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| Goodness! I thank public blogging and an ill intentioned Grandmother
for a disruption in my mother's unparalleled trust and support.
Apparently, some people like to get their thrills from sports and good
natured activities. I find writing therapeutic, but I never publicize
anything I think will cause me any frustration or angst within my own
family. That is pretty easy since I usually never get phone calls from
my not-so-internet-privy mother apologizing for my turbulent youth.
However, this never would have happened had she read the excerpt of my
autobiography on my 'other' xanga for herself. Instead she let my
Gramma fill her full of guff that was a black rendition of my own work.
I want my xanganian friends to read what I write, but not read and then
go tattle on me like I didn't know how to use the fucking internet.
"Oh, what? The things I write in a blog aren't contained within my very
own skull?" Sayeth ignorant Taylor
One should note my youth wasn't a model for the average kid, but I
wouldn't have it any other way. It has made me who I am today - and
lets face it - opon meeting me you will notice my affection for myself.
Also known as having a big head, or being egotistical, self-centered,
vein, and completely smitten with one'self. This is all true of my
personality. I often get remarks about my eccentricies, comments on my
maniac actions, and my sheer craziness. But I embrace that.
What I would ashamed of for example.. is if I didn't get my kicks from
Route 66, instead I sought out dirt on the nails of all my friends and
family and causing them increased amounts of anxiety and turmoil in
their already quite turmultuous lives. I couldn't be that kind of
person. I couldn't dig and brush away the soil like a Paleontologist
and come up with some sinister plan to use this conveniently unearthed
knowledge as a sword to pierce my children's precious realm in an
attempt to ruin it, only for my own gratification. This my friends is
exactly what my Grandmother does. The title grandmother doesn't bring
up any connotations remotely close to those I just laid out does it?
I can only ask for the decency that other grandchildren take for
granted, a socially uninvolved Grandmother that doesn't find something
to stir up, something to make me feel obligated to address on XANGA of
all places. I like to keep all my drama my age and in gossip magazines.
Thanks
~The Sun of Sons | | |
| Getting told to "show me what you got" (not the actual quote, but I feel these were the words guy was striving for) has prompted me to re-open dear, dear, dear xanga..
So I have dozens of lengthy stories on misc. forums and such, but I figured I'd just tell this guy
to read this following excerpt from a book I worked on this summer,
obviously this novel is written to be read in its entirety. Its loosely
based upon my life and is divided up into chapters by towns or people.
This is merely an introduction of sorts...it can't be labelled as the
preface since I've already written one for this novella. Without any
further ado, besides this... read this, read my long posts on here...
get a feel for my uncannily flexible writing style, then evaluate.
Don't read a paragraph of this and give up, titmouse.
=== start book excerpt ===
All he heard was silence. Well, silence and a whole
bunch of racket coming from downstairs. It was his 'other' family
coming home. They lived in the same house, but when it came down to it.
They weren't family. He considered his father family, but those other
two were left out entirely.
Not only were they not related to him by blood, they
were noticeable trash in a sea of trash. They didn't come from money,
and they didn't have any common sense or wits about them to make up for
the lack of wealth. How they even became part of the family was a
mystery to him. He knew how it happened, but it was more of a question
of "why" instead of "how."
His biological mother was beautiful. She had long,
dark brown locks of hair that cascaded to the middle of her back. She
met him in highschool and they were both the talk of the town. A very
hot couple they were, and destined to fail. Which they did after
procuring a pair of boys. She was a romantic, and she emcompassed him
with her love. She always knew they would be together forever. He came
home with a greasy hickey necklace some tart of a woman gave him. So
that was over.
Once they separated and eventually achieved divorce,
they went to live in a small apartment on the other side of the nearest
town. They didn't mind it there, sometimes they would go outside and
wander around in the grass by the small white flowers that grew all
over the residence. One of them would clean out a jar, and keep the
empty container and lid, then go out to the small flowers that the
honeybees were pollenating and swiftly trap the honeybee inside the
jar, after pinning it between the ground and the jar, they would slide
the lid back on carefully without giving the bee a chance to escape,
and tighten the lid. Every now and then, a monster sized bumblebee
would be spotted amongst the vast amount of 'regular' honeybees. The
pain that a bumblebee could produce in comparison to a honeybee was
immense, and sometimes tear inducing. But the boys had been struck so
many times by the tail end of the honeybees, that they almost had to
get stung by a monster bee to keep the excitement around anymore.
She didn't take too well to the new environment
though, she was hurt, in a way that couldn't be explained unless a
person was to go through the exact same circumstances. But she had the
boys, and that was becoming all she really cared about. On the
downside, her only way to relieve the pain was to go out and drink. And
drink she did, multiple times a week. She'd get Kathrin Metzger, her
closest friend outside of the family, to babysit the kids while she was
out drinking her failed marriage into the depths of her memory. Pushing
it so far away that the only thing that knew how hard she was trying to
forget was her liver, which coincidently also had a failed marriage,
however no offspring, but not for the lack of trying. Additionally, the
liver was begining to feel like it would divorce itself from the inside
of Mother's body if she didn't stop neglecting it, and sometimes when
nobody is around, he thought she called it a "jerk", but that is merely
heresay. Liver heresay, and we know that is normally about as
believeable as anything our forty-third president has ever said.
When She wasn't working, cleaning, cooking, smoking,
or sleeping, she was normally disciplining my brother and I for
violating basically any rule that could be broken. We had a lot more
rules than other kids our age, because my mother took pride in raising
us "right", (which I appreciate a lot more now than I did back then) we
had to keep our room spotless, and notice the lack "room" in the plural
form, that is because we lived in that small apartment I mentioned
earlier. Two boys and a lot of figurines and such didn't equal a very
clean room as often as I would have liked. Sometimes I'd start a battle
between my G.I. Joe and Ninja Turtle toys and before I knew it, I was
getting raised by my arm and my ass tanned with a thick leather belt
for not keeping my room tidy. This seemed a bit harsh then, but seeing
my fellow comrades grow of age has shown the importance of ass stripes
as a adolescent. It isn't a fool proof plan, obviously, of giving your
child the old "one-two" double ass stripe for not paying attention to
small rules, or the near death expirence that was staying at a friend's
house without asking, but I fear for those who got to do whatever they
pleased when they were younger. Almost one-hundred percent of the time
spanking has turned out the only factor I can see between veering from
the beaten path into the land of drugs, adultery, and basic morals in
general. Actually more like ninety-six percent, but that is neither
here nor there. My friends now, that were spanked and disciplined back
then, are fairly honest and trustworthy comrades. But all of my friends
that were, to my knowledge, never spanked, have adopted the most
comprehensive list of wrong-doings I've ever seen, or heard of.
Its sickening to watch a friend traverse the road to
absolute failure. Especially when they all seem to do such a damn good
job at it. If those few comrades of mine were as determined at any
specific general good thing in this world, as they were at fucking
everything up. Today, if they hadn't screwed it all off, any of them
could've mastered anything masterable, instead of a frown whenever
somebody mentions their name. After my best friend and blood brother,
which I will get to later, departed, and blood brother by means of
cutting one's hand until you got a good palm full of DNA and then
pressed it firmly against the other guy's hand kind of way, was the
reason I had to find a new close friend to fill all those empty spaces
that used to be slots of mischief with the former friend.
I met him at school in the hallway. I only meant to
inquire about the girl I spotted him mingling with at lunch time, but
ended up hitting it off quite well, which was better than my predicted
outcome, in which he shouts something about the girl belonging to him
and getting a swift kick in the dick. I recall hanging out during lunch
and a class we had together now that we were aquainted. Then the big
deal as a middleschooler, was to stay over at somebody else's house. We
mostly hung out at his house, because my mother was strongly opposed to
having company over. I thought she was just being a stabbing pain in my
tit, but I think now it was mostly because she would get in a fight
with her next husband, that I have conveniently skipped over and must
inform you of here anytime. They would get in the most ridiculous
fights about stuff I was too negligent to take note of, and we always
ended up moving out for a week or two. By always moving out, was as
certain as some titmouse swerving into your lane thereby cutting you
off from whatever you were attached to, with her impossibly massive
sport utility vehicle, and not only dashing all hopes of not being cut
off, but also of seeing anything but the ass end of the largest
rollable collection of metal imaginable. Thats how dependable Mother
was when moving out was the primary focus. So basically I fathom now
that she didn't want to risk the public embarassment of seeing one of
my friend's parents in the grocery store after taking him home in the
A.M. because we had to move to a different state unexpectedly. That, or
she just didn't take kindly to the idea of an extra shit, four shits
altogether, running around and audibly having a 'good time', instead of
maybe catching a late afternoon nap, or tanning my ass because of
something I have done wrong in an attempt to dispell the metric tons of
boredom I regularly happened upon.
So I was at his house a lot, playing Nintendo and
trying my best to tame my creativity with something so pointless that
you could spend days digging away at some game and when you are
finished, nothing close to a twenty dollar bill pops out of a secret
slot, nor do you win a free trip or some kind of recognition outside
the people that watched you play, for killing the evil king, saving the
princess, and never blinking. After some time of that, we would coax
his mom into rustling us up some meal with as many courses as a
bachelor's degree, then we would be pleasantly ungrateful for the
cuisine as we went right back to pissing our lives away virtually. He
was a good guy though, he had never been in any trouble before I met
him, nor had he ever talked of a grand scheme to fuck up his promising
future.
Another comrade we met along the way, Tom, would
help us form a completely self-contained iron fucking triangle. It was
a bond that most people with dentures hope to achieve when they spread
adhesive across the part of their dentures where the plastic meets
their toothless gums. We had a hell of a time and don't worry I'm sure
I'll let you in on a few of the countless notable events we lived
through. It wasn't much of a surprise to Tom, or myself, since we grew
closer as Camron distanced himself from sensibility, that he started
drinking before we knew of its benefits and limits. He, which was an
Iron Triangle violation, decided to jump into the unknown by having a
few brewskies with a person we all knew, but came to a consensus that
"Iron Square" sounded a bit off, and was reason enough not to have
anybody but ourselves to rely on. Fishing around for words, Camron
tried to explain all of this reasons for drinking. I for one, wasn't
about to touch beer and likely become uncontrollable or risk arrest at
such a young age. I knew so little about all of the benefits beer would
provide me with, even without reguard for limitations. But he did what
he did, and the Iron Triangle was on a fairly visible path to becoming
just an iron stick.
We let him know that what he did was against
anything he had claimed to ever stand for, and that each and everyone
of us had a duo of alcoholic parents to defy by not ever drinking.
Ever. Apparently he didn't know the word, or have a dictionary, because
'ever' for Cam' was not even a year after fourteen. Tom and I found it
fit to alienate Camron and cut our losses before they drug us down.
Funny that his next discovery, was to drug himself down with any number
of pills or herbs he could ingest and or inhale.
"Taylor! I fucked up man" he informed me, with a wimper in his tone.
"What now Cam? What's going on?" I asked him with a bit of concern, but mostly out of tired repetition.
"I was trying to scare my dad, so I took a bottle of
Tylenol, some diet pills, and another full bottle of caffein pills" He
said with a bit of pride.
"Tylenol PM, or fast relief soft-gels?" I wanted to
ask out of spite. But I probably said something like "Where are you?
Why did you do that?"
"I was only trying to scare my dad" He said, starting to sound a bit scared.
"Maybe use different tactics next time, but you need
to call him and an nine one one before all those pills dissolve in your
stomach" I commanded
"Maaan, maan I don't know, dad is going to be
pissed" He said, ignorantly wasting valuable seconds until he cures a
myriad of common aches, pains, loses twenty pounds, and stays awake for
a solid week, perhaps week and two days.
"Well he should be pissed, even though you were
going for scared, I think you start crabwalking upsidedown, covered in
blood, down your stairs when your dad is in the general area. Instead
of putting your health in jeopardy" I suggested, with a hint of sarcasm.
I think it was that pill hungry incident that landed
Camron firmly in his father's grasp for more than just a couple
weekends a month like before. I'm certain Camron wished there were a
prescription to get him out of this mess.
[end unfinished chapter]
| | |
| I have found the instrument I wish to play.
Not only that, but I've adopted the whole fucking lifestyle.
I will behave like these kind when school resumes this tender fall.
BEHOLD! My new aborigine romance!
 
So starting monday when my parents are at work..
I will paint my face red with stripes, and grap a paper mache' pipe.
Off with my clothes, and BOOM its naked aborigine time- out in the field.
(i'm so fucking serious a quadruple bypass lacks significance in comparison)
| | |
| I hate infinity things.. here are one's I'm hating at this second.
Bread
My stomach for not holding more food.
My uncanny ability to come off as a racist (it happens daily)
John White (yes you, fucker)
My mp3 player that lost the ability to play audio (but i can still upload!!)
Southern anything
Zebras
Snakes
Noon
Red
Star Wars advertisements
People who have xanga premium (get real you fucks, get a .com )
Anything Wal-Mart
noobs
how my burned cds 'deteriorate' after a not-so-long time
pandas
meow mix
carrie underwood
cats
three
Mistaking somebody for a seinfeld fan
(like tonight when I tried to relate to my gf's grandpa when I heard
seinfeld in his room and ran in there and started saying something
about how Kastanza is my friend Colby, but also Me, but I'm really a
mix of Jerry, Kastanza, and Kramer when it comes down to it... only to
realize that he was reading a paper and that he NEVER , NEVER EVER
fucking watches seinfeld)
However I do love..
My sleeping pills
Dr.Pepper
Fireflies in the fields and on my windshield while driving home tonight
Dancing with my gf in her yard, like we are on fucking Dawson's Creek
Snakes (its a love/hate thing)
Rambo III
Coons ( see? )
Chihiro's xanga
John White (not really, i still fucking hate you)
Singing Jack Johnson out my window at some wanker at a stoplight...
"( )"'s
Peeing longer than the guy in the stall next to me.
This lovely lazy summer..I must be going to die soon, because everything rocks
| | |
| 
So here are TWO reasons why I'm never eating at Scott's Braum's.
Now hear me out. Since I'm from rural Okie, not fucksville Tulsa.
I'm not cool with getting my face blown off while eating ice cream.
To the naked Tulsan eye, you would just see an empty lot. But oh
no there is more. There is a reason it is so empty. Its mostly the
car on the right. But you really have to thank the car on the right
for signalling the car to the left.
Car on the right: Its a typical gangster whip, but eminates a poorness.
A poorness that would gank you for an indian taco.. beware.
Car on the left: Its only there to meet up with car number two. This
car has all the rock, and is collecting the dough from car two. Car
one gives a fuck about your indian taco, but would still rape your
chicka and steal her imitation Prada baggette. How dare you.
So these are just some small tips from my new book..
How Not to Get killed in Tulsa: for Dummies
Pick it up, before you get picked the fuck up...
| | |
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