Here comes the sun. My eyes, my eyes, my eyes!

I'm not sure, but I don't think I slept at all last night, which happens every couple of weeks.

Ummmm, am I still here?

Ok, just checking.

I think my mind is playing tricks on me.

It's ok though, we're friends, and uh, oh look, ladies and gentlemen it's 60s/70s, British/French, sex symbol Baby Jane Birkin.

This is way too hard, and I don't mean in a good way.

It's obvious I haven't found my groove yet.

But wait, just you wait, one of these days I'm going to make your head explode from a what the fuck did he just write moment, unless, yeah, unless ...

Sometimes I get lost, but I usually wind up getting found, and other crappy titles that I have written.

Man, it's like a quarter after twelve and I can't keep my eyes open.

And I wish I could sing, or talk without stuttering when I have something important to say.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

Or maybe this wasn't an idea at all.

Or maybe.

Or maybe not.

Do you see what I mean?

Yeah, this could be more difficult than I expected.

I got a cat.

So, ok, I got a cat about a year and a half ago because the gold fish kept dying and the parakeets were exceptionally boring.

And he's a good cat.

And he calls me Kenny.

And I call him Boo.

And he likes to sleep about twenty hours a day.

And he likes to sleep on my head about two hours a day.

And sometimes I let him.

And son of a bitch if I turn this into a cat blog.

And I'm not.

And I mean it.

And I just wanted to let you know I had a cat in case you see a cat hair or two somewhere between the two ns in the ennui of the grand ennui.

One more time.

Ok, so, blogger has an iPad app, so I guess ill give it a try, because I'm all about trying, and you never know what's going to happen, am I right? You know I'm right, so, here I am, at least for today.

Getting mellow like Maria Bello.

So, last night I watched a movie with Maria Bello, and by the way, doesn't she have great feet, and I don't mean nice feet, or really nice feet, I mean she has really great feet ...
But yeah, I was watching this movie with Maria Bello, and she was playing this sexually dysfunctional type lady that she plays so well, yeah, dysfunction is an art form with her ...
And anyway, she ended up dieing in the movie, but she was ok with that, actually, she was more than ok with that, she was absolutely euphoric with that.
And Jason Patric was the guy who killed her, oh, I didn't mention that she was murdered, did I, just that she died ... euphorically.
Yeah, Jason Patric killed her, but he loved her too, and he killed her because he loved her, because she wanted to die, and he felt that was the least he could do for her, and I swear to god that Jason Patric has matured into a horribly misshapen man since he was one of the lost boys, and if you don't believe me just do a google image search.
Finally, Rufus Sewell was Mario Bello's husband, and there really isn't much to say about him except that he has a truly awesome name, and if I could change my name, I would most definitely change it to Rufus Sewell, or better yet I'd change it to Rufus "Boz Man" Sewell.
Yeah.

Like some cat from Japan

Holy shit, it's October already, and I'm typing in the dark, and I've got so little to say, and is it too late to be a rock and roll star, or the voice of my generation, or a cowboy with a big white hat.



Do you feel like dancing, I mean yeah, I can get out the mixed tape you made for me with Blister in the Sun on it, and yeah, we can pretend it's the eighties, if that's what it will take, ok, I mean OK!

Not so true blood

Fuck the rain.



I wonder how much I could get for a kidney, or the rights to my life story, or the lies that I've told, not that I've told any, but you know, I would, if I could sell them, yeah, I'd do that.
Would you?
Who cares?


Hey, get back here, I'm not done with your skinny ass yet.



The seventies weren't really all that bad.

Projectile blogging II

I'm not too pleased with that last post I made.
I'm taking my mulligan.



It's really hot and stuffy tonight and my computer sounds like it's going to explode, and yeah, my fingers are having problems finding the right keys, and I'm right here, sitting in front of the computer screen, trying to squeeze a few more words out, and FUCK, my arms hurt, but I'm not going to talk about that, yeah, don't even ask me about my arms, leave them the fuck out of this, what, huh, still???
I'm flipping through my ipod searching for the perfect song to fit this not so perfect mood, but nothing yet, just a lot of jangly guitars when I need a throbbing pulsating beat, or a throbbing pulsating cock, and I'm not capable of either one, doobie, doobie doo,
I could puke at any moment.

Projectile blogging

I shouldn't have eaten the leftover pizza a half hour ago, but it was inevitable that I would, because it was there, and so was I.
The irresistible force and the immovable object.
I should watch a movie, the kind that puts me to sleep, not the kind that keeps me awake, and maybe I should have said, not the kind that keeps me awake, but the kind that puts me to sleep, or vice versa ...
Ignore that last paragraph. Don't ask why, just ignore it.
Who are my 16 followers? I need names, I need reasons, I need affirmation.
I'm going to watch that movie now.

It was kind of a downer movie with tits.

It's after four in the morning, and I woke up about two hours ago, ok, maybe an hour and a half ago, but the time isn't all that important, is it, right. I mean there's twenty four hours in a day no matter how you slice it, unless of course you start zigzagging across the time zones ... like BAM.
Anyway, I couldn't sleep, so I started watching a movie, and the movie had tits in it, and even though it had tits in it the movie was still kind of a downer, you know, drug abuse, and infidelity, and serpent symbolism, yeah, some really downer karma dharma mojo STUFF, so yeah, I turned it off.
I mean, what else could I do?
So then I started listening to music, you know, the same old stuff that I always listen to when I cant' sleep, or think, or see, or hear, and the music caused me to wax nostalgic, and whenever I wax nostalgic my thoughts eventually turn to The Grand Ennui, so here I am.
I'm glad I got that out of my system.
Did I leave out the part about the pizza at three in the morning?
Well, yeah, there was that, and the diet coke, and the cough drop for the cough that appeared out of nowhere, I mean, literally out of fuckin' nowhere, man.
Ok, when I started this post I really wanted to say something profound, you know, make a statement, state my goals, get all poetic, and stuff, and stuff, and more stuff.
And this is all I could come up with.
My mellow is offically harshed.
Don't wait up.
Goodnight.

Meanwhile ...

Cough, cough, cough.
It's really dusty around here, isn't it?
Yeah, I know it's been about seven years since I posted in here, but it's not like you stopped by to check on me.
It looks like I'm pretty big in the asian community.
(Note to self: next time I try to make a post at McDonald's try to get a table in the fuckin' corner away from everybody. Seriously, there is a table full of people behind me and they're talking, and eating, and snorting and breathing and stuff ... they're breathing my fucking air, the rat bastards,)
Anyway, this post is dedicated to all my asian friends. I finally forgive you for Pearl Harbor, even the non-japanese among you.

It ain't no use to sit and wonder why ... babe.

Dear Penthouse Forum,
So, I bought an Acer Netbook for $199.99, which is a great price. I mean a really great price, but for some reason I have this urge to tell people that I won it, and then have sex with it.
Yeah, sex with the netbook, Oh yeah, hot steamy netbook sex.
Sex, sex, sex, sex.

How long does it take before fuck becomes meaningless?

Fuck, it is uncomfortably sticky today.
And I'm stuck in the fucking house.
Because the fucking plumber is coming today.
And the fucking plumber said he would be here sometime late in the morning.
It is now fucking two thirty in the fucking afternoon.
Which if my knowledge of GMT is correct means that's he's at least two and half fucking hours late.
So I fucking called him.
And I got his fucking voice mail.
But the fucker did call me back.
He said he was running long on a job at the fucking hospital.
Yeah, like I believe he's at the fucking hospital.
He's probably drinking beer and eating fucking chicken wings at some fucking bar that has a lakeside fucking breeze.
While I am stuck in this fucking house waiting for the fucking plumber to finish his fucking beer and fucking chicken wings.
Life's a fucking fuck.

Blogger, beat me, I deserve it for what I have done to you.

Blogger, please forgive me for I have strayed.
What's it been six months, a year, a lifetime.
I feel such shame.
Man, a lot of blogs have died, and a few people too.
So, I'm going to try this again.
I'm not going to promise you ice cream in the sky with diamonds, or cherry coke with a hint of vanilla, or boner inducing posts. I'm just going to promise you that I'm going to try and post, you know, every once in awhile, and maybe a hickey just under your left ear.

Hey, boz here

I'm going to the beach tomorrow because I think I want to be a beach bum this summer, because it is cheaper than being a buy everything you see online bum, well, after I buy all the things I need to buy to become a beach bum, like one of those mesh chairs with a drink holder that I can sit in and watch the young girls in their bikinis as they walk by, and a cooler to put the drinks in that will go in the drink holder in the mesh chair, and 500 spf sun screen, and beach towels, and stuff to put in the cooler, and flip flops so I don't get sand in my shoes, and mescaline, and two, maybe three, hand grenades, and a compass, no not a compass, but that thing that is like a compass, you know what I mean, right, it's like a compass but it's not, it's an mp3 player, yeah, that's it.
Oh, and a pair of very cool mirrored aviator sunglasses.

Be Bop Re Bop

I woke up at four thirty this morning and I was starving.
So I fixed something to eat.
But I can't eat alone so I turned on the television.
And a Glenn Ford movie was just starting.
And you know Glenn Ford.
Glenn's a righteous man
A passionate man
Always at odds with himself or society, or both
And it weights heavy on his soul.
And he's loud
And he wrings his hands
and wipes the sweat from his brow
And he thinks out loud
And he's indignant when people don't see it his way
And this movie was no different.
He worked for an airline and was investigating a plane crash.
And fifty three people were dead, damn it
And he needed to know why.
But Glen was a little too righteous, a little too passionate, a little too at odds, a little too indignant, and a little too loud this morning
So I turned off the television and here I am.

Sometimes.

I had such a nightmare last night that I woke up at five thirty and didn't even think about going back to bed until seven thirty.

If you touch it, you bought it.

Hey, it's me again.
Can't sleep.
How about you?
I'm listening to music right now.
Sort of sad folky music from the mid 60's.



I wonder if Asian girls with dragons tattooed on their backs like sad folky music from the mid 60's?
Yeah, it's pretty late.
Just after three in the morning, so I'll probably be sleeping till around noon again today, and I almost typed till noon tomorrow, but tomorrow is already today, and I hope I don't forget to make my meds again today.
Fucking bug is attacking my monitor. One of those little no see me's.(mes?)
Go find your own fucking light to be fucking attracted to(too?)

Whoa, I almost lost consciousness there for a second.

Anyone want to fuck, fight, or philander?

Is your boat still floating?

I'm going to take a shower now.
Did I mention that I shaved my head?
It's cool, but now I have all this shampoo.
Ok, I still use the shampoo, but I just don't use as much.
Is this post going anywhere?
I think this is why I stopped posting in here.
My new tattoo itches, and is flaking.
Or is it flaking and itching?
I don't care.
There is a plastic rat on my desk.
Film at eleven.

Just another day

Hey, how you doing?
I was going to post something tonight, but I got caught up with emails.
I have a lot of correspondence with women in prison, and they get kind of pissed off if you don't email them right back, I mean RIGHT BACK!



What can I say, confined chicks dig me.