7/31/11...

Yet another reminiscence of things that've already come to not pass...

Ok, here it is. I'm just going to ramble...

There are constant reminders of my stupidity, of my weakness, of my...

Of my...

Wants and needs that are dashed upon the rocks of my addictions to the symphony of worldly clamors. And of flesh...

I will never change, I will never change. I am constant, you are all the ones who fluctuate. You ebb and flow like a river of shit that engulfs and floods my lungs with debris. I can't breathe, and so I flail. I flail...

In vain?

I can only hope not, or else I have nothing to look forward to than recording the demise of my soul in increments so minute that you need a microscope to dissect the idiocy that is me.

Wah, wahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

What happens when I become the butterfly?

Will I be pinned to the wall, or will you marvel at my beauty before smashing me upon the badminton racket of...

Justice?

"Methinks he doth whine too much."

He fucking doth.

Stop it, you two. You tear me apart. You shear me, my wool. Leave me naked, nude.

I scream for no reason, yet for all the reason in the world.

Where did I go wrong?

If you read this blog from the start, you will see a slow motion meltdown. I guess I was never right. Pride, and ill thoughts, will make the hardiest man rethink and re... re... re...

Get down to the shops and buy me a pack of fags, Storky.

I have been watching Men Behaving Badly, it is not a good role model for me. The U.S. version was great, but wow. The U.K. original is fantastic, I can't rave about it enough. A+.

"Fuck you, Ronnie."

Go easy on the sissy boy.

Really? I think I'm spritely and waspish enough. I will sting you, and the poison will spread. I will sting you, and the poison will spread. The poison will spread. The poison will... spread. It will... I mean it... I promise you that.

Don't fucking touch me, please. I really hate to be touched, or reminisced with.

This is my blog, this is my blog, and no one else's. I will say what I want here, and if you don't like it...

Leave a comment and an address so I can come over and hit you on the head with a tack hammer.

Robo Bonobo...

So it has begun. I am currently on a high fiber diet of lentils, bananas, intestine scraping cereal, etc. Trying to keep the meats to a bare minimum, going to sub with different beans and such. I need to drop a few pounds before I hit the gym, mainly the track. I should be there by next week.
I haven't drank in about... 40 days? I physically feel wayyyyyy better, mentally also.
Well...
Sometimes, at least. Other times I find myself wishing, pining...
Windows of opportunity once again on the mind.
Is it better to let them slam on your digits as you peek sheepishly into the darkness?
Or is it better to leap through, balls deep?
What if there is a pit bull waiting to chomp your silly ass?
Although you may someday find another to deaden the pain of the undearly departed, you are forced to relive realities that were never realized...
The woulda shoulda coulda beens.
They don't like to go away.
If wishes were fishes, I'd open a sushi bar.
And bask in your Glori.
I miss things like caring, and not wanting to skull fuck every idiot who dares cross my path. I want things like this back.
And I shall have them, failure is not an option.

R.I.P.
RONALD MCGRAVEH
2006-2012.

Lichy Woman...

 Wonders to behold, she'd said. Tales to be told, he'd read.
Coffers to be fed, my dear. Fortunes left for dead, I fear.
Melancholy wisps of gloom. They fail to quell our rising doom.
The risen flame was all for naught.
It sears the flesh, which hastens rot.

Pop Goes the Cheezil...

First, let me take a toke of some sticky icky before I lay it all out for you to peruse through.
Some leafage before you leaf...
Also, some music. Back in a few.
Aight.
I cut off all my hair a few days ago. I was tired of looking like an escapee from the insane asylum. It's bad enough I feel like that on the inside...
So I have no hair. Also, I haven't been drunk in a month. Yay for me. I am, however, getting sweetly baked to perfection at the mo-mo.
And then we move on from Queen's Who Needs You to Tommy Shaw's Lonely School...
I wonder if anyone who'd read this blog from start to finish could possibly ever make heads or tails of this at all.
Maybe that's all the Egyptian hieroglyphics were in the end, emotionally charged old skool blogging. Nothing of meaning to anyone beyond those who chiseled it into the stone, or painted it.
It seems I'm trying to go all deep on y'alls. Fail in all aspects.
I guess I'm just beating around the bush when I should just get down to it.
I can't see your face in my mind. Not anymore. And when your name does cross my lips, it no longer creates a pang in mein heart. I am in a netherworld of  ooey gooey dark chocolate FUNK. 
I'm covered in it, as if I'd literally murdered a man sized bar of it.
And my sanity, my serenity, my salvation, my...
Very abilty to make a final desperate stab at a future is as white as snow. Hell, it might as well be on fire or covered with scorpions. In the end it all matters little.
Why not, then, hack through haphazardly amongst the thickets and thistles?
I'm thinking I'm ready to use this emotional steam to power my thrust for lust of not being covered in rust.
Or dust...
If I must.
I no longer wonder what would be had I veered off  the beaten path.
Where does all that turmoil go? Does it dissipate out of your pores and orifices? Or does it continue to well up, ready to 'splode all over da place?
I wish I could just upload my thoughts, instead of this jumble of whatever spewing out onto keyboard, like the verbal meanderings of a... of a... uhhh...
Me.
Maybe I should write a book.
Preferably a pop up.

Hamma-Lamma-Ding-Dong...

So...
Here we are again. Ups and downs once again. On my way to a meeting and my garage door comes off the track, no one until tomorrow to come and fix it. Assholes.
Them, not you guys.
So my evaluation at work is done, passed with flying colors. One of the floor guys is retiring soon, and the other is not far behind so I'm hopefully going to get that promotion.
Please, GAWD!!!
Trading physical stress for mental, but I can handle. Need money.
Anyhoo...
Adam Sandler's new movie, That's My Boy, is coming out Friday. Can't wait for it, hoping the greenage will be plentiful by then. Must self medicate...
See Jack and Jill if you haven't, it's the schnizz, yo.
The only time I haven't wanted to impale Al Pachino.
And that's saying alot. Also, SHAQ is in it.
Blah blah blah.

Incisions, Decisions...

Sorry, too lazy to recut that picture without the ad.
Anyhoo, got my evaluation finished today. It only took two days to get it done, and only about six months of worrying over it. I am now free to get my union steward duties flowing like jizz over my beloved worshipers.
So right now I'm just sitting here getting super high, listening to an Ari Shaffir podcast, and posting up in hurr.
I think I'm almost well again, finally, and ready...
For what?
Exactly. My back hurts all the time, and after seeing 50/50, I always figure that'd be my luck. Back cancer.
I'm not sure just how I'd take it. Sometimes I think death would be better for me. Sometimes I think death for others would be even better. Sometimes I just don't want to think, or feel.
I fully understand the hows and whys of the mourning process in regards to our youthful vigor. We do not want to give up the goat. It is as simple as that.
I personally like myself, probably too much. The problem, then, must lie somewhere within the rest of you.
I go to AA meetings where people talk about how much of a piece of shit they were when they drank and such. And you know what?
Other than sadfully being neglectful and distant at times with the ones who have loved me and/or continue to do so, I've kept it all pretty squeaky clean on the outside world.
Although my vengeance is a thing of wonder to behold, I do not wreak havoc upon others unless properly provoked. I can, and will, look people in the eyes. I just prefer not to when I don't have to.
Also, sadly now my older stepdaughter is here and she has a dog that will soon meet with a nasty case of the  "got thrown out of a moving vehicle at high speeds" syndrome. She will be living with us for a short time. I will end my comments about that for now.
I guess I will go, but at least I'm posting alot more again. Unfortunately I've probably run off everyone who bothered to post comments. I also probably think it'd been better if I'd not shared it with them in the first place. Ha, no one probably even hangs out on blogger anymore anyway anyhow.
That's alot of probablys to deal with.
More than I'm prepared for anyways.
By the way, I still hate you, Facebook. And people who wear patchouli, and just about the rest of the known world.
I'm lying. I don't really hate more than a handful of you. The problem is, I could live without ever seeing any of you again. If there were computers that could fool me into believing they were real human beings to interact with, then who needs real human contact?
I'd miss the poon. I've been missing it awhile already...
Ha!