying the plantain chips

eating the plantain chips

going to the show

playing the guitar

playing the guitar solo

making the jokes into the microphone

singing the back-up vocals

bored

playing the wrong chord on purpose

playing the right chord

playing the guitar solo

looking at the kids

I first met Alician through my friend who had met her while drinking with a marzipan pig in his cheek. That shot is called the costume drama. It makes me puke strange colors. I met her and then I met her again and now she is going after all of my friends sowing her hallucinatory glow her old boyfriend set himself on fire in the garage and left a note she won't say what it says she says I'm asking for too much that I have too much that I must be hollowed out

and that's why I'm making Alician dolls and more Alician dolls until every person in this great country of ours has an Alicia dolls that they can pull the plug out of and pull the insides out of and then we'll see then we'll see how happy Alicia is with her doll body her doll-doll body her urinary tract body her bong-bong body.

Then we'll see who's laughing, Alicia.

I think it will be my bestseller.

Leave me alone!

Stop torturing me and my friends!

I have never done anything to you!

You are not a dog!

Your insides may be gray but you are not even a crayfish!

I am making a doll for you! It is gray in the stuffing and I will put out my cigarettes on its face!

I am going out to buy a pack right now!

I am back!

I bought Marlboro Lights!

I am going to stop smoking tomorrow!

But first I am going to burn you a doll!

Someday I hope to be the president of the united states!

But first I am going to read an encyclopedia entry about the president of angola!

I was awoken by plaintive bleatings in the middle of the night. “Shush,” I told Lucy, “Old Uncle Charles must be regular about his sleep.” But Lucy wasn’t there; it wasn’t her waking me. It was the girl I had heard of often, but never seen. She was standing beside my bed. “You must be Aliss,” I said. “Lucy warned me that you’d be coming.”

Aliss reached into to my bed and quickly I grabbed her rope of a doll that lay safely beside me. “You’ve come to reclaim your property? But what do you have to offer me? Surely you’ve brought something to trade. That is what Old Uncle Charles is – a trader.”

She nodded softly and descended the stairs that ran down from my bedroom. I thought it best to follow her down. She led me to my yard and the exact bush where I had found her doll. She reached in deep and pulled forth a box – adorned with dials and filled with rotting transistors. The switch was turned to ‘off’ but the radio static coming off it was palpable. “And what shall we call this?” I asked.

“It’s a DAB, and it’s for you.”

I accepted the DAB and handed her the rugged doll. Her hands trembled as she grasped it, unsure if she wanted it or not. “For you,” I said, and pushed it toward her. But she seemed guilty, ashamed. I could almost see tears. Her hands held the doll but would not accept it.

She looked away - back into the bushes. And that’s when I saw what she had been aware of, what had always been there, in the yard of my house arrest, unbeknownst to me – a gorilla bearing a whirring film camera, excitedly pointing his lens at the transaction that threatened to take place before him.

Do you ever get in a situation where you're good at something you'd rather not be good at? Or at least that you wish other people weren't aware of it? It's happening to me now. Of course you want to be good at things, but not everything. It can get you drawn into situations you would've rather avoided.

Traveling more, getting on a plane on Friday and I'll be away 'til next week. Not to Las Vegas this time, as if the location even matters at this point. Well, one bright spot is that Bill and I have picked the date for our first spring cookout: Sunday, April 30. Sent out the Evites this morning. If you didn't get one it's 'cause I've decided you're lame. No j/k I just probably forgot to add your email address. Send me an email and I'll add you to the evite.

It’s raining really hard. I’m on a late, start work at 2 this afternoon. I was planning to go out this morning but having looked at the weather I’ve changed my mind.

I called Jez on Sunday. We talked for about an hour. He’s really nice to talk to. One of those people you can feel relaxed with, where you don’t have to watch what you say all the time. He’d been to see the narrow boat he’s interested in and he’s going to try and raise the money to buy it. I said “Don’t look at me for a loan,” and he laughed and said he knows about my debts and he wouldn’t even try. That’s what happens when people you know read your blog. He’s asked me to go down there on Saturday to have a look. I said I’d try but I’m supposed to be working. I’ll ask today if I can take Saturday off. Haven’t been able to ask before, the woman who sorts the rota has been off for Easter. Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?

I think I’ll go and watch some episodes of Scrubs now. I wish the people in the hospital where I work were more like them, laughing and joking and occasionally bursting into song (and looking like Turk). But like the rest of my life, it’s just a boring place. Maybe now Jez’s back, things will get better.

Hey, I'm back from the land of watery graves!. And guess what - Toni rang me! We were on the phone for an hour last night. And we've been texting each other today. And maybe we'll try and meet up soon. And...and...and... and that's all I'll say for now, folks. You'll have to wait for the next instalment. She liked the sound of my narrow boat though. Me and Tim had a great time. She's called Lone Star and there's a picture of Che Guevara painted across the stern doors (see, I know all the technical terms already) - current owner is a bit of a hippy and the one before was way out, man. She's 58ft long and built to last. There's a woodstove and a little sitting area, and a two ring stove in teh kitchen bit, and a kind of shower and toilet bit. I reckon the doggy smell will be gone in a week or so, and you get used to the damp after awhile. The dead cat was a bit of shock though - all wrapped up in cloths and stuck behind the woodstove - stiff as a very stiff stiff thing. I thought it was just a bundle of rags, but Tim had to get it out and unwrap it of course. I wanted to throw it in the canal and give it a water burial, poor old thing - but Tim wanted to hang on to it. He'll probably try to sell it on Ebay or give it to one of his wacko friends.

Tim didn't stop griping all night - he's got no spirit of adventure, that lad. He wanted to sleep in the camper but I told him he was being a wuss and what was the point of coming if we weren't going to experience the full experience. Luckily we'd brought two sleeping bags each, otherwise it might have been a bit chilly, what with the porthole windows not closing properly and the draft under the bow doors (see, there I go again). Hippy guy that owns it says he could give me a good price (about 20K), but I'll still need to borrow a bit from my mum (wonder if my dad will stump up a bit - I'll have to try and track him down. Last time he emailed me he and Sylvana (she of the curvy hips and come to bed smile, who's three years younger than me) were somewhere in the Indian Ocean). Anyway, hippy guy says I can try it out for a week or so before I make up my mind, so I'm going to come back next weekend and give it a go. Maybe I can take Toni for a gentle chug downstream...

Bill and I went over to our friend Janine's place for Easter dinner. It was pretty nice, though I suppose these days I'm not going to take it very seriously, religiously speaking. (Don't tell my mom.) There was a ham and lots of wine, it was all pretty nice, except for me having to head out on the balcony all the time because of work-related phone calls. Bound to happen, I suppose ...

One of the guests was a woman who was a friend-of-a-friend of Janice, who works for that gorilla dating show. We were chatting about it, and maybe she could tell I was a little skeptical about whether it was funny. I mean, I guess in general I'm not even really into reality shows in general. I got really into The Apprentice for the first season but that's about it.

She was telling me about the last show they did, where the guy was this grown-up Dungeons-and-Dragons nerd, and in the interviews for casting kept on talking about this fantasy book he had written, so they figured he was a lock. They set him up with this old-fashioned Southern girl, one of those dates that you know is going to be a disaster right from the start. After all these excruciating mis-steps, they bust out the gorilla during dinner. So the woman I'm talking to starts making these really funny facial expressions, imitating the guy, and telling me they actually got footage of him dabbing food out of his ponytail. Okay, I said, that is pretty funny.

Reality TV

To promote my book, I decided on a somewhat unconventional course -- which, by the way, has worked for others but for albums and talk show appearances -- reality TV. After spending a few weeks going to casting meetings, I was invited to be on a dating show.

So I showed up at the office at the appointed time, and after a briefing by the producers, I was taken to an apartment and pointed toward my date's door. A zaftig blonde opened it, and on our walk out, she seemed nice enough, though when we walked to the show-provided SUV ( I was to drive ) she wouldn't get in. At first, I thought she was making some sort of statement on the environment, but I heard her yelling through the glass something to the effect that she needed me to open the door. So I got out of the drivers seat to go around and open the door for her, but she had already opened it and sat down.

"Sorry, I thought you were a gentleman," she said.

The producers mentioned nothing about opening car doors, so I let her know that, but I don't think she cared. At the seafood restaurant they took us to for dinner, we started to find some common ground in that we both watched a certain TV show on Thursday nights. But then, a screaming man in a gorilla suit ran to our table and shoved all our plates to the floor before running away. I choked on my Dr. Pepper and looked at the camera crew, who were trying not to laugh. This was about when I remembered a reality show called "Gorilla Match," which is one of those joke reality shows where they have a Blind Date sort of set-up, but then a man in a gorilla suit comes over and scares the hell out of the contestants. I never thought it was that funny or entertaining. Later that night, the gorilla came back, tripped me onto the lawn next to a sidewalk, and carried my date away. Then I got to go home.

My friend Brim tried to warn me about this sort of thing, but I didn't understand him. Though I get it now, it seemed like he was trying to come on to me or sell me drugs.

one time someone emailed me questions

he said he wanted to write about me in the village voice

i said the village voice will not write about me

he said he would write about me and get it in the village voice

i said the village voice will not write about me

or the bands i am in

he emailed the questions

i read the questions off the computer screen and typed my answers

i do not read the village voice

so i do not know what happened

to my answers

i use the internet in the public library or sometimes at c-squat

c-squat has computers and the internet sometimes

Did you see that Jez left me two messages on my last posting? See, I said the internet linked everyone together! He wants me to ring him. And I will but not today. Probably tomorrow (Sunday) in my break. I’m not ringing him today, even though it’s my day off, because he won’t be there. He’s going to look at a narrow boat with his friend Tim. Thinking about living in one. Sounds like a good idea to me. He needs to get away from his mother. So I’ll have to wait until Sunday to talk to him.


A strange thing happened yesterday. I was reading an article in The Guardian. I don’t usually look at the Guardian, it’s a bit intellectual for me but I’d gone to see our Kevin to tell him about my blog before he finds out for himself. I wanted to tell him to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, this article was about a couple getting in touch with each other again through a blog. The man, Graham, said he was in debt. It sounded a lot like me and Jez, except the opposite way around. Thing is, though, it was all a con and Graham wasn’t really Graham at all. I worried for a bit, thinking what if it’s not Jez? But then I remembered I have his phone number. His real phone number from when I knew him before. And I talked to his mother. And I’m not after his money which is probably a good thing because he hasn’t any as far as I remember. Athough narrow boats can be pretty expensive ….

Talking about debts and stuff, Ann’s been on at me to ring those loan people. I’ve been meaning to do it but I’ve been a bit busy, writing my blog and thinking about Jez and all that. But I will do it. Probably on my next day off which is Wednesday.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Some idiot company’s sent me a credit card. A few weeks ago I filled in an application form that fell out of a magazine. I didn’t think they’d send me one. But they did. Do these people not do credit checks? They’ve given me a credit limit of 10 grand. Stupid fools. It’s sitting there, on my coffee table, all red and gold and shiny. I’d cut it up but I can’t bring myself to do it. Think I’ll hide it somewhere then forget where I’ve put it.

BTW Brim, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry if I sounded a bit stroppy about you putting my blog address in your blog. I’m really really pleased you did because it means I can get in touch with Jez. It was just that it was a shock when I saw what you’d done.

She found me! Or Brim found her! Or I did, or something. I've just left a message on her blog telling her to ring me so I hope she does sooooon. (If you're reading this Toni, and you haven't rung me yet - please ring me!) How uncool is that? I don't care! Toni Toni Toni - o - of course, that was her name. Its all come back to me now. Anyway readers I shall keep you all informed about progress on the Toni front.....watch this space.....

In the meantime, dear readers (cos I know there's at least three of you out there now...), I've got some exciting news on the housing front. Well, not housing really. But I have a cunning plan to get out of my bloody mother's house for good. I'm going to buy a canal boat!! Ha, ha - what crazy plan is this I hear you say. But I've got it all worked out. It doesn't cost much, and you can moor up wherever you like, and go sailing on whenever you feel like it. Ahh, the wind in teh sails and the salt spray on the cheeks (or at least the smell of the diesel and the chug of gentle canal water). A mate of Tim's that I met last night (at one of Tim's boring "let's all get together and drink cider and talk about computer games" type evenings with his dull friends - I only went cos' I had absolutely nothing else to do ) called Pete - he was going on about his uncle who lives on a narrow boat. Bit of an old hippy by the sounds of it - but apparently lots of cool young people in London are doing it now - cheaper than a flat the size of a cupboard in Islington anyway. Anyhoo - I got interested and he said he could line me up with the perfect vessel - so me and Tim are going to go look tomorrow (assuming Tim's VW camper van can make it that far). So - another thing I shall keep you informed about dearest readers. Anon, anon... goodnight

Someone forwarded me an interesting story in the Guardian (UK): A woman who was swindled because she thought she had been corresponding with a long-lost boyfriend from high school. Instead, it was an elaborate con:

they were able to get information on Graham's email address, chat account, and bank account, but there was nothing useful there. They had all been created with forged identities, and of course, the bank account was empty.

A pretty interesting story, but nothing that seems far-fetched really ...

Was there an earthquake? I can't believe I forgot to check. Nels missed three days of work to keep an eye on the situation. Supposedly, you can tell if you see the edges of paper curl up. I must not be doing it right.

"My notepaper will not stay flat," my character (the falconeer) said once he hoofed it up the hill, out in the biting wind. He clutched tightly to his jerkin, rubbing it to keep warm. The graphics were superb. I should splurge and get the goggles. "I mean, am I supposed to be flattening this stuff back out? Or does that just piss off the tectonic plates to no distant end?"

Nels' character (the chancellor) looked up from a parchment, whereon is written a spell he was memorizing. "Dear brother, what thinkest thee? I have said, and repeated, in no uncertain terms, that the boilings of the Earth do awake this very night. Behold the very quickness in mine eyes. Dost thy blood not quiver at the sight?"

I was on my office computer, he at home on his Burroughs V-A machine. We found a spot on the outskirts of Grimalkin to meet, deep inside Bloodfoot Palisades, an online roleplaying game. I'm only on for a few moments, when things get slow back in reality. Where I volunteer at a lamp restoration center.

"Well, how does it work?" I asked, pressing the hotkeys which scan the sky for my bird of prey. "If the paper curls, there's an earthquake. But if it doesn't curl, then there's no earthquake. And if the paper curls into a roll, that must be a massive earthquake, the sort where you die first from whiplash, then from crushing."

"Be at ease on the matter," spoke the chancellor, stroking his chin with a single, fat, jewel-encrusted finger. And, furthermore, laughed. "Dear one, brother of mine, how it amuses me to see you so concerned in matters seismological! Oh, the paramount valour expressed in every nerve! Thou art a portrait of solemn fright! Dear, dear. How great the stakes must seem to a mere falconeer. Even now, thou hast let thine worry possess thee, thy tremble has stayed thy senses, and now I have captured thy falcon!" My old friend and humble bird, Myrgrepphin, alighted on the chancellor's white hair, wearing a new mole of betrayal just to the left of his beak. The chancellor handed me his parchment and, written upon it, were the hotkeys which scan the sky for his associates' birds of prey.

Softly, I spoke, holding aloft my gauntlet, "You've been with me these three long years, Myr, will you not come to me?" But the bird looked away, quite caught up in a great fantasy of his new life of power.

"Come, let us enjoy victuals," said the chancellor, just as a great mob of ogres swept up the concourse of the hillside and slaughtered us. The chancellor deflected a few maces with his broadshield, pivoting perfectly along the balls of his feet, so great was his agility and deft distribution of weight. But this was a party of fourty ogres, hungry, unfed by their players, reeking of urine, and not their own urine but quite obviously the urine of dragons who had been their tormentors. Now these ogres had their first reign of freedom and fell upon us. I just laid still and let them rip me in half.

I scurried to log back in and clicked hurriedly through the sign-on screens, emerging in the Inn of Jory Sobgoblin and, at once, I dashed through the tables, spilling a midget's froth of mead, but soon out in the bustling courtyard. I paid for a steed and bolted back out to Grimalkin, clicking the mouse rapaciously until the chancellor and I were back on the hill again, out in the biting wind.

"Come, let us enjoy victuals," said the chancellor. And though I was completely out of breath, as the rumble pak on my mouse sorely indicated (making it very hard to walk,) but I trounced behind he and Myrgrepphin and we split a lamb between us for a quarterlunch time feast. When I left the game, I made sure to change the settings so that the rumble pak would, from now on, be triggered by my character's sexual organs rather than by his aerobic intensity. When in the Palisades would I ever be running while aroused?

Incidentally, I am NOT Nels' real brother. He makes it sound that way, doesn't he? I know it. But no, he married my sister Quinn. They actually used to play Bloodfoot Palisades together and they rode bareback together over the Cliffs of Whitemire, beyond the fertile vales where the ocelot doth play, and were the first to ford the great river Rothwyll, which is eventually where they settled, right there beneath the dam (they built the dam,) bearing five young and establishing a reputable tannery. Until Nels pushed her off a cliff during battle "as part of a greater strategy."

So Quinn ran off, she left Nels and moved to Boston. Who can blame her, she paid four-hundred gold for those red boots. And there were numerous virtual bracelets involved as well. I've heard she plays Senatorial Alliance now and has earned a congressional medal. Good lord, but not of honor, of something else. Aptitude or something. I haven't spoken to her in ages. I really don't want her to use Robert's Rules of Order against me.

I sold Tug Christ, Infested Blanket and Seizures on the Net.

I think Seizures was an especially good doll and it brought a good price. A woman must have bought it or a strange man because this is a doll that works particularly well if you want to use it to apply mascara to your eyes.

In other news, I've been trying to help my crazy friend. It's draining. I have to be very quick. Such is the nature of his screwed up head. He does react well to my dolls, so I may try to make him a crazy person doll. Afterall, we all need dolls! Even crazy people! Or people in juvie! Or people who drop their babies on the floor! Or Santa Claus! Or the president!

I've made a doll called the Tearapart Doll for the president to help sooth him in his trying time. Its made in part of paper towels (for the hands you know).

But most of all I'm working hard on a doll that I'm going to send to my scabby musical hero. I'm using a pink-colored insulation material that makes my hands all rashy. That's to symbolize my hero. He makes your hands rashy if you touch him. That's fame for you! I'm lucky to be toiling in obscurity while making a good living. Now I have to go smear my hands up with some kind of fatty material.

Thanks, fans.

I've done some research lately and found that there's no place in the world for literature. Comparing the viewership of television with book sales has shown me that people are much more interested in a TV show. They'd rather watch Battlestar Galactica with its explosions and shiny things than sit down and go through the trouble of actually *reading* something.

So I'll be using this as more of a personal blog from now on. To my fans I apologize, but maybe you should have supported me a little more instead of reading my posts and then writing stupid, unproductive comments.

So, yeah, Las Vegas wasn't as much fun as I'd hoped. Some of you know the reasons for that already ... but oh, well, they can't all be fun trips. Anyway, I'm back in town, and quite glad for that.

Had a pretty interesting experience last night, not something I want to do all the time but interesting nontheless. I got back on Thursday night, and last night hung out with Joon, an old friend of mine visiting from Seattle. We knew each other from church, when we were in high school, but it's safe to say we went very different directions after that, I went to school and studied communications and business, and she travelled for a while and then studied art. She still lives in Seattle and is an artist, she says mostly she does scupture.

Over the phone, she said to me, "I'm going to this show tonight, you should come if you're up for something new." And I figure, what the hell, the way this week started out it couldn't possibly get any weirder. She met me at my apartment and actually made me change out of what I was going to wear, into something more casual. I said "okay, but if this is an issue I have a feeling I'm going to stand out no matter what I put on."

And boy did I ever. We walked to the LES, and basically this show wasn't even in a bar, but this old decrepit building with holes in some of the walls and graffiti and trash everywhere. A lot of the people there were I guess punks, with messed up hair and tattoos and lots of piercings. Definitely not my usual scene! But people more or less were okay to us, some of them gave us funny looks but mostly they let us be.

We stayed for a couple of bands, and drank really shitty beer out of cans, which I guess was like being back in college. The bands weren't really my taste, though Joon was saying that one of them was pretty big in the scene. She called it "ska-punk". No accounting for taste, I guess. I was waiting in line to use the bathroom (I won't describe what it looked like inside there) and the guitarist from the band passed by me and gave me this funny look ... who knows what that was about.

Anyway, thanks to Joon for a pretty interesting night. I definitely got to see a slice of life I'd never really seen before. Also at some point realized that this is what "squatting" looks like: At some point in some class I remember we talked about this. I still don't think it's okay but it's interesting to put some faces to the issue. Also interesting to think that I live just a few blocks away from it, and for years I had no idea it was there.

Just found another comment from Brim - with possibilities of happiness! Thanks mate - I've left a reply on the comments thingy, but just in case you don't read it - yes, please, do ask your friend about his nurse friend. You never know. Small world, and all that.

Thank god its Friday anyway. Maybe this weekend will lift my spirits a little. I messed up again last night. Finally got invited out with all those saddos from work (just to some tacky after work type place with crap music and over priced beer) and I got chatting to a nice young lass. Thought I was doing pretty well, but then I decided to give her the "I'm a software engineer" line, thinking that would bamboozle her and she'd be impressed. Of course, she was only a bloody computer programmer and started asking me lots of detailed questions, so I had to fudge it and pretend I had to take an urgent phone call outside. Jez the loser. Jezzy no-mates. Jez Meister doesn't ride again...

Oh nursey, nurse
This is such a curse
I'm thinking of you
Till my face turns blue

Lucy has kept the women at bay. Which is fine by me, except my trade is slowly being brought to a halt. Still the state provides me with food and other such requirements. And Lucy fills my head with ideas. She still swears she knows nothing about transistors. But I have caught her no less than three times in as many days, holed up in my attic, tweaking dials and recording frequencies. Every time I find her she is sporting a grossly oversized pair of richly padded headphones, and nodding with the subtlety of a learned scholar. But still Lucy feigns ignorance. And I don’t complain, because I love her company.

Today she said she knew there was someone out in my yard.

“How? How do you know that, Lucy?” I asked. “Do vintage radios have nothing to do with it?”

She ignored me and ran out the back door. I followed. The backyard is within my Allowable Living Area. There was a rustle in the bushes and Lucy lunged forward, grabbing anything that moved. She pulled out a length of rope. It was hearty waxed hemp. She held it forward like a roadside opossum. A tag hung from its end:

PROPERTY OF ALISS H.

“That’s not a rope,” I said. “It’s a girl.”

“No, Old Uncle Charles,” Lucy said. “It’s a girl’s property. So I assume it’s a doll.”

“Perhaps.”

She told me to be quiet as she listened to the air currents. “This girl,” she said. “Aliss H. She’s not far.”

“But you let her slip through your fingers, Lucy.”

Lucy turned back to the house, the dark edge of gloom creeping across her face. “It’s not the first time Aliss has done this.”

I’m going to sleep soundly tonight, with Aliss’ rope by my side.

Just got back from work and had to write this down. Get it out of my system. I woke up feeling lousy this morning. I'd had a really vivid dream, about that nurse from Manchester - nothing like that, you dirty minded lot. Just a good dream - she turned up on my doorstep and we went for a walk, strolling by the river, a little kiss, a little hand holding - it felt so easy and so natural, and I was being myself and she didn;t run for the hills. But then I woke up and it was all gone.

My mother made some comment over the breakfast table and I snapped at her, so then she started giving me a lecture and I felt like I was 14 again. I wanted to storm out and slam a few doors, but in the middle of her tirade she mentioned something about a lovely chat she'd had with a friend of mine on the phone, and why couldn't I be more like that - a bit more human (yawn yawn). I asked her who she meant ( I knew it couldn;t be Tim) and she said it was a nice sounding girl, who said she was a nurse or something. God, my stomach lurched then. What was her name? Did she leave her number? What did she say? Of course, my bloody mother couldn't tell my anything useful - no number, no name. She'd been too busy telling the poor girl about her latest trip. Damn bugger damn. Bugger. Damn.

I spent all day wondering how on earth I could track her down. Maybe she had been waiting for me to call - and then she finally plucked up the courage to call me - and then she got the full force of my darling mother. What the hell do I do now? I wish somebody was reading this and could give me some idea of where to start.

At Stern I had to take a class on business ethics, which at the time I thought was pretty boring. Of course everybody knows right from wrong, so what? I guess that was me a few years ago, when it didn't occur to me that actually if you're unlucky you can fall into a position at work where you're asked to compromise your ethics all the time. I mean, all the time. And you're all hustling to get ahead, right, so it's hard to always make the right decision. This doesn't happen to me, I've made choices to avoid this situation. But I've seen it in action, sometimes it's not pretty. This doesn't happen to me, though.

i think fishing is stupid

i was walking by the east river

i was thinking

i was sad

i thought, 'who cares if fishing is stupid'

people are stupid

i think poverty can be a good thing

there are benefits to poverty

i'm talking about homelessness

not not eating until the person dies

or not having help from doctors until the person dies

or freezing until the person dies

i'm talking about other things

materialism, success, fulfillment

Another friend of mine is sick, mentally. His mother says he's soured in the head. Isn't the a rap song?

He thinks he's in a coma or in house arrest. He thinks strange women are trying to liberate his mammals.

This makes him not testy so much as confused. There's some major negative capability in that response to being wacko and having women come through your house. I brought him a rope for whatever good that might do. With rope I mean a doll I made of rope. It's the kind you burn at one end while holding it in another.

Today I had a steak.

Hi everyone (not that anyone's out there reading this anyway). You probably haven't even noticed that i've not been here for awhile, but just in case anyone did, I'll try to fill you in. Been in a wierd place, really, in my head - couldn';t face anyone. I've been going to work and coming home and shutting myself up in my room and watching crappy telly. Its teh blue women. They won;t leave me alone. I don't mean they've actually been back, but they're there in my head. Everywhere I go I keep thinking I've seen them - people on teh bus with blue faces, passing me in the corridor at work, waiting outside my house. What scares me is that Tim saw it too - it wasn't all just in my head this time. I don't want to think about it - its really hard even writing this, but its sort of helping in a way too.

I keep hoping things will get better. I even thought about going back to the video shop and having another try with that young lass there - short blond hair, kind of boyish, but very sexy smile. She keeps knocking me back but its always worth another try. I couldn;t face it this week though. Last time I was in there she was going on about some off-beat animation about a deer that she was really into (she's into some pretty wierd stuff - things I've never heard of) - I kept smiling and nodding while she told me the whole plot which didn';t make any sense to me at all. The thing is she thinks I'm into wierd indie animation films now - god knows how I'm going to keep up with that.

Tim's still been coming round even though I didn';t really want to see him (but then I never do , and he never seems to notice). We don't talk about the Blue Women. Though he did say he's been checking to see if the next chapter's available yet. God help us.

My mother (when she;s bothered to notice I'm alive in between all her dinner parties and charity do's and weekends away climbing everest) thinks I'm malingering. At least she doesn't bother leaving the local papers lying around with "properties to rent" circled in red anymore. Yeah, yeah, now you know the truth - I'm 34 and I live with my mother. But its not my fault. Its very common these days apparently. And I didn;t have any choice when Sal kicked me out - (jesus, now I think about it, it was nearly two years ago). Whatever. What's the point. I do try. Sometimes. A lot of the time its just easier being here. Even with my darling mother. Least I don;'t have to wash my own socks. I know - evil male chauvinist pig. But you see I just need a lovely girl to come and take me in hand - sort me out. I'm good at cheese on toast, and I'm good at listening, and I can do a mean foot massage (I'm doing my best lost puppy face right now, if only you could see it...)

And we're back!

If you tried to visit the blog over the past few days, you would have noticed a "User has Violated the Acceptable Use Policy" message. That's because our friends at Blogger.com, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to flag my site as child pornography.

I didn't have any child pornography. Their reason is this: I decided to make the first chapter of my novel available for free on my blog, and in it contained a particularly steamy scene with a Human and a Siren from the planet Sirenia. So when I described a Human in an encounter with a Siren, I described in great technical detail the nature of a grav-chamber, the various plants that grow on Sirenia, and the fact that Sirens, like earth dogs, reach their full maturity in two earth years. Apparently nobody at Blogger read this part before they decided to read the next part, where it notes that the Siren involved is four years old. Which is roughly equivalent to 27 in human years, which they would know if they had bothered to read the entire chapter.

So after leaving repeated messages to their technical support, I finally got someone to re-read the post, and of course I had to provide the exact line number of the passage that exonerates me, because apparently the people at Blogger hate reading.

Thank you, my fans, for coming to my rescue.