It's that time just as you're turning the on ramp, right when it comes to a head. You're thinking: goddamn how'd he get me to agree to this, I've been on the grind all motherfucking day, and there's still shit to do and dinner to make. He's going to owe me for this. I can't do this sort of thing all the time. But then the sun hits the goggles, just enough to make you blink, and the road stretches ahead of you like a rolled out carpet. And then you're thinking, stay right there sun. Keep it right level. You hit the gas and everything's as clear as it's going to be, and you try hard to make the thing sit tight. But of course it doesn't. And you think: damn, maybe next time. I hope he picks me for it. And the beat rides out, but you press in another disc, and try to get home before the light fades. And you always do.

i've got no fear for myself - that much i can prove - that much i can live

but what else

i used to know everything, what happened to that

"shit i'm an animal,
but tamer than a house cat,
cheese don't concern me,
but i'm caught up in this mouse trap.
still unsure of what I stand for,
i'm just a man torn walking blind,
caught up in this sandstorm.
i always say that i'm a one man band,
but i got more guys on stage than you can count on one hand.
damn i'm confusing, roll up the hydro.
i hate cigarettes, but im addicted to tobacco.
won't break the bank, but I'll break some bread,
and i don't want to lose my hair but then i shave my head.
whether wrong or right ima give you what you need,
cuz my whole life i had to keep up to the beat,
so i hold tight i gotta gettem where i fit in,
hittem with the rythym and when the beat goes on it's:
TROUBLE
and when the beat goes on:" - class

I'm always interested in shit I don't know. People seem to find disinterest in my features, really I'm just absorbing it all. I've got some knowledge, but it's nothing compared to the stuff some people are learning. I like it when the time is taken to level with me, and really teach me something new. I guess it's because I started asking that I get it now. No one really asks back though.

Today, just as the store closed, and no one was paying attention, I performed a task that ran on a natural timer. The indoor fish tanks all run on the same system, there are four tanks in all and a catch reservoir below. The tanks are aligned two on top, two on bottom. The water runs up from the reservoir via two pumps, which split. One pump feeds to the top two tanks, the other to the bottom two. The tanks fill until the water reaches the tip of one of two rigid pvc pipes that stand in each tank, at which time they drain into the tank below them. There are U shaped pvc pipes that bridge with the neighbouring tank, causing a vacuum, and keeping the two tanks at the same level. The problem I observe is that some tanks are clouding, this is being caused by poor circulation within individual tanks. The pvc drains are cut too high, causing the Us to send excess over to ajoining tanks. The task then, is to rip out each offending pvc pipe one at a time, saw it down to size, and connect it back before the reservoir at the bottom overflows and floods the shop. Also peform the task sufficiently carefully not to harm any of the fish in the tanks, and skillfully enough not to damage any components in the mad dash as to effectively ruin the operation and flood everything. The personal goal was to saw each pvc length quickly enough as not to interfere with the vacuum of any of the tanks. I don't think anyone witnessed the performance, but if they did they prolly thought I was on crack and destroying things at random. Success.

And now two days off.

how bout the wreck

and the wind-up:

crank well.

i see some green

why's it not:

sit well.

let's take a pill

then might:

get well.

For giving me more food than I can possibly consume in one sitting, King's I salute you.

The game really is to fix someone's problems so well the first time, and with their interests in mind, that they take your word as that of god. That regardless of how much they spent on the first purchase, they will seriously consider shelling out the big bucks when it comes the time. To pack the practiced experience into the eyes, to stand firm but relaxed, and to make the words flow together. To not answer right away, but consider, seriously, the other options. Crack wise a couple times, put your arm up on the product and relax the knee, as if you trust them not to rat on you. They'll trust you for that. Treat them like a friend, but not family, that just gets awkward. They'll know how hard you work by the stains on your shirt, the small tears in the jeans, the smudge of dirt on the hat. Helping them is a relaxation from the work you do. They'll feel special when they realize this, as if they're helping you. They have no way of knowing this is the first priority, this is the A game, this is a calculated attempt to get them to walk away with the product. When showing them around, walk a little too quickly, as if getting excited. Put the product in their hands. Memorize the labels. Use the first person, tell them about your experience with the product, how you've seen it used, who buys it, who returns it. They'll appreciate the honesty. Make light of the cost, sure it's high but really it's the easiest way to go, and if they don't buy that show them the other way to go. Odds are they'll be back for easy, everyone is. The real prize is to watch them drive away with the big box, with your name scribbled on a business card, and a dream set in their mind that you engendered. A dream you will foster if they return. A dream that enbiggens the paycheck of someone far away, but only allows you a small slice of respect. I will have the customers asking for me by name, I will wear my experience like a badge of honor, I will allow myself to be indestructable. But I will make my soul ineffable, at least until the green comes off.

And on top of that I'll bust my balls and break my back for little pay. I am perhaps middle management's most reliable bitch. At least I can make myself irreplacable, that's gotta be worth something.

There was a hedge in the front yard, I think, that would make one of the best hiding spots. A better one in the back, perhaps, but not one you could get away from easily. It was usually best to hide in plain sight, try to play with where they'd look first. Stand behind them maybe. You could climb the tree but it was almost cheating, since it was home too. Sometimes it was nice to just go up there and watch the game though. There were no gates to the backyard, so you could circle the hunter if you knew what theyd choose to go first. Small children can hide almost anywhere in a backyard that size, and so well established were all the trees and shrubs they'd easily shelter you. Everyone liked the running game, racing back to the tree. Everyone loved yelling to three, trying to determine the name of the person behind that thing by their shoes. No one really cheated, there was no point. The rounds are easy, the goal is simple, and you'll just play again tommorow so what's the title worth, really. There were lilacs back there that bloomed every year, purple I think. A decent herb garden, well stocked with chives that you could chew on while playing if you fancied. Someone usually got hurt, but never anything serious. Everyone enjoyed themselves, and it was pretty obvious. I can't remember the rainy days as well. I can't remember the games we played indoors. Now I can't think of much else. I had the day off and did nothing with it. Destroyed myself on a bike and failed to eat. I lay on the ground for a good while, maybe from the exhaustion hunger or ennui. I need a new hobby. I couldn't bring myself to go to friday night magic, or play video games, I've been soured on them, maybe. Couldn't bring myself to call anyone up for a coffee or pint. All I wanted to do was look back on all the times I've fucked up in the past. I guess that's constructive though, I can draw some confidence from that. I can't draw it from now, I just don't know what I've done. At least now I've go a point of reference.

I'm without a concrete plan. I'm without my armor. Just like the good old days, but I feel like shit. Everyone seems to want to tell me what to do, I guess that's my fault for asking. On a certain level I know people don't do alot of the things I do. But I'm not other people. This is prolly the beginnings of the summer thought process that will set me on to what is in store for next year, but what the fuck. I didn't think it'd be so harrowing. I know what I want now, maybe. It's just the means I have to worry about, which is of course the hardest part. People don't put me to task. I put them to put me to task. This is wrong. I should put myself to task. But what first? And, fuck me there it is. Always with a question. There are people I should be asking, people who went through the same shit, but it seems they all came from different places. Is there a clear cut way into the police force?

There was a pool in a ravine. I always thought it strange, we might've only gone there twice. We went to the ravine quite often. The pool was housed behind this big concrete building, and you could see over into the cavity of it even when you tobogganed down the hillside in the winter. In the summer while you explored the wilderness, caught frogs, or picniked under a tree you hear the splashing and frolicking of people playing in an artificial pool. You'd see people drive in, walk down into it, swim or whatever it is they did, and drive home. They'd just completley ignore the creek next to it. I remember walking the how ever many blocks it was to get there many times. It was kind of nestled in behind the sprawl of houses and that, but still so natural and pure. I remember bikes and kites and soccer balls, sandwiches and red apples. I remember that there wasn't an island in the middle of the road on the way there, not like there is now. Yeah, sometimes I drive by just to see how it's changed. How I've changed. I wouldn't say I want it back, it's just a part of me. Like today when I biked past the grade school I attended for all of one year, I didn't feel the same connection to this place. I had some good times, don't get me wrong, grade 8 was fine to me, but there was something unidentifiable about the time before. That's where I was made to be a person, perhaps, and the rest is just the test of it. The building of it. If so, there are parts I can pare away, and reveal some of what that person is. He was strong, I think, he just needed to be built in a different way.

What is strength, anyway. I'm always on about it, but I think I mean it in a specific kind of way. Like in every person there is a strength, natural perhaps, that they build on and shape, that they apply to everything they do. Strength is maybe the measuring rod of the soul, how one can put themselves into their success, draw from it to make easier the failures. It's that stuff you wrap around the soul, because its fragile, so you can toss it around and knock it into things. A strong person is one who gives you the hints of the soul, who has the strength to let some of it show as they go about their daily lives. I think what I've done is taken all the shit I shouldn't have brought to heart and wrapped it around the soul in place of strength, but there's too much of it, shit I can't shake.

I remember bits and pieces. The orange plastic picnic table, the pizza on the wall, sitting beside grandpa, when Rosie died, Inca, story time, the first tied shoe, when Floss came home, the iguana and the rat and the chicken, toboggans, running, nostril man, friends. More, but these come to mind. And then things get more concrete, less interesting. Shit everyone goes through. Things I can remember the whole way through. Shit I'll regret, laud, or keep back there. Fewer regrets these days, I'd to keep that up. Are there stories in them? Maybe, but they're for me. Things I'll think about lying on the floor on my days off. I like to talk about the far past because it's so removed, there's nothing in it to suggest another. They're there, obviously, but it doesn't matter so much for the story. Why name names when the alternative is so much more attractive. But I seek the concrete, I only admire the abstract. Why can't I give it. Who knows. I guess this can be my hobby, which will prolly cause me to lose all my readership with super lengthy posts. w/e

Until Next...

"If you can remember my name, I'll tow it for free." I wasn't so much a promise as a challenge.

"It's not the name on the side of the truck?" That name was Stan's.

"No, that's Stan's name." Obviously.

"How am I supposed to know then?" That's a decent question, I guess.

"I told you on the phone." Alright, this kind of makes sense then.

"Oh right, was it Derrick?" It wasn't Derrick, the towman's about to laugh.

"One more chance, brother." I think he was always confident that it wouldn't be guessed.

"I have no idea, man, Jesus?" Strange joke to try in the country, doesn't really work.

"Close, that'll be three hundred." That's fair.

"Credit's fine?" Towman nods.

"Oh and the dog's not coming in the cab." Then where do I go?

"Nevermind then, I'll just push it into town." Damn straight.

"Good luck." Jackass.

the following is to be a test

It don't rain much but when it does it's like the sky opens up, and everyone's got brass roofs that make more racket than you can imagine. The little holes in the ground all fill up, and little things come alive in them, and dance like nothing for the little moments they exist. The earth gets pounded, then wiped clean, and little bits of it end up places they shouldn't be. People too. In little boats with tiny oars and never motors, swigging stuff that didn't ever fall in no rain, but you'd wish it did. It doesn't matter that nothing's paved, it doesn't matter the state of your lawn. All that matters is what's in your basement, or what's not. Because one of the two is going to get wet. The paint's going to fade halfway, and the old folks are going to have to go upstairs, and speak loadly to the roof. Afterwards when everyone is somewhere else, when everyone isn't the person they just were, it'll all be clear as the drink, and you can see the stars till morning.

ok fuck this game

i don't show affection easy, everyone knows that who reads this, maybe. so to mom, i love you more than i can really show, i guess ill try harder. to john, i tried the man hug but i don't think it really showed how much i appreciate your friendship. who knows how much you enjoyed crank 2, but i imagine you suggested it to try and get me down there. i love you man. i dunno who reads this still. martins, i send the love. coops, the hats off. song, it's grand. yew, i fucking love you. and to all the random lj peeps who made it this far, loves the word.