iron birds fly through the sky
at night through clouds

new york is the only place to be
the center, the heart, the point

just a place, like any other

at one time i felt love
i loved and was loved
nothing says that has to continue
or return. there are a lot
of lonely old men

the elderly are the truth
they are where we are all
heading. i listen to them
hoping to find the answers
or at least clues.

but every moment is different
nothing that happened implies
what will happen.
there was a jesus. there
was a buddha. someone
came up with bhuto.

what was the morning
of the world?

we stack rocks and then
live in them

what happened? did i
trade darkness for
numbness? where did
it all go?
where are you friends
tonight?

i make things. i want
to make things that
people value, for people
that i value

nothing says i'm going
to be a dad. nothing

there. right there i felt
something. tears welled
in my eyes but didn't fall
i guess i'm dehydrated.

i disappeared for 2 days and
no one knew.
but that's as it should be
i suppose

einstein wrote 4 papers
in one year that instantly
created 4 fields of science
and birthed the modern
world
he didn't like to wear socks
and was a philandering fuck

i'm reading, or re-reading
a story where people
stop aging through a realistic
advance in medicine
the first people to receive
the treatment were in
their 70's, and stopped
their biological age then.
at the end of the story
they were 250 years
old, and couldn't remember
most of their lives
some of them started
having deja vu for days
or weeks at a time. they
also started having jamais
vus- feelings that this
moment was entirely
unique, never happened
before. they also
started having
presque vu- where they
felt that they were on
the cusp of some kind
of revelation, that they
were going to have some
kind of enlightenment
that never comes

supposedly it's some kind
of brain chemistry condition,
a mini seizure or stroke.
i feel that all the time
like i'm about to understand
something, but never will

it feels so good to
ESCAPE. i do it all the
time, so fast and so hard
like imagining that if i
escape just right, for
just long enough and just
far enough when i come
back, everything will
be ok, and i can have

the life i've always
wanted

the first rule of new york is only move in the direction you are looking.

the second rule of new york is never stop.

i do better with the quiet types. i invigorate them, shake them up, wake them up. i threaten the stable ones, and they defend themselves, it's only natural.

we are amazing creatures. wizards, really. our will effects the universe. but we are made out of the universe. so really, it's just the universe organizing itself. moving itself around. we are stars shaping reality. we are all stars reborn. but the experience of consciousness gives the impression of separateness from the universe. i perceive that the rock is different than myself. when i shape the tree, i do not feel that i am being shaped. i think consciousness is something really special.

we live in amazing times. i can walk down a busy city street, the same human animals doing the same things we've always needed to do. eat, find shelter, find mates. from the trees and savannas to babylon, athens, egypt with it's pharonic achievements, milan in the renaissance, london in the industrial revolution, moscow in snow, new york in lights. we are still the same animals. still doing the same things. still have the same needs. but i walk down a street head up, looking around, moving, and yet also talking to a person that isn't there. talking to someone miles away. if i had the need, i could talk to someone thousands of miles away with the same effort. amazing.

i think about things for a living. i'm a philosopher of matter i guess. of matter and time. and will. i think about things. how they work. how they exist. what forces are applied to them. i think about objects, and the objects i want to create. i think about how those objects will be made to exist, how the effort of so many people will be brought to bear on matter until it resembles my thoughts. i do this to achieve things for other people, people with no special worth, not particularly deserving of this tremendous effort of will. but i don't just do it for them. it's almost like going to the gym, working out, exercising the muscles of will. i think about things and record my thoughts on a computer. silicon, copper, electricity. my thoughts go into this object, and then onto paper as lines. my thoughts inhabit the paper, and then when another human gazes on the paper, my thoughts leap into their mind. then they go and create the object that was the subject of my thoughts. it's kind of incredible.

i had more to talk about, but i got too drunk. tragic. all those thoughts, gone. tragic.

in the last month, i have been made acutely aware of one simple fact.


that fact is

one act, one word, one second

can change the course of your life. forever.

it can be for better or worse,
but it's always drastic.


























































































































































































"hey, i'm driving with my boyfriend right now... and... you know what, it's a really busy night, can i just call you tomorrow?"
"sure. goodbye"

If you're playing Homestore Trivia...Sorry, it's not Kick The Cheat.
This soft, huggable plush image of The Cheat is 10" high, 13" wide and 30" around. He's equipped with a voice box, so whenever he's kicked or struck, he screams four different exclamations in his native language of The Cheat.

Please note: the Kick The Cheat plush toy comes with a 30 day limited warranty. If you receive a defective The Cheat (one that has a malfunctioning voice box, for instance), you have 30 days from the time of receipt to return your The Cheat for a replacement or refund. See our “Returns and Refunds” section for the return address.

Brian On Suits:


Watsmatau: brown suits make people look frumpy or from the 70's
Watsmatau: black suits make people look slender
Watsmatau: pinstripes make you look italian
Watsmatau: gray suits make you look rich if they're good material, and dirt poor if they're bad material
Watsmatau: and blue suits make you look like you just took first communion
BiGTiMsb: mark said brown suits are the new trend
Watsmatau: well, no, you off-suit a black suit with a strong colour
Watsmatau: mark's a theatre designer
Watsmatau: trust ME on this one
Watsmatau: brown suits are bad
BiGTiMsb: no, he's a scene shop owner
Watsmatau: you're gonna trust this piker viola over me on suits?
Watsmatau: i will be wounded
Watsmatau: i will cry
BiGTiMsb: not necessarily- he just made a suggestion

BiGTiMsb: he said "brown suit pinstripes, no pleats in the pants, and no cuff. blue shirt with brown tie with blue in it. suspenders and belt, black shoes are ok, but not the best

Watsmatau: WHAT
Watsmatau: Brown and BLUE?
Watsmatau: are you sure he likes you?
Watsmatau: Mixing brown and blue is considered THE male fashion faux pas
Watsmatau: don't wear white after labor day
Watsmatau: don't mix brown and blue
Watsmatau: an off white suit doesn't work for business, it works for play
Watsmatau: and yes, that bow tie really DOES look stupid

Watsmatau (7:59:56 PM): so let me see a picture of this Erin
BiGTiMsb (8:00:00 PM): um
Watsmatau (8:00:19 PM): what's her last name?
BiGTiMsb (8:00:24 PM): well, there's something about her you're going to make fun of me for
BiGTiMsb (8:00:41 PM): besides the fact that she's like 5'2
Watsmatau (8:00:43 PM): she's a guinea?
BiGTiMsb (8:00:45 PM): nope
BiGTiMsb (8:00:46 PM): worse

*typed simultaneously*
BiGTiMsb (8:00:49 PM): she's english
Watsmatau (8:00:52 PM): she's english?

Watsmatau (8:00:54 PM): OH GOD
Watsmatau (8:00:59 PM): I WAS JOKING
Watsmatau (8:03:13 PM): ERIN'S FROM JERSEY?!?
BiGTiMsb (8:03:43 PM): that also
Watsmatau (8:03:48 PM): I LONG FOR THE DAYS WHEN SHE WAS ONLY ENGLISH

so-
this weekend was my first culture shock


and it was glorious!


i have been rewarded for being a good little viking with blood and good stories.

on friday i drank 50 beers. the bands that were playing were good, and much fun was had by all. i kept trying to get her to do liberty spikes, and finally she was drunk enough to agree. liberty spikes can't be done with gel-- they're done with elmers. so i got someone to bring a bottle and got her on her knees, but then she said she wanted me to find some freaky chick to do it for her, so i go into the crowd by the stage.

i see a guy with a tall, bleached mohawk (who happens to be her RA) grab him by the shoulders and say "you! come with me. NOW" followed by this conversation:

me: do you know how to do liberty spikes?
him: no
me: can you fake it?
him: sure?
me: excellent

we then proceeded to dump the whole bottle of glue in her hair when she wasn't looking. it looked like an elephant jizzed on her head. glorious.

friday was a lot of drinking outside (in front of cops blatantly- yes!) listening to music, making out with some chick that ended up trying to take dom's pants off (oops) and moshing it up with billy in the pit.

saturday- again much glory and drinking. it was amazing, b/c everyone on campus was drinking like it was their job. everyone started around noon. so awesome. partied at dom's, invited billy's girlfriend trisha and her friends and cousins to come over, much fun, much glory. fought all night with a cute little firecracker named erin. gus told dom it would be smart to sing the ninja turtles song to me- the moment she started i leapt out of my chair, picked her up, carried her across the room, and dumped her ass first into the garbage can. later, as erin's coming back from someplace to my house, i'm walking home and... well

i'm not sure how it started. it had something to do with a black girl being mistreated by three black guys. in any event, i was yelling at one of them while his friend circled around to my left, then he clubbed me in the head with something, i fell, they ran. erin arrived and while the black girl and whoever else was trying to convince me not to kill them (they were skinny little thugs) i was making a point and the window by my door exploded all over my hand.

erin got most of the glass in her hair, and she started to yell at me for getting glass all over her, but i cut that off at the pass by saying "you say thank you big tim. you say thank you big tim for not putting glue in my hair. you say thank you big tim for not putting glue in my hair" it was awesome. now, bloody fisted, and screaming all night that i'm going to eat their god damn hearts, i'm trying to comfort the crying black girl. i said things like "sshh it's ok honey, it's ok. it has nothing to do with you, but i've got to eat their hearts." and "it'll be ok, i just have to take their lives" and "don't worry, i'm not going to put a hit out on them, you don't have to worry about hit men coming around your house, it's ok. i'm going to kill them myself." i kept trying to get her not to go back to them, to stay here with me where she wont' be disrespected. at somepoint erin told me i was talking to the thugs that clubbed me and i'm not sure when or how, but they called me tim and i told them "you do not address me like that, i am big tim to you, i earned that title, and i am big tim to you"


erin picked the glass out of my hand, and we hung out all night with the occasional outburst of "i'll eat their hearts." while she was picking the glass out of my hand, my one cool neighbor turned out the light, and him and erin went back in forth, which pissed her off. so later, she grabs half a bottle of vodka and some sprite to make the two of us a drink, and my neighbor grabs the bottle. she says fuck you and takes the bottle back, when my neighbor yells "we're on the same team!" idk, maybe it's just me, but i think all this shit was incredibly funny. she poured the vodka into two glasses, and then put the tiny bit of sprite that was left into the cup. i took two small sips, shrugged, and then chugged the glass like it was beer.

the two of us walked back and forth barefoot all night through the broken glass, there's blood all over my floor my mattress, my blanket, ...even my teddy bear :(

when i woke up, she was wearing my boxers and my button down shirt. we had puddle stomping fights on the way to breakfast. i like this one


so in the end, it was a night of viking glory. dom took me to the ER the next morning to get my head checked out, and i'm fine. i just hurt EVERYWHERE. both my hands have hairline fractures and i'm tore up in a lot of places. in any case, bloody drunken glory, and i got the girl in the end. victory for big tim.

thank you culture shock. thank you

james o'toole, bobby o'shea

i'm gonna get drunk!



it's CULTURE SHOCK

and you know what? it's my first
that's right, tonight, i pop my culture shock cherry
after four years. four long years.

tonight, i someone told me they thought i was starting to go bald.
just a little. on the top in the back. not enough to notice.


this place made me old.
it OWES me.


someone else gave me a t-shirt for my birthday. (funny, i haven't remembered my bday for 6 years, i finally do, and no one shows up to my party. meh) anyway
the shirt is a giant clover leaf. underneath.... it says "Fight me, I'm Irish"

i'm going to get a lot of use out of it this weekend. maybe fighting cops, maybe fighting thugs... we'll see.


we're not gonna protest! we're not gonna protest!

RULE No. 76: no excuses, play like a champion!

this is the thing that got me excited about joe biden
do yourself a favor and check it out





http://uniteourstates.com/blog/2006/04/11/real-time-with-bill-maher/





joe biden for president 2008


"joe doesn't fuck around"

new rule:

tulips aren't flowers...





they're some kind of gay onion

-Bill Maher





ps- props to the murphster for teaching me how to do that

i'm awesome

There was a man who sat each day looking out through a narrow verticle opening where a single board had been removed from a tall wooden fence. Each day a wild ass of the desert passed outside the fence and across the narrow opening -- first the nose, then the head, the forelegs, the long brown back, the hindlegs and lastly the tail. One day, the man leapt to his feet with the light of discovery in his eyes and he shouted for all who could hear him: "It is obvious! the nose causes the tail!!"

-Stories of the Hidden Wisdom
from the Oral history of Arrakis

look

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288*
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369
378*
387*
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405
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459
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558*
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603
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639
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702
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729
738*
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765*
774*
783*
792

801
810

819
828*
837*
846*
855*
864*
873*
882*
891

900

do you see?

i know why.

billy was deathly ill today, so to make him feel better we went to candlelight

for those of you who don't know, candlelight is the most amazing wing place in the world.



after we finish a modest meal of 36 wings each (billy was sick after all) we came up with an idea

if billy gets his 10 million bucks from suing the news stations over the blackface thing, we know what to do with it


and i guess, it's not really OUR idea, in that, the vikings had it first


our idea, if you haven't guessed it, is to open a bar in the city. but not just any bar. fucking old school, Hrothgar's Mead Hall. it'd be a place for guys to go and eat, drink, and fight. there wouldn't be a bar, or private tables. there'd just be HUGE, 40' benches that are wide enough for full spreads of meat and booze on either side, and plenty of room for the serving wenches, in their finest heidi-the-milk-maid outfits, to walk up and down the table bringing meat and refilling mugs.

sounds good? you haven't heard ANYTHING yet

the tables would be organized so that the more bad ass you are, the closer to the head of the table you can sit. if you're more alpha than the guy at the table, he has to move down for you. how do you know who's more alpha? how do disagreements get resolved? well that's the fun part. there's going to be a ranking system- based on how much you drink, how much you eat, and how much you fight. fight? isn't that bad? ah ha--- it is bad, if two guys get into a fight. if two guys duke it out in the middle of a ring with everyone watching, it's amature boxing. and that's what we'll have- amateur boxing. if any disagreements come up, you can challenge them to any kind of competition- drinking, eating, lifting, boxing, whatever. everyone will know the rules, and rule number one is no being a bitch- so if you're being a dick, challenge someone, or get challenged, and bitch out- you get tossed.


we'd sell mead of course, and hard liquor, but mostly beer. and you can only buy beer in pitchers-- and each person at the table will have their own mug. the crappy guys have crappy bitch mugs, and then as you move up the table the mugs get bigger and better, more ornate. from oak mugs to golden friggin goblets and shit. there's also going to be coors light on the menu. anyone that orders it get's thrown out by huge guys wearing coors light shirts.

there's going to be fire pits all over where the wenches cook the meat- no salads here. just wings and ribs and mutton legs.

there'd be 3 floors- the main floor would be the mead hall, the basement would be the pit (kinda grimy dungeonesque, and the upstairs would be valhalla, were only the most awesome people can go. not vip- vip is for bitches. you don't go there for being on mtv real world. you go there because you're a lumberjack badass that just ate a whole pig and drank a keg of beer. there would be beds for everyone who goes up there free of charge- you paid for your night's stay by being awesome. the floors of the mead hall and valhalla will have slatted floors, so whatever beer gets spilled or meat falls through the floor falls on the people below. the pit will have bands and be more like a stand around drink and dance kind of place. the mead hall is for serious drinking and feasting, and has better views of the ring, and vallhalla will be the upper floor in a ring around the building, with a hole in the middle to see the ring and whatnot.

there'd be weight lifting competitions and breaking shit competitions about every 2 hours- some sort of event. only not with any iron weights. chunks of brick walls, and cinder blocks, and stone shit. oh it'll be beautiful. and there'd be some kind of chick mudwrestling or something every so often. and there'd be a board on the wall with the current top badasses in their ranks, and depending on how awesome you are, you get assigned personal wenches to get you drinks and food and shit, and to just you know, be a hot wench.

there'd be three doors- one for the pit, and one for the main mead hall. if you're going up to valhalla, you walk through the main mead hall and go up the stairs on the other side, so everyone sees you walk by with all the wenches on your arms. and we'd give you shit at certain stages like viking helmets and rings and chains- but not cheesey- like, seriously good looking stuff. not necessarily real gold and whatnot, but good looking. viking like. badass.

the third door? the third door would be for lawyers, and it would have fire and brimstone and all sorts of evil shit. they'd have their own section on the side. plus the number of lawyers we'd have to have on staff would be huge, so we'd have to keep them happy. and there'd be clans- and each clan would have it's own set of tables, and each would have it's own type of leadership. then we'd work in clan events and challenges and shit, which would lead to each clan having rules forced upon it by the winning clans- like a huge communal game of asshole.



i want to go there RIGHT FUckING now


anyway, leave feed back

.

i'm very sorry you saw that, and in fact, i'm very sorry i wrote it. i never meant to hurt you- i've been lying here in bed all day trying to think of how i could make it up to you. i'm writing this, not as an apology, but as a back up- in case you don't want to talk to me for a while, i want to make sure you know what happened and how i felt about it in the mean time. i didn't know you could see that post, but since you obviously could, i hope that you can see this as well.

the things you said yesterday hurt me. a LOT. i've been dying to go back to europe for the last 5 years, and finally i had the opportunity and, not just someone, but the best people in the world to go with. brian and caitlin are going on the trip i've been planning, and i'm not.

because i can't afford it. and i REALLY can't afford it. i couldn't sell everything i own and have enough money to go- and neither could either of my parents.

and it wasn't just a matter of me being jealous of your wealth. my heart is a little broke too. i know that nothing could come of it, but you know just as well that i've been completely infatuated with you. and i just really and truly realized that it wasn't going anywhere. that hurts too.

and if you want to know why i get SO upset about the subway- my great-grandfather was a motorman on the L train, and that job meant that we didn't starve during the depression. when you talk down about the subway and the people on it, you don't mean to but you're talking down to me. when we went to get pizza with joanie late on my birthday, and we went back and forth over who'd pay, i heard you lean over the counter and tell the pizza guy that it was ok for you to pay, because you make a lot more money than i do. that was REALLY embarrassing.

i think that you and i are more alike than we are different. we're both very proud, and have quick, hot tempers. we also care about others with an uncommon intensity, and we can be badly hurt by the people we care for.

i wrote that journal as a way to get some big things off my chest without hurting anyone, which i obviously failed to do. i care for you VERY much, and i don't think that we became such good friends so quickly without good reason. i know that i hurt you, and i know that i can't undo that.

i'm going to put this out there, on the internet where you were hurt in the first place, and hope that it means something to you. then i'm going to walk over to your apartment and try to say all these things in person, and truly apologize, because i don't want to lose a friend over something like this. your friendship means more to me than the discomfort of saying hard things and admitting i'm wrong.

oh... well... i guess the environment can take one more for the team....

well what should i do with all my good ideas?
put them in a tub and wash myself with them?


because that's what soap is for...

fucking romulans...

god had a huge dilema on her hands. she had to choose not knowing. and not knowing is a scary thing. but when you know everything...... not knowing is the only choice.

i feel like i've run out. it's all gone, but not gone in a sudden catastrophic way. gone the way you pour water out of a bottle, and it's never all gone- you can always get another drop, but they're fewer and farther between