abilify

that would be the drug they prescribe to bipolar people, but my guy thought it would work well for my mild depression. and it has done that. in fact, i find myself very self-confident and not so doom-laden. i'm trying to lose weight by walking every day. i guess we'll see.

i know you're gonna like it

The Santo Gold Song
by InfomercialReviewer

The press is on me!! When is the next CD goig to be done?????

please.

I want to see you but i don't want to call you, because if i call you, then see you, that means i saw you because i called you. and all the time i see you i'll be thinking "why did i have to be the one to call?"

what a way to live.

i saw ants in the kitchen. someone dropped a little maple syrup off the table in the kitchen. i went ballistic. i hate myself when i'm ballistic.

i am not ready for any public performances. i'm too fat, and i'm thinking people are tired of my songs. i have a poetry/music thingie coming up, and i think instead of poetry i'll just tell some funny stories about what a fuck up i've been in various periods of my life.

the julie pawlowski story
the prank phone calls
lauren
country music

and play songs in between

i could call it prose.

i wish i could go buy a new shirt.

When you die

I think this is pretty much what you see before you croak...

Bad Chili

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
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What's that hum?

Erin and the kids are in Florida.

So I have this theory.

There's this universal hum. The hum is pain. And we're born with it. And this hum is so faint that we hardly know it's there. It's the human condition that drives us.

It drives us to drink or drug or fuck or sleep or hit or kill. And when we have kids and a wife, the sound gets drowned out by the daily duties we all inherit when we make our choices.

I hear that hum now, and it's really annoying.

What have I become? I'm nothing. I hate myself so deeply some days that I want to cry out. No job. No prospects, precious few friends that I can trust not to bolt when I start ranting my garbage. After 12 years in this area, who can I turn to? Who can I tell my deepest secrets to?


Actually, I have imbibed about 6 cups of coffee today, and it's probably just the caffeine.

He was too nice.

Pink Floyd Dream

There are 4 or 5 of us sitting in some bleacher seats. one of them is Dave, and maybe Pete. I think some of our usual card playing people.

Anyhow, we're there for a Pink Floyd reunion. And Roger Waters is sitting next to me. I'm asking him about some of his lyrics, specifically from the Animals album. He's dutifully answering, and when I tap him on the shoulder to ask another question, he seems frail.

So he leaves and as I turn around to talk to my friends, they're all doing one of those hand-joining thingies in the center of their newly formed circle. I am miffed that I was not included, and express this. One of my group hands me a $10 bill.

I go with Dave to find some food in the stadium. There is none, but there are little 7/11-looking stores all over. So we return to our seats. Suddenly, the bleacher section we're sitting in is moved by a truck to another location around the stage. We were stage center, but now we're closer, stage left. And our original location left me with an obstructed view, but now we were extremely close. Roger came up to talk to us again, and the enormity of the event began to hit me. As I tried to allow my panic attack to abate, I found myself under the stadium itself. I walked from dark hall to dark hall, until I heard a voice. A security guard was eschewing the advances of some nubile females trying to get backstage. As they walked past me, I meekly inquired as to whether I could climb the stairs to get to pal around with the band. I said my name. He shouted upstairs, and Roger Waters coolly informed him that I was to be allowed to pass.

There it ended.