Immovable poignancy

__2004-09-28 @ 11:57 p.m._______ ok, so there's this guy that I work with...he's about 22, fairly good looking, goes for the REALLY messy hair/unshaven hipster deal- but not in that "I listen to indie rock and LOVE the Strokes and Interpol," but in that frat guy version I guess, and he's bossy and not friendly. So as you can gather by now, I spend more time than I should thinking about how to kill him for a number of reasons. He's the kind of guy that has this job (didn't go to any college or anything) because it looks cool on him and it gets him the chicks (all he talks about besides makin' fun of others shortcomings- I mean I'm all about the occasional jab but this guy gets into the asinine fuck face category) and not because he loves music and needs a job while he does other constructive things with his life. He's what I would say is a complete fraud and it's obvious enough that everyone finds it insulting- too bad for him. Worse yet, for the most part, he's one of my bosses- fucking unbelievable right? They call him doughboy- hey doughboy go here and that's what I say to you while your mouth moves in my direction. Too bad for you. I would hate to suck as so. I'm making strides to not talk about my stupid music addiction. I think it's boring like all of you, but I usually can't help myself and I can't get my fingers to do otherwise. Plus, I'm not all that interesting. Remember all the times you've said to yourself "wow, fuckin lot of people begging for money in this piece," while walking around in Iowa City? Yeah, wait 'til ya walk around parts of berkeley. Seriously, the competition for begging area on the streets of berkeley has got to be of utmost demand. I don't mind most of the time but there have been a few times outside of the record store where I just wanted to go out for a ten minute break and sit down on the curb and relax- but there's nowhere to sit and I can't be left alone. Uhhh, look at me, dude, I'm working at a record store use a little common sense here- don't get paid for shit and can hardly make it by as it is. So, sometimes I'll just give them a dime or something to make them go away but then they get pissed 'cause that's all I gave 'em. And sometiems when I'm feeling feisty I give 'em the old beggers can't be choosers. And then I feel like shit...like some prick. whatev. Here's something I wrote about my stupid monet painting on the wall of our apartment- it's not stupid, actually there isn't anything stupid about it but I wanted to post what I wrote about it. Here is no denying Immovable poignancy for the artists on the wall No matter how trite or universally worn The moment could not be denied The feeling of everything falling apart And into place at once could not be underscored Even by the artist on the wall The one that spends a life finding this movement Could not deny such an obvious situate And it burns to know this Such a conflicting experience That the conflict had proven itself As anything but trite Of all the underrated and completely irresistible Of which all could be passed in a day of a middling human Times of strangely ordinary places Could mark the points of the world stopping its rotation For you to make sense of it all and make note of it Why would such a grossly glorified place choose to reveal itself as striking? I simply cannot comprehend how perfect and defining this confliction is This is the home of perfection The home of all that should be balanced and all that shouldn’t So that's that. I have to sleep now. Goodnight to all midwestern folk and to all I know on coasts. << | >>