Drugs

Love

Sex

Money

Exercise

Food

Shopping

Collecting

Music

Art

Reading

Writing

Expression

Singing

Playing music

Alcohol

Laughing

Moderation

Philosophy

Thinking

Coke

Emotions

Weed

Caffeine

Drama

Self Righteousness…

Everyone has their addictions, no one should judge.

“Hey kid walk straight, master your high.” - Slick Rick

Love

My grandmother stopped eating today. She’s been in hospice care for a few weeks now after being in a home for a few years. She is my biggest hero, she is a selfless person, she’s the last person alive in my family that doesn’t have an agenda pertaining to me. She did things for me out of love and asked for nothing in return. She is my last example of selfless love. After she goes, what I consider to be my blood family, will be gone as well.

My parents are all too human, they come from a selfish generation, a generation of bad examples, I can’t fault them for their mistakes, their wants, fears, needs, for making me the parent. Their generation was taught to shun authority and then went wild with no example on how to love and grow. My grandparents held us together. Once my grandfather died and my grandmother forgot who she was and who we are, all the darkness came out.

My generation is the product of that generation. Our examples are mixed, contradictory, confusing, wrong.

I sit here as a 35 year old man, realizing what that influence did to me, my emotions and my mental state. I realize the harm that “loved ones” can do, even without trying. I realize that my grandparents were the example, now they’re gone and my example has to be me. I must remove myself from harmful elements, no matter if they are blood or not. Harm is not love. Patience is love, self sacrifice is love, hard work is love, not expecting a reward is love.

Love yourself.

Love -J.

Chuck Norris killed them all

I've always been fascinated with the fine line between comedy and tragedy. Most modern comedy is based on human misfortune. Misfortune that we laugh about.

(I know, I've already written about this.

I know, nobody read it.

I know, nobody is reading this either.

Which means I can write whatever I want... haha... your mother...

seems like a very nice lady...

sorry).

Now you could take a simple statement like "I can't stop the bleeding."

Seems ominous.

It is.

:>P

However, taken out of the context of the night time standard ER TV drama that plays upon the emotions of the traumatized masses: someone very special to a very injured someone with three injured kids and an injured grandmother dying on an operating table, gushing blood... on Christmas eve...

(did I mention that the whole family is homeless and illiterate as well...?

well...

they are

and they have to save the youth center)

well...

What if the surgeon that was failing horribly began laughing while delivering said line? Then slipped on a banana peel.

Classic.

I'm pretty sure that happened on Walker Texas Ranger once.

Except the injured people were a group of international terrorists... and Chuck Norris killed them all.

Insomnia

Around a year ago at this time I was crippled in a lot of ways, that shit is old news but It's relevant to my feelings. Some seriousness has been going down for in my life for quite a while now. Nothing seems clear. I have wants and needs but circumstances in my life have led me to feel as if I don't deserve them. I know that's not true but I still feel that way. I'm grateful for what I have but I'm tired of struggling. I have a place to sleep but don't feel like I have a home. I have people that love me but I'm too guarded. I have family still alive but I don't trust a lot of them. I have memories but my perspective on them has changed. I don't miss the people that have left my life anymore, but I'm sad that they're gone. It feels like everything I've ever known to be true was a lie. The future is uncertain, for real, it really is completely uncertain....

Bring on the insomnia.

Hello endless contemplation.

God dammit.

It's 2012 and we're still here. The public mood seems about the same too. Many of us are still broke and struggling, many of us are broken hearted, many of us have yet to attain any real peace of mind, we tread water for fear of drowning.

We're a conflicted race. We label ourselves incessantly. We make ourselves feel bad. We have faith but don't trust ourselves. We invent conflict when there is none. We take each other for granted. We hurt the ones we love and allow ourselves to be hurt. We really don't make any kind of sense whatsoever.

No matter how intelligent you may be, you will fall in the same emotional traps as someone whom might not be as "bright."

A new year is just a repeating of a cycle that humans were clever enough to invent. A new beginning can happen at any time, but we're humans so we need an occasion. It has to be a big deal, because everything we do is so important. Everything must be documented, everything means something.

Everything means something in the moment.

Moments pass, memories fade, people come and go, nature continues to cycle and humans repeat the same patterns in 20-25 years cycles or generations. We increase our technology and this doesn't change, we educate ourselves and this doesn't change, we make resolutions and this doesn't change.


You have to wonder, is it supposed to change?

Is the only way we can learn through tragedy?

We definitely took a wrong turn as a race, it happened quite a few generations ago, now we're bred to be tragic. We love the conflict.

I'm tired of the conflict, the confusion, the complications.

I long for simplicity. I feel like most people that have seen tragedy feel the same. The simplest answers seem to make the most sense but can take forever to accept. We beat ourselves up too much.

We all need a sense of purpose, love and validation. However, solitude is sounding better and better by the day.

Such a conflicted bunch of hopeless romantics.

The funny thing is, we're all really the same. We just don't want to admit it. If we could admit that we all have the same basic wants, needs and fear of death and of being forgotten, of not mattering, maybe we could finally get through all these barriers we've put up. Maybe if we didn't sit around arguing over who's been hurt the most we could finally heal and move on. Maybe if we weren't all so hurt we wouldn't hurt others.

We all need a fucking vacation.

I love you all madly and wish you the absolute best, I'm going to try and sleep again, I may be back.

1 (Translated by Mary J.)

There is no "1." No one is perfect. It's simpler than that. I've found that the simplest, most effective answers to life's most troubling questions tend to make the most sense. This is the conclusion I've come to about love: There is no "1," no perfect, fateful match. There is no 1 way to approach romance. There is more than 1 kind of relationship. Some people love more than 1 person...



The problem most of us face in love is with the looking. Looking for love in all the wrong places, like our emotions and our chemistry and peer pressure and all of that lyin' nonsense. There's no 1 out there that's going to save you, fix you, complete you, make your life perfect... that's your job. The person that's good for you will already know this. They will also balance you out. They will bring qualities to the table you lack. They will put ambition in you that you may lack. They will inspire you to become better. They will also have flaws as insane as yours.



The right person for you will have the kind of flaws that you find adorable, cute, sexy or just plain tolerable in doses. They will cry for (seemingly) no reason, they'll eat cookies in bed, they'll have morning breath, they'll be particular about how to clean things, they'll always have to brush their teeth before sex (right when it's getting heavy with the petting and whatnot... and the they take forever in the bathroom and you're trying to keep it...ummm, what was I talking about... oh yeah) they'll fall asleep when you're talking to them, they'll talk to you while you're trying to sleep.... These are all normal things. If your list includes things like: she swung on me with a metal pole.... y'all need to break up.



The right person for you will have a list about you that's just as tedious and just as real. What makes them the right person is that they're willing to tolerate your neurotic ass with the same passion that you're willing to tolerate theirs. The right person will have your back, tell you they love you and mean it, be there for you when you're weak, leave you alone when you need space, be there when you come home, always come back to you. You'd better make damn sure you're doing the same for them. Haha... and wear some deodorant for gawds sake, no matter how much they love you, you still a stankin' mofo and would it kill you to dress a bit better.......

Amidst the greatest of tragedies...

...a fart will always be funny, unless it was committed by an infant, then it's adorable and life confirming. If you've ever needed evidence for the existence of God, this should do fine. Strength in the face of tragedy, tenderness amidst the sadness, evolution through painful process. Pain is love (Ja Rule has that tattooed on him right? And shit, tattoos hurt, they hurt bad, so he must really be convinced of that and I trust that to be truth). That doesn't mean there IS a God, but if you need proof, the fart thing should do just fine. A fart is also the closest thing in life to Ja Rule's music: it's painful, smelly, full of bass and for some reason lots of fun. Or it could be like a sinking ship full of really funny comedians, your choice.



I am not anti-God. I like the idea of God, I sincerely hope there is one. I also hope that God turns out to be what I feel in my heart God to be: Freakin' awesome, all knowing, all loving, non-judgemental, understanding, funny, literate in music trivia and... this is the big one now... has had a completely brilliant plan for me and you for our entire existence and none of the pain and suffering in this world was suffered in vain.


I have a pimple near the back of my jaw right along my jawbone. So far it's been pretty satisfying. It has popped on numerous occasions producing that satisfying popping sound that occurs when puss and blood come rocketing out of your face with enough velocity to die in battle against the bathroom mirror, oh the horror. I feel like it's over staying its welcome a bit though. It's thoroughly done producing and is in its healing stage, yet, it keeps popping. It also seems to be expelling tiny pieces of beard hair when it pops. This is not nearly as fun as rocketing puss and blood. In fact it's kind of pitiful. Yeah pimple, we had some fun, but you need to go now, nothing lasts forever, but we had fun.


Now, don't get me wrong. If an ingrown hair shoots out of a pimple when you exorcise it, that's a bonus, there's nothing better than a mummified beard hair shooting out of an overripe blemish. Your skin goes from fat to flat in seconds. The carnage is exquisite. You're left with a tiny, petrified souvenir to examine and throw away. The good life.


Vacuum bags from Amazon.com. I always forget that I order those things. Then a package shows up and I'm all "I didn't order anything," and I get all excited and it's just some crappy ole boring vacuum bags for a vacuum that doesn't work all that good anyway. I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my past lives so I can throw them out and move on and the god damned vacuum doesn't do the job. Vacuum bags suck. There's no joy in something so completely practical. Most other things in life have a slight fun potential but a vacuum bag... no fun to be had there. It's made to hold the most uninteresting trash possible. A dry plankton full of dna and synthesized substances. No joy there. They always come in boring colors too. They look like Daly City. Would a little color kill you Mr. Vacuum Bag Manufacturer? It might be nice to liven up a banal activity like vacuuming and it's worse counterpart: changing the vacuum bag. Some festive colors and an off color joke would definitely encourage me to check my bag's fullness a bit more often, oh and print some useful information on them...

Dear diary...

I am not a boy, nor a dude or a guy. I'm a man... and men have body hair, lots of it. We don't want it but it's a responsibility. Someone has to have it. There is a generational hair quota and some of us have some intense hair karma, some of us have excess testosterone.

There's a cheese agenda in America. Funny, as a citizen of a free country I figure that I have complete control over how much cheese I ingest at any given time. Turns out I'm wrong. 9 times out of 10... if I order something at an eatery of some kind, and the item that I order normally has cheese on it...and I ask for the cheese to be held, they will not hold it. Not at all. In fact, they do the opposite, with ruthless force, as if slighted. How dare I insult the cheese, everyone likes cheese (this is a command, not a generalization). God forbid I order a burger without cheese. Or *gasp* plain. Just make my freakin' burger, I like simple flavors, stop looking at me like I just (insert something truly horrific and blindingly funny here) to your moms face until it looked like a freakin' (insert something here to make people say "dude, you went too far" to themselves, that way they get a cheap laugh AND a sense of moral superiority).

I've been reading Henry Miller lately. He writes about his life. In the book I'm reading now, so far, he's been doing a lot of reading. I'm actually reading an 800 page book about a guy who reads. I think I dig it because that's what I do, I read and somehow continue to survive despite my silly romantic notions about art and expression. It's a wonderful life.

Sincerely,
Doogie Howser M.D. (mad decent)