Early Onset of Night

Wooden Pole Discovered in Texas

A wooden pole was discovered in the abandoned town of Codman, Texas recently, much to the surprise of no one. Made of something along the lines of ash and standing about so high, the pole juts from earth in the middle of a field and is a testament to nothing really.

Erik Whetstone, who spotted the pole on a recent road trip through the area, pulled over and snapped a photo of it, but wasn’t sure why.

“I didn’t even have to pee or anything,” he said, shrugging.

White Noise

For some reason, I have developed a need for racket all the time. Quiet ain’t cutting it no more. When I had television pumped into my house I was like this, too. I always had it on, even if I wasn’t watching it. It was like someone else in the room.

I have tv, but not piped-in tv. I swipe it all off the internet. I have all the Mythbusters and simply play them constantly now, just to hear voices. Sometimes I watch other shows, with scripts and plots. I have many of those, too.

I don’t even watch really, just have them playing. I’m not even in the same room half the time, but turn it up so I can hear.

This is a recent development I can’t explain the origin of. Tv is like chewing gum for the mind. It helps you to not think and sells you things constantly. The shows themselves are the soft sells and the plots and lifestyles and opinions and moral stances of the characters, these are all advertisements. When a character is struggling to get into a good college, that is an advertisement for believing getting into a good college is important.

I used to think television was a reflection of life, but not anymore. I believe it is a projection of a certain way we’re supposed to want to live. It tells us how to be and what to think and value.

As an internet pirate, I am spared the hard sells, which are the commercials. I no longer think having a nice car is important. Very un-American of me, I know, but I’m happy about it.

Why do I need racket all of a sudden? Will I ever find a way to live without being sold something?

Serious black, baby.

I bet Chandler and Monica are divorced now.

You know, if they were real :)

Maybe not, though. Chandler was a pretty big wuss, usually. Well, except when Monica wanted to blow his entire savings on a big fairy tale wedding and he told her flatly, “No.”

Nards \m/

I remember they were talking about a Friends movie and I thought it might be interesting to see. I guess it ain’t gonna happen, though. Oh, well.

Monica was my least favorite character on that show. She was so fucking Disney. Controlling, anal, nauseatingly traditional—I don’t know how the other five could stand her. She was a chef, so maybe it was the food.

I liked everybody else on the show. I could hang with Rachel and Phoebe, no problem. I’d talk fashion and gossip with Rachel and aliens and Tarot cards with Phoebe.

Ross was my favorite. Like Monica, he was really traditional, but not generically so. He couldn’t pull it off, though, and that made him hilarious. Deep down inside he was Ward Cleever searching for his June, but everything kept going to hell on him. Lesbian wife. Drunken Vegas wedding. Saying the wrong name on the alter. I loved Ross. Even though he didn’t want to, he lived in the 1990s. Also, the writers gave him the funniest stories. The leather jeans that got stuck “down”, the glow in the dark teeth. He was smart and nerdy, too, which his dumbass friends always give him shit for.

Joey was ok, although I think the writers were assholes to him. Seriously, they made him so stupid. The poor bastard. It was almost like he had brain damage or something. No wonder Matt Le Blanc complained that his character grew the least during the course of the show. How could Joey possibly grow? He could barely fucking read.

Anyway, now that I have completed watching the entire show on DVD, I will take it down to the pawn shop and get back to my regularly scheduled Seinfeld.

On this day 18 years ago, Kurt Cobain blew his brains out.

I was a freshman in college and worked as a—get this—MAID. Yessir, I was Maid Mike, scrubbing jizz off motel room walls. My boss loved me because I was the only employee he had who could speak English.

Anyway, the girl I was seeing at the time was not really a Nirvana fan. She was mostly into rap. Obviously, our relationship was doomed. In fact, we pretty much hated each other by the time Cobain killed himself and broke up shortly after.

I heard about it at work, from her. I remember she drove all the way down to the motel to tell me. She went up and down the sidewalks until she found me.

“Guess what?” she said.

“What?”
 
“Cobain killed himself.”

I stood there holding my pubic hair covered toilet brush, shocked. “Bullshit,” I said.

“I just saw it on MTV News. Kurt Loder was practically in tears.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Later on, I was drinking. The news had actually torn me apart. I remember being surprised by that, by how hard it hit me. I was enraged, depressed, slamming beers, blasting Nirvana. She was there with her friend Erin and they were mocking him, saying in whiny tones, “Oooh my name’s Kurt Cobain and my tummy hurts! Oooh my name’s Kurt Cobain and I’m a millionaire rock star that no one understands!” So on.

The bitches. Eventually, I snapped and I threw them out of my apartment. My angry response had scared Erin and she left right away, but my girlfriend was resistant, telling me the “lighten up.”

“If you don’t get the fuck away from me, I am going to pick you up by your neck and throw you out the fucking window.” I lived on the second floor and was dead serious.

That got her to go. She called me an asshole and slammed the door behind her.

We sort of made up a day or two later, but like I said, our relationship was doomed.

A few years later, long after we had broken up, Tupac was gunned down. She was a big fan of his and I actually thought about calling her up and going, “Oooh, my name’s Tupac and even though I’m a talented and successful recording artist, I’m still all ‘rapped’ up in this trifling gangsta shit! Oooh and look how it got me killed!”

I didn’t, though. Too much class.

(Source: early-onset-of-night)