Sunday, December 28, 2008

To a hopeless cause, I sold my soul

random nonsequitors for the common man:

just a minute ago i saw a commercial for something related to the removal of leg hair on female homo sapiens. the lady was shaving her legs in a mountain brook, all flowy and gurgling. at the end of the commercial, she seems particularly jazzed about the potential staph infection she might have given herself by shaving in rotted trout eggs, algae, and beaver shit.

cause, o my beloved non-existant readers, i personally grew up in mountains, and as an eagle scout, did more than my fair share of camping in said mountains, and know from experience that mountain brooks are not even remotely as virgin and clean as madison avenue makes them appear.

having crusty blood in your ear has serious "sick fun" potential: "shit, man, your music actually made my ears bleed! check it out." i had to pick up a refill for no. 2 a day or two after my surgery, and actually thought, "if this crazy lady gives me any trouble, i hope a gout of gooey blood just pops right out of my ear right as i am beginning to get angry. i could be like, 'look!! look what you've done!' bet i could get all kindsa freebies. wonder if i could make myself bleed from the ears on demand?"

around the cove, guitar hero seemed a common christmas gift. b got his kids guitar hero: world tour, which includes guitars, vocals, and drums. yeah, you can imagine we have been seriously fucking up some cool tunes lately. but yesterday, nos. 1 & 2 really wanted to play, so we set them up, along with the other kids, and had all the kids rotate through a small set of songs. no. 1 did pretty good on the drums (we set them up so all they have to do is hit anything when the line crosses) and no. 2 rocked some bass, but the highlight of the night was watching my oldest sing "the one i love" by r.e.m.

now, it is possible that no. 1 has heard this song. i dig older r.e.m. but he sure as shit hasn't heard it often enough to sing it from memory, unlike, say, "my friend peter" (I don't care who you've been dining with these days/It's more than fair/Much rather be drinking anyways) or "don't call me white" (Does this mean I have to take such shit/For being fairskinned? No!) or "blitzkrieg bop" (Hey ho, let's go/Hey ho, let's go). that didn't stop him from hunching over, one foot forward, eyes and mouth wide ala johnny rotten, meatfisting the mic and putting his mouth millimeters away as he belted out "fiiiiiiiihiiiiiiiihiiiiiiiiiii errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" he definitely has rock star potential.

and since we had removed the colored buttons on the necks of the guitars from the equation, i noticed no. 2 noodling a long, convoluted eddie van halen solo high on the neck as he moved the strum tab back and forth, a look of near-boredom and "i do this shit all the time" dancing across his face.

since i have been incapacitated some, my mom has been doing alot of laundry and dishes. yesterday she says, "honey, can you fold these clothes?" while the cove was getting ready for a little shindiggity and my wife was rolling lumpia. i mean, i really wanted to help and do my part but--

"i would, mom, but that would leave nos. 1 and 2 outside with a fire and only a ring of drunk men to watch them."

i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas, and whatever other holidays you might celebrate. here's to a prosperous and wonderful new year!

darth sardonic

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Monday, December 22, 2008

It was christmas eve babe...

In the drunk tank

i tried to go to my happy place, but found that it had been closed for repairs.

oh and i forgot, the latest on the Unfinished Work is that due to some other people not necessarily following the guidelines delineated by the contracts and such, and the need to seek out corrections to the not-followed guidelines, the publishing of the books is behind.

however, i never picked a picture for my cover, since they said they would be glad to find something suitable, and i took them at their word, so i am not the particular culprit in the case.

best case scenario, january.

here's to hoping.

darth sardonic

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Thursday, December 18, 2008

shitty sidewalks, busty sidewalks

i have to take out all my piercings for the surgery.

so the morning of, as i put on my slacker garb (loose-fitting and comfortable is what they suggested, and any time i do loose-fitting and comfortable, i feel like i oughtta have a greasy mop of studiously unkempt hair and should stand around in a carefully controlled slouch saying "meh"), and wrestled out my barbells. but my earrings would not come. my earrings are called "captive ball" rings, and to get them out and in usually requires a special tool that spreads the ring part so the ball will slip in easily.

"fuck it, they'll have some or guy who will have something to get em out. let's go."

quickly and smoothly through the paperwork and admissions portion, till i find myself buck-ass except gripper-tape socks and world's flimsiest and least modest robe ever (luckily, i am not particularly known for being overly modest, whilst at the same time not really being a flasher or anything like that either) in my own private room, watching "the price is right" while my wife makes wisecracks.

a barrage of questions from the anaesthesiologist, another nurse, the iv started in my hand while i try to explain that i am somewhere between a daily and a social drinker, which causes some mild consternation in the nurse until she shoots me up with the half-dose of versed, which hits me at a wallop and she realizes that drinking and drunk are not necessarily the same thing with me.

in and out of conciousness (versed is fun, i recommend it to anyone--err, well, i mean, if you are having surgery), with snippets of drew carey and bustling back and forth. an or tech comes in to easily pop out my earrings and the nurse tells me it was like a race to see who could get into my room fastest to get the opportunity to take them out.

i might've said something witty like, "i'm really not that good-looking." maybe. or maybe in my head.

my glasses are removed, and i get the second half-dose of versed, both of which don't stop me from noticing that the nurse taking me back is hot as hell (or maybe excacerbating the situation, i am not really sure), and then a very fuzzy recollection, as if viewed through frosted glass, of another anaesthesiologist telling me to take big deep breaths over and over, even though i am pretty fucking sure i already am. the mask barely over my mouth and nose.

fuzzy white empty space, followed by a young guy named lou flirting loudly with the nurses in an italian new york accent between questions to me: "hey, hey, you know i'm good for iiit. drinks on me, baby, drinks on me. how you feelin' mr sardonic, hey?" flip flop flip flop in and out of coherency. a distinct moment with my ear doctor, an asian fellow who moves and talks faster than anyone i have ever met, and yet manages to do so quietly and understatedly: "howdideverythinggomrsardonicthesurgerywentwonderfulyouwereactuallymissingthatboneithaddisintigratedyeah"

then him telling me to plug my right ear, leaning in close to my left, and whispering something that was very distinct, but that i subsequently lost in the retroactive amnesic effects of the drug cocktail i had been subjected to, followed by him whispering to me to count to three and me giggling like a little kid who has just been told a great secret and counting one two three. (this would also, it should be noted, be the last time i will hear out of this ear so well to date. but more on that later.)

another room where a guy who had been in the marines for 20 years gave me water and my wife sat beside me. we probably conversed, but i have no idea what about. then i got dressed (i only sorta remember that, and for all i know, i mighta done it in full view of everyone around, though i am pretty sure my wife wouldn't have allowed that) and got wheeled out to the car, where i felt it was important to ask my wife:

"so the nurse that took me back? she was hot, right?"

"the old one?"

"no, the one that wheeled the bed back to surgery. i didn't have my glasses on n i was stoned, but i am pretty sure she was hot."

"oh, the one that came in and took you back! yeah, she was very pretty. but she was wearing baby phat scrubs. i mean c'mon, seriously, baby phat scrubs (maybe just a hint of jealousy in her voice)! maybe she is trying to land herself a hot doctor."

"yeah, prolly. can't blame her."

dizzying down with a doofy grin on my face as the streets blended and intertwined and i spent the rest of the day in and out of sleep.

not sure how much lortab does for pain, but it sure knocks my ass out. the next two days were basically spent feeling like i have gotten a sinus infection from the inner circle of staphalococcus hell, everything i eat or drink tasting metallic, hocking up tremendous loogies that look like they might get up and crawl out of the sink on tentacle-like tendrils.

my inner ears starts the day feeling relatively normal (but with lots of cracking and popping) but my pillow looks like someone killed me in the middle of the night, then in the course of the day pressure builds to a golf-ball sized lump of icky dough before releasing again and making me look like someone has blown up a bomb very near my head, fluid draining from my ear, the chewing oxidated copper taste flooding the left side of my mouth.

due to the fluid build up (which is perfectly normal), the hearing in that ear is decreased to an underwater susurrus of the waves gently lapping my inner ear. i hold on to that giggly, drug-induced little kid memory of the doctor telling me to count to three, because if i were to judge the outcome of my surgery right now based on what i can hear, i would be sure he rendered me deaf.

turns out, one of the three bones in my inner ear that convey the pulses from the ear drum to the aural nerves had actually disintigrated somewhere along the line, and the doctor replaced it with a suitable piece of titanium, and once my ear quits refilling with fluid, i will be able to hear wonderfully.

in the meantime, it is kicking my ass.

darth sardonic

p.s. one really should not get surgery a couple weeks before christmas and right after one's mom arrives from out of town. just saying.

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Monday, December 15, 2008

so much to tell...

i have an oddly out-of-place desire to cry.

the month of december is busy. busy with so many comings and goings and battles between the things i want to do and the things i have to do.

rest in peace, bettie page.

my wife and i were discussing her death, and it occured to me that so many of my personal icons have passed in the very course of my own life: salvador dali, allen ginsburg, kurt cobain, george carlin, johnny carson, william s. burroughs, joey ramone, and now bettie page.

not only did she open up a new dimension through her erotic pictures, but she did it with a certain naivete that makes her stand out from all the other pin-up girls of the time. and even later in life, when she became a devout christian, and left the life of posing for kinky photos behind, she never felt bad for that aspect and time in her life.

my guitarist, s, is getting out of the air force, and going to kuwait as a contractor for a year. he leaves in a couple weeks. so we got the band together in my garage (my drumset is, for all intents and purposes, now complete) and spent hours jamming, the music flowing out of us and molding and melding and intertwining like some magical incantation. my wife later said she thought it was wonderful how one of us could start off with something and the rest would just join in and for the next five minutes or so we would create something so true and real and amazing. s is easily the most talented guitarist i have ever had the privilege of jamming with. and he is leaving. not only is he leaving, he is probably moving to arizona after he gets back to the states.

we stayed up to the wee hours drinking and laughing and talking about chuck palahniuk, david lynch, salvador dali, story ideas we have both had, music, life.

lord knows, i am going to miss him terribly. and while we will still have a band, i just don't think it is going to be quite the same.

i go in tomorrow to get surgery on my ear. i am sure all will go well and i will be able to hear just fine.

a few minutes ago, all the cove members were out trimming the fronds of the palm trees in our yard, while i was on the phone with jdot rdot who is going through some shit and needed a listening ear. i am surrounded by good friends and family, people for whom i have so much love, and who, strangely enough, reciprocate.

i am off soon to pick my mom up at the airport, and the holidays promise to be a beautiful and wonderful and spirited time.

and yet i just can't seem to shake this feeling of melancholy...

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, December 09, 2008

superior scribbler

not to be confused with the dandy doodler, resplendant rambler, or tremendous talespinner awards.

dj kirby (and i am bollocks for placing the links within the blog post itself but if you direct yourself straight to my pals list and carefully match the name "dj kirby" with the "dj kirby" in the pals list and click on it, it will take you straight to her blog--aint technology grand?) has awarded me with a superior scribbler award.

now, i am sure to fuck this up, but i believe what i need to do is: graciously accept. direct you, the beloved non-existant reader, to chez aspie that dj kirby so wittily writes (see above paragraph for map and directions), who awarded me in the first place, and then direct the superior scribblers that i shall now choose (and anyone else who wonders what the hell this is all about) to this link here: for explanations and (if you are chosen by me as a superior scribbler) to add your name to the (rather ponderous) list of other superior scribblers. now give me a moment to check the list...

um ok, so i don't think lara, krissie, lady macleod, snuffleupagus, and lola have been tagged for this award yet, and since this award has a certain beatnik bent to it, and these are my kinda favorite bohemian sorta blogs (well, barring bloggers who have already been chosen), i am going to go with this list, though it is likely that a few might respectfully decline, which is, after all, one's perogative.

and since my contacts are trying to migrate to my temporal lobes, and my throat feels like it is coated in sandpaper and fire ant bites and my wife looks bored and tropical thunder awaits us, i think i am going to have to call that it for today, o my beloveds.

darth sardonic


Thursday, December 04, 2008

P.S. please if you get a chanse put some flowrs on Algernons grave in the bak yard.

written yesterday after finishing my book, in microsoft word (which fixes some of my capitalization "errors" for me) while my internet was on the blink.

the fucking book made me cry. oh, I knew it would, o my beloved non-existant readers. I suspected before I even checked it out of the library that at some point Charlie gordon’s struggle would drop on me like a weight from the sky and I would find myself a blubbering mass.

I had no idea how hard it would hit me.

and god knows I needed it o my droogs n only friends. I needed it to crash across me in waves, battering me, receding for a moment, only to smash my chest again with renewed force only a minute later.

I’ve no idea how long it has been since I have bawled my eyes out and simultaneously purged the demons and cleared my head and opened up myself to the beauties of the universe.

I’ve no idea how long I have been stressed. stressed about work, stressed about school (I am returning to school in jan, inspired as I have been by my current job and my need to not do it, or jobs like it, for the rest of my life), stressed about no. 1, who seems better able to focus now that he is on the adhd meds, but who now has no ability to control his emotions and shouts things like “I’m not a sardonic anymore!” (and I only use sardonic as a replacement for our real last name, which he suddenly eschews when he is angry at me or mommy for chastising him when he misbehaves. so much anger and disenchantment he spews when he is mad that I worry that I have myself a future serial killer on my hands), stressed about the lack of time my wife and I have together (my full-time job, her full-time job, her part-time school, and soon to be mine as well), stressed about selling our house in new mexico, stressed about getting our bills paid off so more of our money can go to fun, stressed about my apparent lack of ability to write anything worth reading for the last several months, stressed about being tired all the time, stressed about being stressed.

and bam! like a wall shattering under the brute strength of a tsunami wave, everything crumbled as Charlie Gordon wrote about being glad that he had the “operashun” because he got to be smart for awhile and he will still try and hold onto that even as he prepares to send himself to a special home for “dumb pepul” and, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, o thou stalwart and steadfast readers of this shitty little blog where I spill forth the shite that accumulates in my head, you wonderful commiseraters who let me know I am not alone in feeling what I feel and seeing what I see and experiencing what I experience, I cried. I cried so hard I had to stop reading every paragraph while my eyes went to water and my cheeks reddened and wracking sobs shuddered through me. I cried so hard I got dizzy. I bawled and bawled, and when I thought I was done, I read the last line of the book (the title of this post) and bawled some more. then I came downstairs and began bawling again as I asked my wonderful cute and damn near perfect boys to please give me hugs as I really needed them. then bawled some more as we sat cuddled together and watched finding nemo and I thought again how I would battle sharks and swim the entire ocean and wrestle with jellyfish to make sure my kids were safe. then I bawled some more when they told me they loved me. then I bawled some more when I wrote this stupid little post.

oh holy fucking god, my beloveds, I really needed that.

and to end on something funny and pleasant, a while back, I told my kids that about fred at work. recently, my oldest boy told his doctor I have pet alligators. god! he’s fucking cute.

thanks for sticking with me through it all.

darth sardonic

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Monday, December 01, 2008

life is...

life is dancing on the 13th green in full view of the going to work traffic while the rising sun paints the clouds pink and orange against the deep indigo of the skies.

life is the sugar in the coffee.

life is thinking, "i absolutely can't stand another moment of this shit!" and then being granted a small reprieve. or, even better, discovering you can stand alot more than another moment.

life is seeing the waves from the balcony.

life is the beautiful moment in the middle of no. 1 and myself yelling at each other when we seem to simultaneous realize that we have carried this stupid stuff too far and calm down and converse in normal tones.

life is the two weeks till grammy shows up, and the three weeks till christmas.

life is having the laundry done, even if it is only for the day.

life is a shower and a shave.

life is the joy in the eyes of my family as we play outside in the sun and light breeze, the smell of the ocean blowing across our yard with the sound of laughter.

darth sardonic

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