Sometimes I think that my life must be terribly boring because I have dreams about playing card games and Tetris. If dreams are supposed to mean something then I think mine mean I am boring. I think it would be interesting to have a lucid dream. The other day when my brother was here, he let me shave his stomach. I think that potatoes on Tuesdays in June of odd numbered years that are not leap when the moon is a waxing crescent and the weather is warm and just a little bit muggy. Also- the children are pretty and laughing and the flowers are all different colors like the ever-changing lizards who crawl in my dreams (a lizard of a different color?) and in my ears and through my cerebral cortex and other portions of the shapeshifting illuminescent globule of matter inside of my head (also referred to as my brain). The canals in mars (my head) must mean something because in one of the photos I saw a photo of… I mean I saw a figure of a face (mine.) The thunder is loud and powerful and one day it will take me away in its electromagnetic arms. We'll run away and get married to the moon and have a child named Nikole because she is my very best friend and a January girl (got to get to Texas.) I have a skirt that was a gift from my grandmother (Memére) and I have only worn it once. My favorite shirt is the color I claim to hate except for its not the right shade (magenta pink). It is a kind of pastel color, which is okay, especially around Easter. I had some chocolates last night. I have gained three lbs., I weigh 113 now. My terrible waifish flabosity can only be a sign of anorexia nervosa. Or just my oddosity. I think I shall have a son and name him Alex and I shall force him to wear eyeliner and long underwear. I hope he does not have a large nose. (DAV 4650, I think.) And all that other funky punky monkey junk. Stickity glickety. One time I was walking and there was a dog. It looked at me, tipped its hat and said, "How do you do." I thought to myself, "How rather odd to see a hound in a waistcoat. He must be quite the dandy."

"So this is creativity. Well well well," he said, after reading through my opera. And that was the beginning of my baseball career. But you don't need to know that yet, you need to know my mother's hairdresser, Louie, because wise investments are the secret to a long and happy retirement. Cannonball Poop in the 6th. I am very hungry. While this is going on, I'm going to make a sandwich. Always start with peanut butter, you can't go wrong, because of the adhesions. Celery, penny whistles, gnats, anaphylactic shock. Things go better with milk. That's better. Now for the quiz: What animal's snout is longer than its tail? What animal's feet are larger than its head? What animal's pinky finger is larger than its brain? Give up? It's Frances! If you can make it to old age without losing your good nature, that's the ticket. Being able to smile and chuckle over life's little stresses and strains instead of BLOWING MT. PINAUTUBO TO SMITHEREENS over someone handing you the Phillips head when you wanted the straight edge. The secret is regular meals, every hour or so, to keep the strength up, and regular visits to the Primal Wallow Farm on Brockett Road aka Miss Essie's. I thought I would never see him again after the last bell rang, but I was wrong. I saw him again wearing long earlocks and a black hat. He was standing on a street corner near the square, where the statue of General Washington on horseback is, and he was talking about peanuts.

I think the first line of Why's response sums this all up nicely.

I think somebody licking toad belly.

A tale of a neurotic, lonely neighbor begins with one strange, full moon-influenced naked dance on a rooftop. This neighbor is compelled to write a neurosis-filled letter to the manager. The manager informs me of this note and shares it with me, despite the desire for confidentiality expressed in the letter. Tells you something about the manager now doesn't it. The ridiculous letter produces a story of how this lonely soul, awoke to crashing sounds above and all around. Thinking it was an earthquake, the bucket of fish proceeds to head for cover, tripping on a cord and thumping her head on the wall or something of the sort. The loud music prevented her from sleeping for quite sometime and therefor prevented her from getting adequate amounts of sleep. Not too mention the trauma caused by the head injury and who knows what else. The letter is so silly at this point in the story, I am filled with laughter, yet I am forced to keep it inside, for the manager will asses my behavior as inappropriate. The note indicates one of many things. One being the wet towel she is, free time is something she has in abundance. Two, she is a whiner, destined to cry over spilt milk and anything else that might be out of order in her pathetic world. Three, she is going to be a complete pain in the ass, period! You can simply tell by the convinced tone in her letter about how wronged she felt. It's like the milkman delivered soured butter milk as opposed to skim milk. After all when I ran around naked on my roof that evening, I certainly didn't tap dance on her side of the building, just my own. My stupor made sure I instructed all to stay away from that side of the building. But the music was loud, and well I was drunk, admittedly. How earthquake-like sounds could have come out of that I am not sure, I can tell you that she may have been dreaming, and the medication she is on probably didn't help her in the creation of large, loud banging sounds. Oh, by the way, she does have a physical ailment, some sort of cancer or so the manger tells me. the pee bag I saw attached to the thigh one day also seems to be a good indicator of a physical ailment or a kinky side, of which I doubt exists for this woman. Oh the humanity as if she wasn't plagued enough. By this point, it is clear that we have a neurotic, nosy neighbor on hand. However, the nosy part will become more apparent. In an attempt to appease the manager and the neurotic nosy neighbor, I decide to apologize to the neurotic mess in person and offer my phone number so that she may inform us directly if we are too loud. In the course of talking to me through the door and opening it 3 inches to retrieve my phone number, she tells me about how I am in "violation" of the lease, "peace & quite" ...... "disturbing"......no one is allowed on the roof ....blah blah...I am gonna tell my mommy...etc. etc. Though I am dearly sorry for the music, I deny being on the roof. She retorts sharply that some kid that was coming down the steps indicated my apartment when quizzed of who he was with. She said he looked 18 years old. I told her I didn't know anybody that young and that it wasn't me. That's the last time we ever bring home a kareoke jockey from that Thai bar we always drink too much at. As my nose grows longer, and my disposition becomes less apologetic, she seems to accept my explanation, frankly I didn't care though. I wanted to confront her face to face and I think this intimidated her a bit. She probably wasn't expecting it, and her reaction proved it. A reaction with a defensive, chameleon-like disposition tells me everything. She barely showed her self to me. I assume she was expecting a couple of 19-year-old kids to be living next-door and she could boss us around. Sorry Ms. Soiled Underwear, sorry that we can't offer you neighbors of a weak species in which your nosy, neurotic bitchy self can walk all over and have evicted in order to offer you some sort of jealous victory against those of us with a life. Nosy, she is, I can tell. Her windows are always open slightly, I hear blinds shift and shudder as I walk by. She is bed ridden, her apartment smells of sick human. The kind of smell that weights on you, with a sense of sickly warmth. You expect various strains of all kinds of illnesses to be developing in such an environment. After a brief argument with Nico, a call comes for her, a voice I didn't recognize at all. As Nico proceeds to thank the women repeatedly and apologize, my curiosity is sparked. The she says the dreaded word. The name of said nosy neighbor. "Ahhh shit!" I exclaim ..."What now?.....Did the cats meow too loud??? ". As soon as Nico is off the phone, I am on top of it. Tracy Dick here......"what does she want? what did she say? why is she calling?" I assume she was complaining about the noise when we were moving our equipment after rehearsal. (Of which by the way the neurotic mess went and put up a sign on the hall way door asking the you not slam the door. This being moments after the other neighbors are moving out, we are moving a drum kit and other large equipment. Never mind the door has a retractor on it. I can't think of a reason why anyone would intentionally SLAM the door, but in the life of a nosy neurotic neighbor, people do these things intentionally, especially to people with pee-bags attached to their inner thigh.) In fact the woman overheard about 45 seconds of argument and is calling to offer Nico a refuge in her sickly apartment. She probably cleaned up the house just to make the phone call in hopes of a positive response from Nico. Ohh the nerve, the nerve of a complete stranger to offer refuge, assuming guilt on my part. Why didn't she offer me refuge? Spinning her tangled web in order to obtain some sort of friend in her sickly world, she offered the potential "girlfriend" a refuge from the man. Never the less, could she even hear the detail? Did she hear us fucking the other night? Did she hear my new Coltrane CD? Did she hear the message my mom left the other night on my answering box? What doesn't she hear when the windows are slightly open? I refuse to be parted by a sickly, lonely, bed ridden neighbor. Neurotic and lonely neighbor! The hell with you and your loneliness, don't bring me down, down to your level. I have no sympathy, I am sorry of your unfortunate illness, but I will not release a tear feeling sorry for a strange neurotic sick human. I will not accept the prying, the boredom, the talk shows, the chicken pot pie, the medication that gives you diarrhea or the silly decorations that stain our hallway. Ohh the stench of potpourri combined with sick humanity you experience walking past her door makes me wanna vomit immediately. Go away sick nosy neighbor. Go away to a place of peace and quite, like the desert, the mountains, the ocean. Anywhere but the city. We all can't accommodate you Ms.Neurotic-Nosey-What-Are-Doing-Neighbor. Take your neurotic signs down from the hall ways. We don't live according to your neurotic ways. Your little signs only create agitation. I now make a point to let the door slam despite your little popsicle creation to prevent it from slamming, One day it will be gone neurotic neighbor. One day your little neurotic order will come crashing down. One day Ms.Neurotic Neighbor. one day..........

Some of my friends that are in bands here,rent storage units and practice at night.Some nights there are several bands jamming and it,s like a big party.I think thats why The Gin Blossums(now Pharoh 2000)The Refreshments(they are called something else now too,somebody told me at the Elvis concert but now I can,t remember)and the Pisteleros keep intermingling.I can,t help but feeling sorry for some pitiful sick person.If she,s that bad off,she probably wont be around much longer.

i am a bastard that way, i guess, anyone who is pitiful deserves no sympathy, obviously they have doused themselves with pity and need none from others, which is ironic, those who need pity the least are the ones who strive for it the most, vicious circle i guess

Is a pitiful person one who feels sorry for themselves, or one who just seems so pathetic you can't help but be disgusted by (and sympathetic towards) them?

i believe one who appears pitiful most likely is aware they look pitiful and are using it to manipulate you to offer your pity as well

That doesn't really answer my question as to what a pitiful person is. It just tells me what a pitiful person does. I'm not sure if it's related or not, but it's really too bad being compassionate is out of style now.

a pitifiul person IS someone who pities themselves and feels sorrty for themselves, but intentionally in a extraverted manner as to appease and draw sympathy from those around..compassion is NOT out of style but yet so many have used compassion to manipulate others, i believe compassion is better localized to those around is, and to those who actually benefit from compassion. A pitiful person doesn't benefit from compassion, rather they inflate like a tick with more blood,in a parasitic manner

As I said, I'm not sure if it's related...but... I disagree with you. A whole bunch. Compassion is WAY out of style. Most people only care about themselves, and in some cases, their family and friends.

I opened the door to find a woman selling doughnuts, she did not ask if I wanted to buy any, but proceeded to sing to me a song, a song by my sex-goddess Tori. She sang a line about the chickens getting a taste of your meat, and then I heard Zelda music. I always thought the little guy on that game was quite a sexy one. He stabbed me once through the eye, no, not the guy from Zelda, but my daddy. He told me I was a bad little angel for peaking through the door when the ministers daughter was over in the bedroom to take a nap. I laid down in the cold nurse's office on the crisp white sheets, and wondered how exactly band-aids get their smell. They chased me down and I turned on them, I finally saw their faces, pigs, all blonde-headed children with pig faces, little snouts and all. He cradled my heart in his left hand, and kissed it to make it all better. I always thought he owed me that bloody kiss because he is the one who ripped my heart out and watched it pulse in his hand with little red rivers flowing down his arm. The sharp-toothed boy with the black hair took my life, he spit on my corpse, and molested my skull. Don once took me behind Kay's ice cream store to the place where the homeless sleep, and he told me everything was going to be alright. He gave me sip of Gatorade, the blue kind, and unzipped his pants. He kissed me, and then pushed my head down. I almost passed out from the heat, cause it was a day when it is 190 degrees in the shade, and here I was giving him head with an old beer can stabbing me in the knee. I did this once, with a guy in his blazer, in the parking lot of a church, and I realized, that my whole life, I had thought that god was in a building, and all it is is a pile of bricks.

were those glazed doughnuts? did the blue gatorade man wash his dick first? these are important details!

Very important details I think...The doughnuts were asorted Dunkin' Donuts.....

Hey fB, good to see you back. No other comment.

Thanks, I got my little work issue cleared up with the assistance of the Department of Justice.

science.

and while you're in the neighborhood http://www.chocodog.com/ween/

and then there's create-a-fart makes a good mother's day gift.

Did anyone get past that first page of Dave's link? That was so neat! All the pretty colors....

Fuck'n GoNuts!

So there I was naked from the waist down sipping on a cup of cold coffee in the local Dennys when it hit me. Those little green fuckers never meant to hurt me necisarely. They were just trying to procreate. Its funny how closeminded you can be when all you persieve is violence.

Perhaps it would be advantageous for you to persevere,and try and locate that spell check button.

Next time your here Czarina,will you show me how to do that spell check thing?

J..... i was afraid you left

No hon,I've found out that we are going to Costa Rica again this Aug.,for 16 days and have been trying to plan it,where to stay etc.,plus spawn is giving me more grief,see last thread.

Costa Rica, huh? Cool.

I had a lucid dream. I think it was anyway, i was aware i was dreaming. Im a teenage guy, so what do you think id do, if i was in a place where i knew i could do Anything, in full dream technicolor, and wake up a happy bunny. Well, i went to this fine girls house, but damn. Even lucid dreams can suck, she was out.! So i just cruised the streets, havin fun, checkin the birds. I hope i get another one, this was ages ago, i remember waking up and thinkning, damn, and trying to go back to sleep into the dream. Of course, i couldnt, and have not had one since. Anyway, thats my piece. I have only just seen this site for the first time, and this is my first post, so hi all, im Amo.

Let me tell you my dream: The pendulum swung out of time deeper into the night. As the purple faded to green i could feel the essence of ashes fall upon my window sill. Before the clock could finish, i interupted. I did not speak but my voice said it all, "why do you haunt the naked flame" i asked. "Because" they said, "it is the destiny of many and the truth of the voyage". I left abruptly, bermused by the cuttle fish at the door.

id shure like to get in your pants,i just shit in mine.

A classic Sorabji posting.