From CNN:

"There was a bloodcurdling scream. I was just reading my book, and all of a sudden, I heard it," Garnet Caton, who was sitting in front of the two men, said of the Wednesday night incident west of Portage la Prairie in Manitoba.

"It was like something between a dog howling and a baby crying, I guess you could say," Caton said. "I don't think it will leave me for a while."

from The Guardian:

It came out of nowhere, passengers on the Canadian Greyhound bus said. A young man was sleeping, head against the window, when the man sitting next to him began stabbing and then decapitating him as other travellers looked on in horror....

When he was attacking him, he was calm - it was like he was at the beach," added Caton, who was sitting in front of the victim. "There was no rage or anything. He was just like a robot stabbing the guy." ...

Caton and the driver soon returned to the vehicle, however, and found the assailant still hacking the young man's body into pieces.

The severed head of the victim, described as in his 20s, was then displayed to the stunned passengers.

From Yahoo! news:

Caton and the driver shut the bus door from the outside while they waited for police to arrive.

"We put our bodies up against the door, waiting for him to come out ... and he went back and brought the head to the front and pretty much displayed it ... and dropped it on the ground in front of us," Caton said.

"All very calmly. He was wearing sunglasses. It was no big deal to him."

"The guy came to the front of the door with buddy's head in his hands, decapitated. He dropped the head and went back and started cutting the body back up," Olmstead said.

The victim and attacker never spoke to each other, Caton said, as the victim was listening to music through headphones...Passengers had no explanation either as to what might have prompted the attack.

things i saw today

woke up at 6:30, drove to richard's, dropped off my car to let him drive it to work as his is broken, watched top 12 sexiest jobs in vegas, slept until noon, rode bike back to siloam from gentry (about 30 min). i met ky at the coffee shop and we talked for a few hours, drove home in his car. ate food. found out my parents are leaving for san antonio. we did some mowing and weedeating then ditched everything to go swim.

after swimming we rode bikes to the casino. i got my $5 and ky signed up for his players club card. we rode a block over to the liquor store and bought miller lite and pbr 24 oz and rode bikes to a bridge. under the bridge we drank the miller lites and had a few cigarettes. it was very relaxing. afterward we went to the cafe and i laughed at things very easily. after a few hours of this the buzz wore off and i was very sad. i was sad that i was in siloam springs and drinking under bridges for fun. we left and i rode my bike very sadly. at taco bell we ate and talked. we laughed and i felt better. we talked about people we both knew.

i asked ky if he felt better about siloam and about being trashy and drinking under bridges. he said he did.

after taco bell we rode down a dark street. we rode bikes and had our pbrs. we stopped at the abandoned drive in theater and talked some more. we left with half empty cans. there was a place where the streetlights stopped and i rode into the darkness and i felt like i was on a rollercoaster. i put my hands into the air and grabbed at the stars. it seemed like a funny thing to do.

seventy-two words

there are some letters that i wrote for a little blog called seventy two words. it is the beginning of a micro-novel i'm working on.

cashier check scam on craigslist: my subsequent response: UPDATED

Hello,
I had like to know if the item is still available for sale.
REGARDS
***

Calvin,

The bike is definitely still available and in great condition. Would you like to arrange a time for you to look at it?

-israel
***

Thanks for getting back to me,am currently in

North America.I want to pick-up the item down
here, there won't be any problem about the

shipment.before i proceed i will like to know the

current condition of the item and i will also

appreciate it if you can send me some pictures of

the item. my broker will contact you as soon as

payment was made and confirmed.Get back to me ASAP.

Thanks,

Calvin,

***

Here are some pictures and a video of the bike:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3560720422641890879&hl=en

-israel

***

I got the video.Okay this is what am going to do in
term of payment,I have a friend in the state who is
owing me some money,i will instruct him to makeout
cashier's check or a money order to you in the
amount is owing me and as soon as you get the
payment cashed,you will deduct your money and you
will handover my balance to my shipping broker at
the time of pickup or you will send it to them.I
think this payment method is okay by you.so get
back to me with your contact information ASAP
because i also have some other goods to pickup in
the state.Get back to me with your contact info for
payment processing.

Thanks

***

Calvin

Hello, my name is Israel. I am trying to sell my bicycle. I am trying to sell it for $400 on Craigslist. I am doing this because I do not have money and I would like to have some. i am only a young man who is hungry and needs money in order to continue being one. Money is important and it helps humans do things that they need to. These things include:

1. eating
2. driving
3. having shelter
4. being clothed
5. do good things with people they love

at the moment i live in a garage that was converted into a house. i sometimes run out of gas in the middle of the street. the economy is not so good right. i do not have a job.

i like people. every tuesday and thursday i ride my bicycle into town and i tutor in english at the local literacy council. marcos is a very nice gentlemen and he is trying to learn the language so that he can move up the ladder at his factory job. marcos has a family. his father died when he was 13 and marcos has had to work hard since then. marcos has only had a 6th grade education. i am teaching marcos the alphabet right now and we are learning the difference between hard and soft vowel sounds. marcos is a very kind and gentle soul and when he smiles it is very special because everyone knows that he means it. marcos has not had it easy but he is working hard to be honest and to give his wife and his children the love they deserve.

mr. calvin stewart, my name is israel and i believe in humanity and goodness and decency. i think there is good in everyone and i think it is very important to preserve goodness and to help it grow.

now, you've presented me with a very special case here: to take your money, cash it, and give it your broker. as i said before, i like money and by extension, i like your money. if you were to give me a check for a large sum of money, i do not believe that i would be doing anything to preserve the decency and goodness in humanity that i mentioned. i would most likely steal your money. this is the sad truth and i wish it weren't true. i would take your money and buy illicit drugs and do them. i'm sorry. now i'm sure it would be a very stupid thing to do since i presume you are familiar with this type of business and have certain ways of having your 'broker' track me down and do some 'brokering' but i am almost that desperate.

conversely, you would not be helping humanity either. you would be helping me to continue waking up at noon, eating cereal, looking at strange things on the internet until 3, watch television, and try not to think about looking for a job. mr. stewart i have a college degree. what does this mean? nothing except that i am very much in debt. i owe the united states government a very large sum of money, a sum which i could not possibly re-pay on while doing little else but eating cereal and watching television.

mr. stewart, i, too, would like great amounts of money. i would like great power. i like to press all my weight onto something just to feel it suddenly snap. i am a human being and so are you, therefore we are brothers and we are the same. this is why i am convinced that any sort of business between the two of us would not help either one or the other and i will not be selling you my bicycle. instead i will continue riding it into town to tutor marcos and sit at the coffee shop and talk with my friends until the sun goes down and the weather is cooler for me to ride home.

i wish good things for you. you are famous and the people who know you think you are famous as well. i am proud of you.

- wagner israel cilio iii

***

Isreal, i had like to meet you... i just read what you wrote and i feel i should meet you. please reply

***

I don't know if that's such a good idea, Mr. Stewart.

I hope you understand why I think this.

-Israel

***
Well its ok if you dont want to meet me then..

bicycle ride to siloam springs, ar

i am a deep person and no one understands me because of this: everything i make attests to this statement

i am wasting my time. this is a waste of time. fuck.

paul mazzolini was born in beirut. he emigrated to italy.

in my house this morning i jumped up from my bed and started yelling. i woke and began yelling. i knew today would be terrible. i spent much of the morning looking at myself in the mirror and making strange noises.

paul mazzolini was a cosmopolitan teenager. he was involved in italo-disco.

first i spent the day looking at terrible things on the internet. i don't remember what. writing that sentence reminds me of looking at rotten.com in high school with my friends.

paul mazzolini began to record music with roman producer paul micioni.

i got a hair cut last night. i look like an egg. i want people to call me sergeant egghead. i had a friend who used to call her best friend in kindergarten that: sergant egghead.

i found a site that said this guy will interview anyone. i would like to be interviewed. i've written, on the internet, before: don't be shy, but i am shy right now. the guy wrote "don't feel selfish about wanting to be interviewed." i think i would still feel selfish.

paul mazzolini did not waste time. he was very economical with his time. he was wise and people used to comment on this to him.

the only way to not feel this way is to "topsy-turvy that motherfucker" and ask him the questions and interview him. this would be funny and postmodern.

paul mazzolini's most popular song was called "i like chopin".

i know that i would never be strong enough to do that. but i will e-mail him anyway and tell him that he better fucking interview me because i will make myself the most interesting, beautiful piece of shit he's ever looked at, talked to, interviewed, or even heard about. i can be a tiny imp, a baby larvae, a bloody shitty diaper, and a yellow slightly-hardened condom. i can do these things because i am a good person and i have control over things that matter. i would like some measure of power but i think this is natural and not something to be subscribed to as a character flaw of some kind.

paul mazzolini recorded music and released it under the moniker Gazebo (just like me...).

the weekend

friday:

i woke up on friday at melissa's house and her mom was making sounds outside my room. she left and ky and i woke up and walked around shirtless. when she came back i was reading a book on melissa's bed and ky was looking at madonna videos on youtube. we talked to her about annie the musical and it felt strange to talk to her with my shirt off. the internet punked out and we decided to meet up with melissa for lunch. it took me a very long time because we got lost. there are many turnpikes in oklahoma city. we finally met up with her and had lunch at schlotzsky's deli. melissa said something about caravanning back to siloam. i said okay but later i didn't know why. afterward melissa went back to work and ky and i went to barnes and noble to wait for her so we could leave together. when it was near 5 o'clock ky asked why we were waiting for her and i could not answer him. i didn't know why people caravanned at all. were gypsy attacks common in the area? she showed up and we left an hour or so before her.

we stopped at a travel center to get food and i told ky that i don't like being looked at. inside, i got doritos, doughnut holes, and m&ms. we stood outside eating our food. i held the doritoes like a baby and i was eating from out of its head. i saw most of a cigarette laying on a bench that someone had left while they went inside. i thought about taking it. in the car we were quiet a lot.

we got to siloam around 9 and met up with some friends on a roof of a large house in downtown which overlooks the tiny downtown strip. i got very drunk and climbed up higher on the roof with ky to smoke cigarettes and we looked at the stars and talked about tom sawyer and arkansas. it felt like we were little brothers and we were sharing secrets. when we started to climb down he kept telling me "you get down the same way you got up." i think it was supposed to mean something.

later we went to someone's loft apartment and i fell asleep on melissa and everybody was making shadow puppets on the wall. someone put something on my face and i didn't notice it. then i woke up and we talked until 5 in the morning and watched videos of old talents shows at jbu, the christian college in town.

saturday:

saturday i woke up because my friend ember called me from nebraska. she is a sweetheart and every time she calls or leaves a voicemail i always feel a jolt of kindness and sweetness for her. later melissa called me and we joined them at the local taqueria and i had a veggie burrito and the lady who works the counter asks me what i want in spanish because she knows that i speak. that is comforting. afterward we went to the cafe and i played a banjo for 20 minutes. then we left and melissa said goodbye because she was moving to denver and i didn't get nostalgic. we came back and i felt sad and lonely. all the "fun" was over. arkansas is a quiet place and "fun" is different.

i used the internet for a few hours and ky slept. then we went to the river and tried to go behind the waterfall so we could have fun again. the water pulled ky's shorts down and his white ass cheeks were coming through the water and we laughed. we saw three high school kids sitting on the dam and i told ky a made up story about the girl and how guys paid her for hand jobs and how these two other guys with her were her only friends and sitting at the dam was their favorite thing to do. we left and went to a gas station called twisters because it had been destroyed by tornadoes three times. inside there was a tornado motif in the decoration. it was 'cute'.

i began to get more and more nervous about everything. i was very sad and tense and when we drove to richard's house i smoked a cigarette even though i don't like smoking in my car or in siloam because my father is a preacher and it would not "look good". we got to richard's house and picked him up and i realized how much i love richard. we are perfect for each other and i was very proud to think that we'd been best friends since birth. i am very proud of this and it is one of my greateset accomplishments. we went to fayetteville and went to a starbucks and ky bought us a french press drink. it was okay. then our friend hope walked in and she was just in fayetteville by herself. we talked for a few hours.

then we went to a house show. it was a band that i had seen before. i hate going to house shows. i felt very self-conscious and unconfident. i felt like i was going to a new school. everyone was smoking and hip. they were all friends and they all came together every weekend to be hip. i hated it so much and i walked around with hunched shoulders and a stupid smile on my face. one guy was high and kept screaming and making karatae noises. he had red eyes and a very large smile. outside he asked me for a cigarette and when i handed him my last one he fell into the bushes. i gave the box for him to throw away. i don't think he did. richard tried to say something to one of the guys from the band and the guy pretended to not understand what richard was saying and be a pretentious asshole. richard has tougher skin than i do but i felt embarrassed for him and in a way, for me. i get angry when people hurt my friends but less so when they hurt me. i didn't ever want to come back to that place again.

we left and went to dickson street and i really felt more nervous than i ever had and i didn't have anymore cigarettes. i checked my balance on an ATM and richard and ky kept walking and i was glad to finally be alone for a while. i found a tiny pub called something crown and they went to see if they could get into some club. i sat and had myself a sunshine and resisted the urge to call anyone. i didn't say anything to anyone and i just drank my beer. later, lynrd skynrd's "simple kind of man" came on and i felt it to be very fitting. later i called my friend katie and explained a voicemail i left her about how ground down my nerves were. i kept walking and found richard and ky. i saw an ex-girlfriend's sister. i think she pretended not to see me. i waved when she turned and felt like an idiot.

we sat on a brick wall and watched people mill around dickson. they were all drunk and funny. they were many fights that almost happened. i was very quiet. a group of girls were wearing tight bright dresses and carrying their shoes in their hands. the bars were closing. their taxi came up and they were having trouble getting into it. the rest of their group was not there. another group of three wanted to opt the cab. the party girls got pissy and told them to fuck off. the group of three kept making belligerent remarks at the pissy girls. they stood on the street and watched the taxi drive off. after 15 minutes of this, they had their thumbs out on the street and no one was stopping and one of them screamed about how there should taxis at bars.

i offered them a ride and i found out there were in town to see moe. which i'd never heard of. they were from norman, oklahoma. they were 'hippies'. i found their hotel and they offered a smoke in their room which i reluctantly accepted. i came up and found their room was depressing. the girl was having a hard time turning the multi-light-switch-mode light on. the tv was on but not making any noise. their suitcases were open and their clothes inside was frumpy. i left and found richard and ky and we got in the car and i laid in the backseat and thought about space and about shapes coming in through circular shapes like snakes coming about holes or eels curling through coral reef holes. sometimes they were wet and sometimes they were slimey. i imagined riding on one.

i fell asleep very calm and i woke up at richard's house. ky drove home and i tried to visualize what the road looked like and give him directions home with my eyes closed and laid down. we ate at taco bell and i got a 1/2 lb. cheesy bean and rice. we got home and ate our burritoes. i had a terrible time taking out my contacts. we talked about God and jesus and i said i liked jesus a lot and i felt we were brothers but i didn't 'believe' in him. ky listened and was quiet. it got later and later and when we went to sleep we didn't say goodnight.

of course

it is hot in my parent's house. i am using their internet. i have a little fan that i wave at my face. the fan has a picture of a woman clutching a pole which i guess is supposed to be the foot of cross.

there is a line on her forehead and it means that she feels afraid, safe, desperate, and infinitely alone.

my skin has a thin layer of sweat on it and i feel like a glazed doughnut.

every time i type i have to set down the fan and write out what i want to say. i have to remember to be pithy because the heat is not comfortable and i must learn to be economical with time in the warmness.

i just read something very sad and intense. i listened to a sad song and thought about walking around my backyard naked in a long over sized t-shirt.

there are many times when i wish i could hear what people are listening to. what song are you listening to right now? please e-mail me a song that you are listening to or one that you would like me to hear and i will try to do likewise.

husbands, love your wives - "put the hatchet down"

i got back from oklahoma city last night. i went to a show and i saw a girl whose father didn't love her. wayne coyne from the flaming lips was there too and he walked by and she pissed her pants. but in a cool way. she was cool about the urine dripping down her leg (like a paralyzed dog). later i saw her behind the merch table talking to one of the guys from the band. it was like she was interviewing him. she was wearing a black shirt with the batman logo. we called her batgirl for the rest of the night. and she was not very kind to us when we asked for directions to a bar. when we got to the bar, she was yelling at the doorman saying, what the fuck and the doorman saying, get the fuck out of here or we'll call the fucking cop, and batgirl going, what the fuck? why can't you just be cool? and the doorman saying, you can't fucking come in! and then spotting us walking to the door and saying, You guys can come in, and opening the door for us.

then I left my wallet in the parking lot. we drove back to get it.

Rejection Letters 1, 2 & 3

Wagner,

Hello. Thank you for submitting. I found your video interesting and calming. Unfortunately, it's not what we're looking for. Our journal is a poetry and fiction video journal, and I didn't see what this video had to with fiction or poetry (other than the books).

Feel free to submit more videos in the future.

Sincerely,
XXXXX

***

Thank you for submission. We enjoyed reading your work but will not be publishing it in our August issue. I think that you are onto something with your David Lynch piece and would be interested to see it in a revised form. I would recommend heavily curbing your use of the word 'like', even if it is character dialogue. Good luck in your future endeavors.

Editor

XXXXXX

***

Dear Wagner Israel Cilio III,

Thank you for submitting your stories to XXXX. I regret to tell you we're going to pass on these. We appreciate the chance to read and consider them, and wish you all the best with placing them elsewhere.

Regards,
XXXXXX

for the birds

my sister pays attention to technology.
she is 12 years old.
when things beep,
she looks at them
and says 'okay'.

she says 'okay' to a lot of things.

my sister likes to call me
from my father's phone.
when i answer,
she has very few things to say.

sometimes i can see her talking to me
from the window of her bedroom.

if i don't answer,
she leaves me a message
so that i can talk to her
and not have to look at her.

edgar allen poem

i would like to write a poem.
this is a poem.
i didn't write this poem.

Wildlife of Israel Cilio
by Tatiana Ryckman

That place you go

And those things you do there;

that sounds like a wild life.

You will be wildlife,

behind a desk

behind a counter

behind a sheet of glass.

You will hide, man-suited,

and people will come to observe you.

Like in museums you will meet blank expressions

and curious turns-of-head.

You will bicycle home,

on only two wheels,

while headlights blind your retinas.

They will shrivel like testicles

submerged in cold water,

and you will peddle faster.

At home you will type, with a new garish-glare,

and everyone will say that they love you.

Israel Cilio,

you will be a doe.

You will be a friendly caged animal,

not a foe.

You will be caught in bright lights,

and we will all enjoy you very much.

saroyan and me

this is a picture my friend melissa drew of me drinking pbr with my favorite writer, william saroyan. what a hipster...

please do not mind my female-african-americaness as i am already anticipating the name-calling, particularly that of "negress".

UPDATE:

It appears the worst has come to now.

story published and some pictures

the david lynch story i mentioned before was "published" on dennis cooper's blog. my story is probably about 3/8 of the way down, or just press ctrl + F and type in my last name: cilio.

i still wish i hadn't sent it in so soon. some parts are confusing. i don't know if this should be considered a legit venue but i am still very excited about it. at least now i can link to a story on my sidebar that is not from my own blog.

here are some pictures that i've taken recently. they may be too big and if they are i'm sorry. this is the barn outside my window. my brother and i had a secret clubhouse in the hay loft when we were little. it even had a trap door.

this is what the sun looks like when it sets over my house.

this was a big thunderstorm. very few things are as peaceful to me as thunderstorms in arkansas. everything gets muggy and the sky turns green. the sky was moving very fast over my head.

richard and i stood on the propane tank outside my house for half and hour to get some lightning pictures. these were the best we could get.

this is what my room looked like while i was recording the aforementioned GAZEBO album (see last post)

lately i have been attracted to kaleidoscope patterns. i got this kaleidoscope with the bike i won in an essay contest that i didn't enter.

i made a music video/download my music

last month i locked myself in my room for a week and recorded an album for my friends. the result is this musical endeavor and you can download it.

GAZEBO - Fwends EP

in order to attract the masses, i have produced a music video for the single entitled "song 4 eric" which is the last song on the album. here are the fruits of my labor:

sunday afternoon depression on gmail chat

me: helllo sorry
melissa: no problem
me: ok

what did you do this weekend?

melissa: friday was the longest day at work in my life

i could not have been happier to leave

in fact, i left 10 minutes early

me: oh yeah? did you get tired of making itunes playlists?

melissa: then i met my frieds for dinner, natalie's parents took us out for her birthday

haha--yes yes

its back breaking work

me: coooooooooooool

melissa: then we went to her house and played tether ball

and had keylime pie

and went to Maker's

and there was the cutest jazz band playing full of old black men

they were called BLT

and i could have watched the drummer for the rest of my life

me: was his name bojangles?

melissa: ha probably

me: nothing is working on my computer

i want to watch youtube and i can't

melissa: oh dear, the heartbreaker?

me: i want to listen to music on myspace and i can't

i am on my father's computer

i hate it

it is broken

it probably broke from all the porn i've been looking at

i am tired

this house is hot

melissa: haha

me: i am sleepy

i am so tired

i wanted to swim at the river

i wanted to go with my parents

but they kept asking me to go

and i hated that they were asking me to go

so i didn't go and i went and locked myself in my house

i tried to record my floor tom acoustically

it is hard to do that

i tried to read a magazine

it was boring

i tried to play the guitar but it was the same boring thing

i am hot and i wish i would've gone to the river

to swim

melissa: are they still there?

me: idk

melissa: you could sneak up on them

and then jump into the river right when they are all drying off

and splash them and start a water fight

me: i don't want to do that

i am going to post this on my blog
melissa: i just read your email

is your cousin the white guy named washtington?

am i making that up? i fell like richard told me u guys had a white cousing

me: that's jose

he's adopted

melissa: oh yes

me: washington is legit

melissa: jose

he's blood

me: jose is not

melissa: man, ive had some fantastic times at city lake. it made me sentimental to hear about it

me: jose is not blood

jose is adopted

melissa: washington

whoops

me: i was joking

we don't have a white cousin

sorry

it was a jole

melissa: i am tired of looking at people's wedding pictures

oh man. you're name isnt really israel is it?

me: no it's wagner

first name

melissa: ...

you

you are sassy today

me: i know, right?

i am sad

or something

i have felt this way all day

i woke up feeling sad

because i woke up at 11:30
***
me: yes

i saw animal collective live last night

i felt like a loser

melissa: oh no way!

where at?

me: it was from the pitchfork webcast

not for "real"

melissa: ahhh

Sent at 4:34 PM on Sunday

melissa: have u seen them live in person?

me: yes

in omaha

melissa: was is an experience?

me: yes

i cried

not really

melissa: ah, thats great. those are the best shows

me: isn't that funny how crying validates experiences?

melissa: hmm yes

me: it's supposed to "mean" something

***

me: can i tell you a secret?

the other day i cried when i watched a monty python movie

melissa: yes

ha--really!

why?

me: it is the beginning of monty python's the meaning of life

these old men are working hard and these young supervisors are cracking whips over their heads and it's supposed to be like they're slaves rowing a ship

and then they rebel and fight everyone and they are funny and i laughed and cried at the same time.
i wanted to be free
melissa: hey hold on!!!
me: no, i am going to go watch this now.
goodbye

The Crimson Permanent Assurance (Part 1)


The Crimson Permanent Assurance (Part 2)


UPDATE: Watching The Meaning of Life honestly made me feel better. About life and about other people and my relation to them. Before, I felt like I standing at a huge hole in the grass in my backyard and i was just standing there looking inside and scratching my head and thinking about how clean my pants were. now my pants are dirty and the hole does not appear to be so deep.

the weekend

i am writing a story about the end of the world.
it will be my first micro-novel. it will be up here shortly.
all my sentences begin with 'i'. everything is about me.

this is good.

***

i called someone to ask them to hang out with me the other night. i was making small talk for a little while. i tried to say something funny in order to lead into asking them to hang out.

i said, i thought we could get 'fucked up' as they say.
(see last post)

and then i laughed a forced laugh because it is important to magnify all emotions when employing telecommunications.

she did not laugh.
she repeated it. 'fucked up?' she said

and then i added: yes, as they say

i added this to let her know that i didn't care if we hung out or not and that i was just joking but if we did hang out it would be cool with me, i was just calling to see, whatever, nothing hurts me.

and then she said, Oh...ok, well, i don't know yet.

i paused for a few moments and listened. she was struggling. i tried to say something else that i thought would be funny. i could not think of anything. i knew she did not want to become 'tied down' to hanging out with me that evening and i was okay with this. but i could not speak. i was realizing that i am boring person and that i can be a 'drag'. this was funny to me but not yet as i am only now laughing about it. the only reason i could not speak was because i was still in the middle of discovering this and also discovering that i was okay with this and that i didn't need to be with someone all the time in order not feel lonely.

i felt like i learned something. i felt like my name was stephanie tanner. i felt like i had been addicted to methamphetamine and destroyed my marriage with a mixed race Los Angeles police officer and that i was now just waking up and looking at the shambles of my sitcom life and realizing that sometimes i look like a tiny little imp and that i am not wanted to be hung out with on a friday evening when all i really wanted to do was just get fucked up, sit on a couch, and build a mountain of empty beer cans while staring uneasily at guests at a backyard bonfire/cookout in the woods.

and this was too much to ask for, i think.

this weekend i plan to get drunk. not just drunk. i plan to get fucked up. fucked up. i plan to get fucked up by drinking inordinate amounts of alcohol. i plan to call people who have inordinate amounts of alcohol and i plan to talk to them casually and then bring up their ownership of alcohol and the exact inordinate amount of it that they own. i plan to take a long awkward drive into the woods where this person will live and where there will be a party and i plan to sit on a filthy couch outside by a bonfire, drinking budweiser which will taste like shit and i will not talk to anyone and continue to nurse my watery drink and make a pile of crushed beer cans next to the couch so that when people look at me they will only see me sitting on the couch, quietly looking at my feet and with a giant pile of beer cans next to me and they will think that i am "troubled" or "deep" and then i will look up shyly, flinch, and look back at my feet. i plan for the alcohol to finally take effect because even water with alcohol will eventually get you drunk. i will begin to feel more comfortable with myself and then i will imagine that i am a camera lense and i will watch everyone like they are a reality TV show and i will laugh at their nuances and i will not be afraid to stare and not take them seriously because they are only television characters, i will remind myself. then i will stumble to my car with only one sock on my left foot. when i get into my car i will be sure to put on my seatbelt but i will get tangled in it and look like cosmo kramer and it will be funny to the television audience watching at home. the seatbelt will wrap itself around me in a strange way so that it will squeeze my stomach and i will throw up all over myself, my car, and the cute girl who was noticing me on the couch by the bonfire with the mountian of beer cans next to me the entire evening. she will walk up to me like she is going to take care of me and trying to remember every detail to one day tell her friends about the 'sweetest' guy she ever met. but then when i throw up on her she will be stand there not knowing what to do and i will look and see a television character covered in vomit and i will laugh with the rest of the television audience.

***

i decided the name of my novel. it will actually be a series of micro-novels with hopefully some kind of arch. it will also have some short short short stories and maybe haikus and poems. or maybe not. i think a lot of it will be derived from posts on this blog.

it's funny writing on here, trying to be a writer. this is funny, i think. i take myself too seriously. a lot of sites do not seem to like my stories. this is funny to me. i work very hard and it's funny that this does not translate. i am not complaining. i am laughing. a mouth can't laugh and complain at the same time. i am laughing. i must laugh at this.

at the casino today i got my $5 and sat in the food court. i was very excited because usually all the tables are taken up by the old people and these fuckers camp. out. i found a table and i sat and read about typology and i usually can't read with noise but the casino is a very comforting place. all the machines going off and the smoke. it's very pretty sound to me.

it has become a hassle to bring my backpack into the casino. it always gets checked. i don't like this. i got in trouble the other day because i brought in crackers. i bought these crackers because i was hungry and i biked all the way to the casino from the grocery store with these crackers in my backpack.

i rode my bicycle into town again and i really can't think of anything more pleasurable. today i drove by the small farmer's market at the park that goes on every tuesday, friday, and saturday. i thought about buying an apple and eating it while riding my bicycle because today is pretty outside but none of the stands sold apples. only asparagus. onions. and radishes.

this is no kind of meal for a pretentious short story writer, i said. and i biked away.

time, space, ignorance, and over-stimulation on wikipedia

when i read wikipedia i am helpless to soon realize and experience, in some form, the collective weight of ignorance, over-stimulation, and the awareness of time and space.

when i read wikipedia, i am usually looking up a topic that i want to learn about. i type in the keywords into the search bar and press enter. at this point, i am ignorant and working to alleviate this ignorance.

when the wiki comes up i find the information that i am looking for. however, this information is often supplemented by a bevy of links cataloging foregoing subsidiary information, which in turn causes me to access these links on other tabs.

after some time of my novice researching, i have found that i have opened a total of 12 tabs all dealing with some extended form of the initial subject i was looking into. this leads me to realize: a human cannot function with 12 tabs open and still with no answers and with no one to offer a condensed answer or to provide a Cliff notes version, thereby forcing me to forego the current topic of research at hand and only grouse as to the absurd number of tabs i have open, none of which i imagine i will read, or have time to read.

and the time it has taken me to reach this place, which is to say, the confines of all that i am able to consume, i am taken me back to the fact i am just as handicapped in the area of interest as i was to begin with. the time i spent exposing myself to symbols and letters which i intended to decipher and again encode, has rendered me as, and even mores, unable to know absolutely anything.

potential submissions to urban dictionary

Googlebate (v): 1. the act of looking up one's own name on Google

I need to take a break. I've been googlebating all day.

2. the act of googling words like 'b00bz' and 'pr0n' and 'slutz' and then finding tiny porn pictures

I need to take a break. I've been googlebating all day.

Broversation (n): to have a conversation bro-to-bro; not to be confused with "bro-ference" which is a conversation amongst "bros" (the word 'bro' is employed for its ironical propensities)

How are you holding up, Sal? You look like you need a broversation.

things i saw today

richard and i went to the river today. the water was high because of all the storms the past couple of weeks. we jumped off the dam. when water went up my nose, it really hurt. i kept forgetting to cover it. a few years ago a kid drowned after jumping off the dam. my friend matthew said he drove up with his family while they were pulling out the kid's body. he said the kid was wearing blue shorts. or maybe he said the kid's body was blue. i don't remember.

i tried to swim upstream and it was very hard. i was trying very hard. i wanted to touch the dam but i was not strong enough. i felt like these fish i saw once under a bridge in colorado. i told richard i had dreamt about this once.

richard tried to swim upstream too. he just looked funny. his arms were flat and he looked like he was paddling out to sea. i laughed at him and i think he felt self-conscious.

later, i found a shitty diaper by the water. i kept walking and i found another shitty diaper on a rock. it was next to some children's toys.

there was a large indian guy wearing a t-shirt in the water. richard noticed that grown-ups don't like to play in water. we used to love to play in the water. now we just to like to walk around in it. i looked at the big indian and i thought of how funny he looked. he looked like a walrus leisurely taking a bath. i was not surprised when he pulled out a backscrubber and started scrubbing his back. the indian walrus grew a thought bubble and it read: this is not so bad. the economy is not so bad. everything is okay. this water is okay. i will just take my bath here and no one will bother me. it will be okay to take a bath in this water.

(is it okay to call native americans 'indians'? what is the consensus on this? i would not like to offend anyone.)

i have been unemployed for the past two months. i have been submitting my resume and writing e-mails every day. some days i sit at my dad's desk and look out the window. sometimes i watch television. sometimes i ride my bicycle.

i got a job today. i work at the airport now.
i have to join a labor union.

would you like to listen to the song that i am listening to right now?
okay, here you go:

Charly Garcia - "El fantasma de canterville"

today i wrote an e-mail:

dear jonny,

i have downloaded the new firefox.
it does not look very attractive.
it has lost all of its postmodern "allure".

-israel

i have just submitted some of my stories to a magazine that i do not believe will publish them.

the magazine is based in arkansas and it did not have any "standards". also, the url was www.muttsbane.com

this leads me to believe the people who run the magazine are old women.

today i will get my laptop and my backpack and ride my bicycle to the coffee shop and work continuously on my novel. i will not stop even when the barista gives me dirty looks for never buying anything. i will hate her in my mind.

the other day i read an essay called "Fort Smith, Arkansas" and it was very funny and very interesting and not so much about Fort Smith, Arkansas as much it was about every-single-literary symbol ever congealed into a formaldehyde gel of primacy and low-brow ill-repressed sexual longing. it was by a certain justin taylor and it's too smart for me.

i get e-mails from a company called "Gigcrib". it is a free lance writing directory operation thing. they are called Gigcrib. the name of their company is Gigcrib. they choose to represent their organization with the name Gigcrib. they wish create the rouse that they have some manufactured a "crib" in which "gigs" may be found.

i am looking at apartments in prague. i do not want to move to prague but it helps if i imagine this. soon they will move to the euro and then shit will be expensive. i would much prefer if their shit was not expensive. they are still on the crown. this does not matter because the dollar is falling faster than a victim from the world trade center. that is not a metaphor.

i feel bad for writing that thing about the world trade center. i would not like to hurt anyone's feelings. i would not like someone's dad to pissed. i thought it was funny though. and good.

i'm sorry...i'll take it down.

i got an interview today. for a job. at the airport. as a baggage handler. i have a college degree and this is okay. the airport will be part-time. i will be able to "make ends meet."

i am listening to music on myspace. i am listening to a band named Lazarus. i think it is just one guy.

it is a beautiful day outside and i will ride through it on my bicycle now and when i go down the hill that is terrible to ride up, i will lift my hands and pretend that i am meg ryan in city of angels, but i will be cute 80s meg ryan, when she was still america's sweetheart. this is important to me.

youtube review: "taekwondo best knockouts"

i am watching a youtube video about tae kwan do knockouts. the video is called "Taekwondo Best Knockouts."

pretty much, i think you just have to do a spin kick or something and then your opponent is dead meat, basically. it doesn't look very hard. actually, most of them look like accidents. man, that's not interesting. right? that's not interesting.

i have noticed that when people get knocked out, they crumble. i mean, like fall in a heap of body, like they are a sack of bones. this is probably the best part of the knockout--the actually "out." the second best part is how the winner reacts. he will sometimes prance and lift his hands up in the air. when winners lift their hands into the air this means that they want to make more room so that they can receive more praise and glory. they like winning.

i am imagining a 15-year martial arts aficiando googling all things martially artistic and finding my blog and getting really pissed and leaving me a comment. he will be very angry because i am saying that his sport is easy to do and that anyone can do it. the comment will have words spelled incorrectly and not thought out through. the other day i sent an e-mail saying something spelled incorrectly and not thought out through enough. i remember i was talking to like six people on gmail chat.

the older you get, the worse you look falling for long distances

i am dumb, dumb, dumb.
[compost:composure]

first, i would vomit the bear out.
the bear would lay in the grass
and moan because that
really
hurt.

i would be moaning, too.
i would be bent over
with my hand on the barn.

after a few minutes,
the bear and i
would re-gain our composure,
respectively.

i would take the bear's snout
and put it in my face
and i would say things to it and
it would try to look away
but i would keep pulling its snout back to my face
and i would keep saying things
and you wouldn't be able to hear those things
because sound waves diffuse over space
in proportion of distance to decibel.

this is a law of physics.

i would point at you but
not look at you.
i would stand beside the bear
and look at it
sitting.
i would wait.
i would wait and then
give it a little tap like
"c'mon...go."

then the bear would get up
and move over to you.
it would look friendly and nice
and smart and intelligent
and beautiful and relevant and brown.
and it would play with you, and you
would brush your fingers through his fur
and kiss his face.

[compost:composure]

dumb.
i do not want to hear differently.
if you are unwise
and say otherwise
i will invent the dumbest sentence
and say it to you and you
will think it
was good.

then i will know
you are dumb
too.

My resume

Israel Cilio
5165 Cedar Dr.
Colcord, OK 74338
479.220.8025

CAREER
OBJECTIVE

To make enough money to be able to move into a real house and not just a shack that I tell my friends I am "renting" from my parents even though they and I know I can't afford to buy soda, which I love.

QUALIFICATIONS

I really like to write things. If you giveme a job where I can write things and if you pay me to write these things, I will write good things and I will write things like you have never seen things written.

EDUCATION

Union College – Lincoln, NE

Bachelor of Arts: English, emphasis on writing and speaking

Major courses taken

-Creative Writing
-Children's Literature
-Reporting
-Intro to God
-Death: 101

HONORS

Dean’s List, Fall Semester 2004, Southwestern Adventist Univ. for which I received a free laptop computer which should very well be expired but who is a trooper after it having been assaulted by wine and lightning.

WORK
EXPERIENCE

Voluntary tutor, Dogwood Literacy Council: Siloam Springs, AR, June 2008 to present. I tutor this guy Marcos who is really nice and always offers to give me a ride home after we are done.

Teacher’s assistant, Union College Humanities Division: Lincoln, NE, August 2006 to June 2008. Graded, recorded, and edited composition papers for grammatical and syntactic errors. I especially enjoyed writing scathing remarks in bright red ink on the grimy stained freshmen research papers (seriously, like salami stains or something).

Humor columnist, The Clocktower. August 2006 to February 2008. Wrote regular humor articles for the campus newspaper. I once wrote an expose on my favorite towel which had puppies on it and was the only towel I owned because I had no money, much like now...
(listen to your heart, okay?)

ESL Teacher, McNeilus Language School: Prague, Czech Republic, August 2005 to July 2006. Taught intensive grammar courses to post-high school students. I played Twister with my students once and somehow managed to entwine myself into a compromising physical position with an attractive student. I was 19.

SKILLS

Bilingual: Spanish and English, WPM: 72; skilled with MS Word and Excel (I also know how to tell when the "Insert" button is pressed on a keyboard, thus avoiding unintentional deletion of important graphics and words and things)

INTERESTS

I enjoy writing short stories, blogging, and traveling. Last summer I went on a tour of homes where I played house shows in an intimate environment with overhead slides corresponding to the images of my songs. I tried to meet girls but mostly, I just gave a lot of people back rubs.

REFERENCES

Richard Daniel Dugan -- Presently Unemployed, Richard has been my best friend since I was born. We like to go the casino and drink free soda and watch the amputees. He seems to like me so I'm pretty sure he can vouch for me. Also, I write most of my stories about him. 479-220-8700

Marcos Gutierrez --Marcos works at a cannery in the mornings. We meet at the literacy council on Tuesdays and Thursdays to tutor him in English. When I explain things to him, he always tried really hard to understand. When he does understand, he smiles and nods his head a lot and lets me know that he understands now. He is a nice guy and I think he will tell you the same about me. 479-220-1111

Michelle ??? --Michelle works at the casino and every time she gives me my $5 stipend she smiles and tells me to have a nice day. I always say the same thing back to her because I am sure it’s hard to work in a smoke-filled room all day with old people and their dialysis bags. I don’t know her last name but if you show up at the casino and ask around, I’m sure someone will point you in the right direction. In any case, here is the casino’s number: (800) 754-4111

Reginald and the Albatross

Reginald Phillips had an albatross. Its name was Rory. Reginald and Rory lived on the upper west side of Manhattan in an apartment. The apartment was near a park. The park had a pond in it. The pond had trees around it. The trees became bright orange and brown in the fall. Reginald loved to look at them during the fall.

Reginald and Rory never left the apartment. Rory had white feathers and long wings. Rory never left Reginald's shoulder. Reginald was miserable. He hated Rory. They fought all the time. Sometimes they wouldn't talk. But Rory was Reginald's friend (sorta).

Reginald was neurotic. He was also 40. Unmarried. He was a philosophy professor at Columbia. He only worked part-time. He always wore a sweater because he was always cold.

At first, everyone loved Reginald. How bizarre, they would say. How bizzare to have an albatross on his shoulder, they would squeal. What does it mean, they would ask each other. They were sure it meant something. How weird.

What does it mean, they asked Reginald.
Reginald shrugged.
Where did you get him, they kept on.
Coney Island, Reginald said. But neither remembered how they had met. And they didn't care.

Rory's left wing was shorter than his right wing. He had broken a bone in his left wing and the bone had set improperly. Rory could only fly in circles now. So Rory never flew. At all. He never left Reginald's shoulder. Except for the one time when he broke his wing. Reginald had been reading something by William Saroyan. When Rory was flying Reginald became excited. He stood up. He headed to the door. Rory saw Reginald leaving. He smashed into a bookcase. Reginald threw the book down and went to help. The book slid under the couch.

One afternoon it was wet. Reginald was reading aloud to Rory. He was reading Thus Spake Zarathustra. Something fell from the pages. A scrap of paper. He stopped reading. Rory squawked. He was not happy. The paper was the address of a lost love: Ramona Peters. He held the paper between two fingers while pictures and colors went off behind his eyes.

I've been alive for 50 years, Reginald thought. He was looking at the brown trees in the park. And in those 50 years I've never been in three things: a coffin, a fistfight, and love. He studied the paper again for a little while longer. Then he tucked it behind the Phi Kappa Gamma crest insignia on his breast pocket and left.

Reginald and Rory took a taxi. They took a bus. They came to a building. It was still raining. They walked into the building. They walked up six flights of stairs. Then they knocked on a door. Reginald stood waiting at the door. He watched his and Rory's reflection in the doorknob. The door opened and brown light came into the hallway. A man wearing sweatpants and a wolf shirt looked at Reginald and Rory.

You're not Ramona Peters, Reginald said. The man looked at Reginald. Blinked. Looked at Rory. Blinked again and then pointed to the door across the hall. The hallway became dark when the man shut his door. Reginald turned around.

When the door opened this time there was not a man in sweatpants and a wolf shirt. There was a slender young lady. She had pale milk skin. She wore a bright yellow dress. Reginald stood for a moment. There was bright light everywhere.

Ramona smiled.
Reginald smiled too.
Rory squawked.
They stood there and nobody spoke. Then Ramona laughed. Reginald laughed too (but he didn't know why).

That evening it wasn't raining anymore. Ramona, Reginald, and Rory went on the roof for fresh air.

I found a paper of yours in my book today, Reginald said. I think that I'm in love with you.
I found a paper of yours in my book today, too. I think that I may be in love with you. Reginald smiled and thought about writing a song for her.

Why do you have an albatross on your shoulder, she asked later.
I don't know. But I'm really tired of keep him there, Reginald sighed looking at Rory. Rory began pecking at his head.

Albatrosses don't belong on shoulders or anywhere around there.
Where do they belong then?
They belong at sea, or at least in Los Angeles. But not in New York and not with you or me.

Reginald looked over the city and thought about how happy all the children living in it were. He thought about his mother and the garden they used to have on their roof. He thought about the beginning of life. He thought about grass and water. He thought about infinity. He thought about reading and about language and about everything impermeable, everything radiant and true, and everything clear and clean.

And so Reginald smiled at Ramon, looked at Rory, and set him free.

the micro-novel

i have made the transition from Wordpress onto Blogger. I have my other blogs here, I said. I will make them all on blogger. i spent a long time transferring all the posts and giving them the right dates so that you will think that i had this blog all along while the opposite is true.

tonight I began serious work on my micro-novel. It felt good. I told someone that I invented this style. I don't know if that's true or not. I am almost certain it's not. Although I am afraid to google it and find out.

i have just spent an hour writing about the different hits i got when i googled "micro-novel" and i finally gave up when i found out about "novellas" and "novelletes" which is almost exactly what i'm writing. still, i think it's different. i will stop talking abou it.

yesterday i wrote a story about david lynch. it was for dennis cooper's contribution for David Lynch day. i was so excited about the story that i submitted it as soon as i finished with very few revisions. when i looked it over today i felt like a dipshit. it's a good story but with stupid mistakes.

in any case, i will now post a children's story i wrote 2 years ago called "Reginald and the Albatross"

I interview myself

WAAGPAWLE: Who do you think you are?

WIC3: I am a young Romanian call boy in red shorts, an over-sized ADIDAS jacket, and unlaced AIR Jordan's collecting dirt into a plastic bottle on an overcast day squatted on the banks of a filthy Bucharest gutter.

WAAGPAWLE: You mentioned Bucharest: Do you have a special attachment to that city?

WIC3: No.

WAAGPAWLE: Have you been there?

WIC3: Yes.

WAAGPAWLE: Did you collect dirt there?

WIC3: Yes.

WAAGPAWLE: What is your name?

WIC3: Lorenzo Miguel Escobar de Guadalupe

WAAGPAWLE: Why does that matter?

WIC3: It matters for two reasons: it matters because i exist and am a human being, a self-contained molecular unit with the ability to manipulate from the formal system of language, strings of thought--their coherency being irrelevant--and since thoughts find roots in language and humans talk and think, post hoc ergo propter hoc, i am humanity. It also matters because I am a short story writer and therefore, in my thinking and my writing, i represent, with writing, this language and therefore, the self-referential paradox that is existence.

WAAGPAWLE: So you're an artist then?

WIC3: No, not even in the slightest. Being an artist implies some kind of intention and I have no intentions of any kind. When I write I don't try to say anything and I don't try to make people think. I write because its funny for me to look at words that I've written and to think how these little shapes and symbols somehow mirror shapeless amoebas of things I think about. Come to think of it, I do most things because they make me laugh. Even now, I can't help making faces at myself in the mirror of restrooms when no one is looking. I think that's funny and I try to get people to read these things I write so they can laugh at the silliness of language with me.

Art also implies commerce and everything I've ever made has been free. I've never sold anything in my life (not even myself, my resume is a joke). Richard and I used to have a lemonade stand when we were little and I used to just give out the lemonade. Richard didn't like that. I believe that with the advancement of technology and global communications, there is no room for "artists" anymore, much less for them to try and sell anything. And for someone to actively attempt to "teach" others in any form (and I mean that in the sense of trying to persuade, inform, or guide) toward some kind of truth when information to help you make up your own mind is so readily available is--aside from laughable and preposterous--completely naive and asinine.

WAAGPAWLE: What would be success for you?

WIC3: I think maybe just publishing something that I can really be proud of, something that I can read later and laugh at, and something that would make other people laugh with me because I like laughing with lots of people. And that's really what success would be: being a part of the greatest single collective human laugh. I think it might also be in gaining the respect of people I respect, which is a form of validation and I just spent so much time saying that I only write to make myself laugh but I think that my own laughter would be a little bit sweeter if I knew some people laughing with me, really laughing with me.

WAAGPAWLE: You mentioned "humanity" a few times. Do you like it?

WIC3: What, humans?

WAAGPAWLE: Sure.

WIC3: I've said that I do and I've said that I don't. Today, yes. I do. I like humans. They're pretty cool, I think. I like writing stories for them.

WAAGPAWLE: What would make you stop writing?

WIC3: The invention of machines to connect two human minds together in unhindered telepathy

Wagner Israel Cilio III invented the genre “micro-novel” at the age of 22. He lives in Arkansas and likes soda.

Working Bios

I am working on my writer's bio for when I submit my stories to fiction sites. This is one I sent into 3:AM

- Wagner Israel Cilio III lives in a little house on his parents' property in Arkansas. Everything he writes is plagiarized. Here is a music mix he made. He is 22.

These are some ideas:

- Wagner Israel Cilio III live in Arkansas on his parent's property in a little house. In his spare time, he enjoys going to the casino and drinking free soda. He has never published anything anywhere ever. He is 22.

-Wagner Israel Cilio III has had sex with, like, so many girls. He is only 22.

-Wagner Israel Cilio III invented the genre "micro-novel" at the age of 22. His debut mico-novel, "Reginald and the Albatross", was self-published in 2006 for a Children's Literature course. Israel lives in Arkansas and likes soda.

-Wagner Israel Cilio III likes to write on paper and sometimes stories happen, which is extraordinary given his mere age of only 22, this being a young and contempible age albeit one in which Cilio meets like so many chicks.

-Wagner Israel Cilio III is an artist and he makes art and artistic things which collectively constitute art, in and of its quantative attributes. He lives in Arkansas which is kind of lame but okay, he guesses.

let me know which one you like.

yesterday I was at the casino and it was the fourth of july and there was a tv over the bar and it was 2:00 in the afternoon and i was watching a hot dog eating contest on tv on the fourth of july where like 50 people, american people, devoured hot dogs and fisted food into their mouths and swallowed it and i think i like living in america simply for the irony.

i hate almost all of my friends. this is true and i am not exaggerating. i like them to a certain point and i think they are nice people but when it comes down to it, i don't really like them. i get tired of them very easily. i don't like things that i can get tired of very easily. richard says he couldn't get tired of soda. he says he could drink soda all day, even if he's not thirsty. i want to like someone like richard likes soda.

today i was sitting at "church", bored. i go there so my parents won't start worrying about my life and then make me a " prayer request." anyway, i was at church, reading about hinduism, when i looked up and saw a young girl kneeling on stage talking to a wooden cross about how she liked to steal things and to lie and the cross had the word for "forgiveness" in spanish nailed into the wood. when she talked to it, some guy with a olive oil voice was hiding in the baptismal tank talking into a microphone and he was supposed to be jesus, or something. i could see the top of his head. later, when the service ended, everyone held hands and i had no time to zip out because i had foolishly sat in the middle and so i had to hold hands with everybody and sing a song and when this part came in the song, everyone raise their held hands in the air and i let my hands be raised up like jesus christ being put on a cross and i hung my head and felt so sad for myself, like i had been finished and crucified and this was the end.

i'm sorry i said i didn't like my friends. it's not true. i do like my friends. sort of. and it's not that i don't like them as much as it is that i don't like many people so much. but that's not true either. i like people, but only the way i like animals at a zoo. i like to look at them and listen to them and draw pictures of them but i don't like it when they maul my face and tear open my vital organs. that's srzly not cool. when people talk to me i like to ask them questions so that i won't have to talk, sometimes i ask them too many questions and hope that they wiil queue up all my questions in their head like on Kazaa so then i can eat cereal while their answers download at a very slow download speed which i can't say because i know nothing about download speeds.

tonight i wrote two novels. they are almost finished.

i have decided to write on this thing more. maybe i will publish my novels here.

i liked this a lot.

i want to be connected in a inner circle of cynics all with nicknames eponymous to a chief attribute like the 7 dwarves and the spice girls and i would be "kind-ish cynic" among names like "asshole cynic", "abusive cynic" and "alcoholic cynic"

i would like to be able to give a car to a full grown caveman and give him a destination just to see if he can figure out the rules of traffic and the operatives of a car. in my mind i imagine it as something similar to that short story "The Most Dangerous Game" where this guy falls off his boat and reaches a deserted island where a jaded hunter hunts him for three days. Except I wouldn't kill the caveman if he didn't make it. He would probably be killed in some horrific accident and therein would lie the most thrill, seeing just how mangled and severed this man's body would turn out.

i have been reading a lot of blogs today from artists who "get it". my whole life i've wondered: will i get it? i used to think there was a special school set aside for children in which they could learn how to be cool. It was called "Cool School" and my best friend Sammy went there, I was sure of it. he knew about basketball and about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He was in the know. My whole life I've struggled to be in this "know". It's made me say things about existential despair and about how much i hate/love life. at the moment, however, i am ambivalent as to the end of the world. i would be just if we all melted into fleshy stumps and collected tissue pools. this would be okay with me. i am at a computer. i will be safe.

anyway, all of these bloggers are able to take their despair and loneliness and make money from it and there are people that I know here in arkansas who can't do that and don't know anything better. i am one of these people and when i sit down to write, stupid things come out that sound like ernest hemingway going through puberty and squirting in his pants from seeing a girl bend over wearing a snowsuit. it's just awkward and silly and it doens't make sense and not even "not make sense" like oh, this is so disturbed and true. but disturbed like "did he just say 'low brow sophisticated mind may seem bicycle shorts blouse' and expect that to be a sentence? is he retarded?"and the thing is no, i'm not retarded. but the truth of the matter is, i sometimes have too look up words on urban dictionary after a conversation with my friends because i don't know what the fuck they just said. i sometimes have to google images of sexual positions when my friends talk about sex. and sometimes when i watch TV, i have to ask richard who these people are that are telling me their names and trying to sell me something because i would like to buy this thing, i really would, i like to be one of the people that this thing is being sold to and i would like for it to work on me, for it to convince me that i need this. then i would be like everyone and i they would accept me at "cool school", maybe i would "get it" then.