Brainlick

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Dear Colonel; I don't know if I'll be able to view the new film right off the bat for a few reasons. 1/ A - Low Funds. 2 / B - Recovery.  It will be 15 years since I began to seriously go down a dark path.  I emulated madmen, I tried to be "tough", I tried to be a "loadie", it didn't work.  I failed myself, my family, my possessions, my responsibilities, my dreams and goals and forfeited more than i can fathom.  I ruined friendships, and caused great harm.  I've broken every rule and threw away the warped morals and sensitivities that I had for a coarse lie that i perpetuated through the course of those wasted years.  My skull hurts.  I can feel the pain.  I am coming down from something about one thousand times stronger than methamphetamine and cocaine was pumping through my pathetic body.  My knuckles are finally popping and the feeling in my hands is returning. I began to be violent, i am so very bad at that.  I hate violence.  I don't like fo

eyes - A while back, Years ago, some of my friends used to run a Computer Store, they ran it for about seven years, all together.   I used to help with taking out the trash once in a while for pocket change when I was  bored and take it to the local arcade.  One day, one of our close friends who worked in the shop and helped with the customers passed away from a heart attack.  Months went by before any of us went into the store, we were all very very sad, and very angry at the entire situation.  You see, he was very young, he had just turned twenty four.    About three months after our co-worker and friend passed, we had to close the shop completely due to the overwhelming bills, and the fact that none of us could see spending a day working there without him there with us.    We Closed all the customer accounts and the computers were finished, delivered and set up.  Networks wrapped up, the Internet Service disconnected forever.  Receipts organized, Taxes Finished up and closed

Not Here, Not Tonight-A Tale of Pie an Coffee After the dust bowl  in the 1930s, a young man who wished nothing much more than to read books and write poetry was making his way West by helping with the things he was good at, like tidying houses, helping on the  Farms, setting tables, assisting with homework, and doing any thing he could, just for a spot to lay his sleeping bag, like a shed or a side house, park his typewriter, and perhaps grab a bite to eat for a day or two, before heading off to the next place. One night, around or in Oklahoma, on the out-skirts of a small rainy muddy town, with some change in his pocket, he entered a coffee shop and put his last bit of change on the counter for a coffee and slice of apple pie before venturing into the evening’s icky weather, seeking shelter.   He sipped his coffee slowwwllly...  he ate the pie slowwwwwlllly as well, wrote in a journal, read the newspaper and a book from his bag and listened to the AM radio’s news and music fade i

cont'd After four or five years or so, the young man came into the shop in September once, to the shop guys surprise. This time bringing a truck load of Carving Pumpkins for Halloween. They were perfect, heavy, huge and wonderful sized. The guys again sat down, worked out a plan for the sale of the goods, and quickly signed a new contract. Hauled the gords out of the truck, sold them that fall, and made good money. A couple years later... he didn't come back late that may. They called him, they tried letters. Worried the kids wouldn't be able to get fireworks that year, and some of their best customers off to work, and college that fall, the men went to Atlanta to try to find the young man at the address given. They saw the red car. They knocked on the door. No one answered. They knocked again... no reply. They found a small piece of paper in their truck and walked up to the door, to put it on the pushpin that sat by the door knocker. Just th

cont'd They asked the young man how they could obtain such wonderful devices, and how money could be made. The young man and shop guys went over the details over coffees. The young man explaining how the profits were made, and how much they could make if they did things in the right ways and at what times. With May nearly over (change late 1978 to may 1978), the promise of fireworks for sale made the two very happy. The young man, after signing a contract with the two, walked off, jerry can in hand, headed towards his car, down the abandoned roads, with a jog in his step he waved and smiled in the fading light of the shop. Pepsi Sign still blinking, his flashlight, now fully lit, moving swift into the night. Only a few minutes had passed when a car approached, it was bright red and beautiful. The tires looked brand new. The windows were dark. The young man got out of the car, opened the back door and walked towards the shop after grabbing their jerry can, and

illegal fireworks cont'd The gentleman returned with a steaming cup of black coffee and a pack of marlboros. Sat across from his friend, grabbed an ashtray and lit up. They heard footsteps, quick ones, jogging almost. At the far end of the northern entrance to the parking lot, which had not been used in so long there were weeds and trash as well as debris were scattered. Some of the surrounding houses had been boarded up due to the need of families packing up and leaving that used to work for the station, and surrounding enterprises. The appearance of someone coming from that area made them quite awake. The flashlight's red front piece rim and headlight were fading quite fast, and blinking out, just like the Pepsi Cola sign. They also saw in the person's other hand, a red jerry can for gas, and a briefcase. The person came up to the porch, upon noticing the closed sign, looked down and shook his head. "You open in the morning, then, what time?&quo

part 3 contd- They told him that it was closed up, no bucks.  They could trade out the jerry can at twice the price, though, and they had batteries for the flashlight. The traveler agreed and paid in cash for the jerry can of gas, a couple D batteries for the flash light, a pack of smokes from the left over stock and if they had one, a beer. The order was complete, the gentleman smacked on a cig and lit it on the porch as one of the shop guys went to a locked room to fetch the gas. While the traveler cracked open his beer, the car guy coming out side asked him, where did you come from and what the heck are you doing here?  Nobody's out here, at all, man."  The shop guy said.  "I saw the lights on, the gas gauge is screwy on my car, it's a clunker, a real piece of work, you could say, as it died i saw an access lane back here and tried to get here before you closed up, but...  i'm so so sorry." The young man said, sheepishly, while snuffing his cigarett

-illegal fireworks- in late 1978 about 18 miles + on the south of atlanta GA, there was an auto shop in the middle of nowhere. the auto shop closed up and due to financial struggle the former mechanics that still lived on site still decided to try to get money together to try to open the shop again. The did everything from Lemonade stand sales yard sales sales to selling grass to the local kids at night after the days meager work was done. After counting up the days' change, sipping on a Colt 45 in the sunset on the porch of the service station, with Pepsi-Cola neon sign blinking out on the PEP and LA at the end on occasion.  Bugs zapped by a zapper in the distance.  The metal screen door to the office with slightly worn springs clacked against the wood frame. Another night. The small PHILCO AM / FM radio's reception was good once in a while, allowing rock and roll and mowtown to slide into the night air.  They talked about cars, TV, sports, being broke. From the

= INTERNAL NOTE MOST STORIES START OUT ... ONCE UPON A TIME. WELL, THE TIME IS NOW. THE PLACE... IN DREAMS, IMAGINATION AND OTHER WIERD PLACES. ZYDES: -BEGINNINGS- -an abstract journey- OBJECT OF THE SUB-SIMULATION- get as much stuff as you can and live as long as you can. IS THERE A PRINCESS: Yeah, sure there’s Princesses, but they don’t need saving, at all. They have the Princess Liberation Front. Q: Is there Evil and Good?  A: What am I fighting against? I dunno, confusion, madness... here you’re just trying to run around in an arena for a while. and survive, and go froward, just like in life, I guess.   Some of my friends like to collect the shiny thingz or glowy thingz, and colorful thingz.  Some like to try to advance their entity’s Q: What is the name of the thing there that just showed up? A: if they have they are

i want to get off creatively i don't like drowning myself i can't be badass like the people that did the stufff i am trying to cover trying to cover trying to cover trying to be like someone that im not that im not that im not that im not that im not is breaking me and breaking me and breaking and i'll break the world if i cant be ME 6 hours ago · Like · Bob Rossa Whatever song you sing Whatever road you walk down Its your feet touching the dirt Its your lungs breathing in the air just now Mother Teresa singing Soul Kitchen Heavenly choirs singing Smells Like Teen Spirit

bye hard drugs, bye hangin w/ ppl i don't know and shouldn't be near.  bye trying to die like E.A. Poe, Bye all the shit I lost in all the robberies due to my toxic stupidity, Bye to the chicks who wouldn't tolerate it, bye to the good friends i've lost.  bye to being in certain places i can't go anymore.  bye to chasing images belonging to other people or fictional characters, bye not being me.  bye pure hatred for myself, bye whatever. hello today.

when i was about 14, i lived in a desolate place that had no record stores or outlets for people into punk and non normal music very much, aside from taking long trips, and finding  a rare jem in a bargain bin somewhere, thrift shops or coming to Ukiah to pick up tunes. i liked heavy metal as much as the next person around, and we had no way to hear it thrown across the airwaves but to build a huge antenna. the antenna wasn't that huge...  it only consisted of a few units, some attached by wire line and spanned from the mobile home to the outer shed.  the shed not only selved as storage, but also a hideout and secret place that myself and my comrades could go and play video games on dying color and black and white televisions that were scavenged from dumpsters, trash piles, or by trading various currencies, ie: cigarettes, drugs, booze, games, tapes, and other stuff.  The one antenna that went from the shed's feed lines were split so that the stereo in the shed and the house

"OH I'd BET YOU'D LOOOVVVE TO PLAY A SHOW OR A PARTy, HUH, You fucking junkie pervert motherfucker",  the guitarist barked at me after i asked the group if we were even gonna ever play anything or if this was the Heavy Meatall thing and the Throw Olly under the Bus thing.  everyone turned their head.  and i could hear them gigle a little bit, snicker, and then work on yet another fucking metal thing. i was being cut out. "well" , thought to myself...  "what to do, what to do???" my literary agency wants me to live with my mom forever 'cause she thinks its okay, and i'm like young and all that, so... okay whatever.  Maybe i can stop slamming every damn substance into my body in the meantime, learn how to sleep... eat food again, remove myself from the reigns of ickyness. Joni Mitchell was right, that jealous loving will make you crazy.

this redundancy has riddn a foul course in my brain and body. no longer do i wish to park my carcass at some old man bar and try to reason with them regarding early 80's punk rock and new wave bands and which residents album is best.  the point is beyond moot. medication is nothing, of course this is a grabby hand issue regarding which demons are in control at the time, and who the fuck is driving.

Beep! Zap! ZOOM! Beep! Zap! ZOOM! by Oliver Mattson (c) 2011 The Day was Saturday, the best day of the week, thought Ollie. Dad was listening to two radios, watching television, and talking on the CB radio and telephone, all at the same time.   It was a bit noisy. Ollie came in and said, a little bit loud, so that Dad could hear him, “Dad, Can We Go an Arcade?”, “Right ON!”, Dad responded.  He quickly wrapped up his phone call, and they both headed to the kitchen. Dad opened up the cabinet way up high, and pulled down the coin banks that thy had, especially for Arcade Visits.  He placed them down on the kitchen table, and opened them up. Ollie picked up his coins and Dad did as well.  They both grinned thinking about changing them into tokens, coins that allowed them to play games in special arcades, games usually ran on Quarters in most other  places. Dad gave Ollie extra money in the kitchen, because he was helping more and reading more as

Beep! Zap! ZOOM! Beep! Zap! ZOOM! by Oliver Mattson (c) 2011 The Day was Saturday, the best day of the week, thought Ollie. Dad was listening to two radios, watching television, and talking on the CB radio and telephone, all at the same time.   It was a bit noisy. Ollie came in and said, a little bit loud, so that Dad could hear him, “Dad, Can We Go an Arcade?”, “Right ON!”, Dad responded.  He quickly wrapped up his phone call, and they both headed to the kitchen. Dad opened up the cabinet way up high, and pulled down the coin banks that thy had, especially for Arcade Visits.  He placed them down on the kitchen table, and opened them up. Ollie picked up his coins and Dad did as well.  They both grinned thinking about changing them into tokens, coins that allowed them to play games in special arcades, games usually ran on Quarters in most other  places. Dad gave Ollie extra money in the kitchen, because he was helping more and reading more as well.  While Da