The God of 42nd Street

Lost

2009-01-22T11:21:00.001-08:00

Pray for sound, everyone.

So in case you aren't a facebook friend, and who is, really, the news is already out. I'm jobless. Contrary to popular belief, I wasn't fired although with the lack of shit I did in that place, I should have been. No, economy, blah blah blah, elimination of position, et-cetera, here's some severance please don't sue us, yadda yadda yadda.

So whatever.

Anyone who has tried to be a friend to me knows just how quiet I've been. And by quiet, I mean telling you all to go fuck off because I have nothing entertaining to say. I know, I know, you're all my friends and don't need me to be entertaining, but fuck it if I haven't just shut down and had nothing to say to anyone.
Oh well.
Starting to come out of it now. We'll see, maybe a job can come from it.
Or maybe I need to get out of Boston.

Anyhow, new song available online. Just a melancholy little thing. It's over at http://crippledalbino.podbean.com and it's called "Lost." Under three minutes, so it's listenable. Ha.

Make me bleed, baby.
I just want to feel.

Update

2008-12-21T11:23:00.001-08:00

Alright, already.
The problem with having readers is that they actually want to read something.
Which means I actually need to write something.

Oh well.
So Christmas is done. Any of you who responded will have an official piece of self-whoring in the mail to you, that went out yesterday. It's been a horrendous blizzard here, so yesterday morning since I was up early anyhow, I dug the 'ol car out and managed the falling glaciers and end of the world like conditions to go to the post office and whatnot.

And make no mistake, the world has been ending.

I decided I wanted to take Friday off. Did I have a reason? No. Why would I?
I had one sick day to burn, and fuckin', I was gonna burn it. So I call in at six in the morning. Then I get a call from my boss at 6:05. He's telling me not to come into work, that they've shut it down.
Sick day, lost.
Oh well.
Net result is the same, right?

But otherwise it's been quiet. I don't go down to Jersey anymore. In fact, I haven't seen any Baggers in a long time. I talk to a few of them, but it's a transitional period for me these days, and I don't know what the next stage is going to look like. I keep going through these moments of metamorphosis and now is no different. My life today is very different than it was a few months ago, which is very different from what it was before that.

And this is not a bad thing.

So I'm updating this blog.
For readers and non-readers alike.
Nothing to say but a reminder that yes, I'm still alive out here.

Another spin around baby.
Make me bleed and take us home.

Christmas time!!

2008-12-01T17:31:00.000-08:00

Good evening, world.

So it's Christmas time again, and I think that means that it's time for a little Christmas Card Hilarity.

So here's how it's gonna work:
If you'd like to be on my Christmas List, and receive a happy little Christmas card (Fuck the word 'holiday') as well as an ultra special gift, then you need to send me your address and I'll make it so.

So E-mail me at crippledalbino@gmail.com with your address and you'll have a fun little thing to unwrap on Christmas from the one, the only, Crippled Albino.

Merry Christmas, Happy Thanksgiving, et-cetera.
Make me bleed, and take me home.

Apotheosis

2008-11-13T14:05:00.000-08:00

We've come a long way, baby.

So I've done another song. This is during into quite the hobby. Who knew I'd be any good at it, hm?

http://crippledalbino.podbean.com for all your musical needs, but the song you want to hear now is called apotheosis.

http://crippledalbino.podbean.com/2008/11/08/apotheosis/

Love Stained Heart

2008-10-04T14:11:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note because I've written a new song.
May not be your cup of tea, but here it is anyhow.
http://crippledalbino.podbean.com/2008/10/04/love-stained-heart/

Awake

2008-09-24T19:35:00.001-07:00

Yes.
I'm awake.
Sue me.

And you should be too.
You all should be. You should be awakening at this stage of your life. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel the change?

Of course you don't. Lethargic, just like I am. Numbed by your rum and your reality TV, just like I am. I'm no better. In spite of some people believing that I have a vast superiority complex, the reality is that I'm just as numbed as everyone else. We sit and we do nothing all day long while we bicker and fight with each other over which flavor of entertainment tastes the bests as it deadens our senses and destroys our wills, and not only do we not fight it, we ask for it, clamor for it, beg for it like fucking paupers.

So what is there?
Why do we exist at all?

In spite of the fact that most of us are living to clear out our TiVos or buy the latest cell phone, we're all going to SAY that we're doing it for the connections. We're doing it because the life worth living is the life with the people in it, the friendships, the loves, the trust, the bond.

Is that true? Do you look around at your life and decide that what's around you is the reason for your existence? The people that you come in contact with each and every day, do they make your life worth living?

They better, because it's all you've got.

Unless you want to admit to living the shallow life of being a consumer that's working eight hours a day to feed the electric bill that fuels your gadgets (and honestly, which one of us is going to admit to that? Except that it's precisely what I'm doing and why I'm living my life.) then the meaning of your life must be the family and friends that you have all around you, those extra special people that make life just oh so worth living.
It's what we're here for, after all.

So who do you have?
I've got some flakes around me. I've got people who can't return phone calls, who are fickle about whether or not they want to show up places, who don't even know if they like me. I've got people who can't return emails or phone calls, I've got people who want to fuck me, lie to me, seduce me and kill me. I've got people that share my addictions and people that abhor them. I've got people who wear a mask for me, and some who want me to wear a mask for them.

I've got everyone and I've got no one. Trust, honor, respect, love. These are the things that create the bonds that somehow forge us all together, right? Isn't that it? Isn't that the meaning of life? Isn't that the cosmic, emotional glue that sticks everyone together? Or do we fuck and breed more shitty little kids to hate so that they can grow up and hate themselves and each other long enough to fuck each other and pass on our great moral code to the next generation?

I taste blood in my mouth right now. I wonder if the blood relaxes or amps me up. I guess we'll find out.

I know you're all going to read this and assume that I'm making an indictment against you.
I'm not. I don't want to have to go through this 'not you' fucking gimmick again.

I'm just talking.
I'm just getting it out there.
I'm just a guy sitting in bed at night wondering why there's so much emptiness and praying that my father's wrong.
And that you're wrong.

Where's the one I can trust? Where's the one I can depend on? Where's the one I can lean on and fight with and fight for? Where's the one that's gonna respond to me? Where's the one that won't hate me? Where's the one who knows?

I'm gonna dip you down and kiss your lies, baby.
And tonight, that'll do just fine.
Yes... that will do just fine.

Another spin, kids, and I'm still bleeding.

Eyelid Webs

2008-08-06T20:16:00.000-07:00

But what the fuck do I do?
Post pictures that I haven't taken? Tell stories that I want no one to know?
Write a poem about the hatred I'm not feeling?
No.
Fuck you guys.

Anyhow, welcome everyone to the unread blog. (And yes, I know that there are some of you out there that read this. Rosie, you're chief amongst them and I love you for it, never forget it.)
But it's a small community and getting smaller, isn't it? Certainly is. It seemed like we were quite the crowd at one point, but now we're just all these scattered voices that yell into the wind and nothing ever happens.
Of course it's not as stark as all of that.

So welcome everyone, to the Crippled Albino show. I'm your host and and I'm tired and am really just updating you out of some sort of weird moral obligation. I have no idea when the last time was that I updated everyone, but whatever, it is what it is. I've been back and forth to New York, sometimes just for fun, sometimes for events. I seem to go to places where comedians get booed off the stage which is new for me.
But hilarious in an evil way.

Last May was Dan Natterman that none of you saw on Last Comic Standing.
Last weekend was Mike Birbiglia who none of you have seen do a series of commercials with Stephen Lynch on Comedy Central as well as a few comedy specials.
It was the pests, the Opie and Anthony fans at both events (O&A events, the both of them) and they just never gave the comics a chance. So they start with a hacky joke, doesn't get a laugh, and all of a sudden someone boos.
And then someone else.
And then it begins.
And both times, in a completely evil, uncomfortable fashion, I laughed my fucking balls off.

Now don't get me wrong.
I would HAAAATE to be in that situation.
And I don't think it was right what the crowd did to these guys.
But I laughed my fuckin' balls off.
It was just so cringy to watch these professionals try to deal with such failure. I give them both major credit for sticking it out as long as they did, but damn.
I mean, damn.

So anyhow.
That happened.
Virus show, tailgating, no unsavory types to ruin the fun, so it was all good.
Uh... Ricky Gervais and Louis CK killed, I mentioned that the last time.

Really nothing. Nothing interesting to any of you has happened.
Plenty to me, but like I told you, I don't intend to tell any of you.

Isn't this just the best blog ever? Built on a foundation of trust, communication, and love?

Ha.
I love you all.
Dancing with the corpse tonight,
Bring me home.

Anesthetize

2008-07-16T19:12:00.000-07:00

Wouldn't want to deny my beloved public, now would I?
I surely wouldn't.
Well, good evening, world. It's been quiet in the Cripple's world.
Well, that's not entirely true, but it's true enough for all of you ever-readers of this delightful blog.

So what have I been doing?
Well, I'll tell you. A little short-range traveling, most recently down to a little place we like to call Madison Square Garden to see Ricky Gervais.
Who's that ?

I shouldn't have to tell you. He's a comedy legend and most folks in the states don't have any idea who the fuck he is.
Heh. Lookit me getting all European and Cosmopolitan on y'all. Heh. Next thing I'll be fucking suggesting some fancy little Bollywood film that features the poetry of Depok-Whateverthefuckra his name is.
No, that's not me.
However, Ricky's a funny motherfucker and I advise you to go find some clips on youtube or something. Louis CK opened for him, which isn't a bad hour. You all remember Louis CK. I saw him last March and brought my coworker who almost got me into a fight with a dude that towered over me.
Oh, you don't remember that story?
Yeah... that happened.
I didn't write about that here, I wrote a different poem afterwards.
Funny how things work out in my head.

Otherwise, it's simple stuff. The cat got a piss blockage a few months ago and that ate my money up pretty good, so now I'm doing things to conserve. No more cable, bringing peanut butter and jelly to work. It saves, and I need to do that. Impending expenditures and all. Otherwise nothing real exciting to share with you all, which is why this is pretty quick.

In terms of administrative sorts of things, go check out http://crippledalbino.podbean.com if you like. I have removed the ever painful Cripskocasts from the website but have replaced it with some experimental and amateurish sorts of music that I've created. I was hesitant to put them up for human consumptions considering the wastes of flesh that [sic] 'peruse' my blog from time to time and the sort of cruelty they can inflict on someone, but I figured why the fuck not and just posted anyhow.
So give it a listen if you like.
Or don't.

Otherwise I'm just living my life and doing my thing.
And it's a good place to be, my life. I have friends. I have people who care. I have things to do and plans on the horizon.
This always makes for happy Cripples.

Scar me, bitch.
Bring me home.

Full Circle

2008-07-03T13:38:00.000-07:00

It's an old saying we've all heard a hundred times.
The more things change, the more things stay the same.

So we've come full circle, folks. We rewind back to January and we see that the situation is exactly where I left it before I got my fingers involved. Precisely. I'm a non-entity now looking in at the situation, and THIS time around, instead of getting myself involved in any way whatsoever, I'm kindly taking nine steps back, many of those steps at the behest of others, and leaving everyone the hell alone.
And it feels like a weight off my shoulders, it really does.

All I want at this point is for the personal attacks to stop. It looks like they have, it's been a few quiet days.

Granted, the situation baffles me to no end. I don't understand how people can go right back to that same pattern, go right back into the exact same situation.
And was I ever a factor at all?
As time goes on, I realize I never was. Not even a little bit.
There's always the illusion, but the reality? No.
I could have been anyone.
I should have been no one.

May they find peace.
With every ounce of my being, I mean that.

So we're just chilling today, this great Crippled Albino show, the blog that no one reads and the commentary that no one cares about. It's July 4th, I have a whole weekend jam-packed so I won't be updating or even checking e-mail or anything for the next three days or so. Got some excitement coming up, going to see Ricky Gervais, the mastermind behind The Office, at Madison Square Garden, I guess that's the next thing after this weekend.

Otherwise there's nothing to complain about. I have a spring in my step and a smile on my face and I'm really just soaking life in these days. Some of it is horrific, some of it is humorous, but it's all to be learned from and observed.

And all you motherfuckers are so much smarter than me, aren't you?

Make us bleed, baby.
Bring us home.

Divine Failure

2008-06-22T18:55:00.000-07:00

Or at least, that's one of the ideas.
We'll see how everything else pans out.

Well, good evening, world. It's the Crippled Albino blog, the one that sucks, the one that no one reads. And then you motherfuckers bring up the blog in a fight like I'm supposed to be all broken up that no one reads it. Smooth, guys, smooth. Say it again , I bet it hurts this time.

Oh, as long as I'm giving out public service announcements for people who don't read this, I'd like to inform anyone reading this that the Marques de Caceres also has a Rose wine made from the same Rioja grape. It was delicious, thank you for asking.

Anything else to share? I don't think so.

So I'm just sitting around tonight and thought I'd give a little lazy shout out to those of you who read my blog and those of you who 'don't'. I'm doing nothing but hanging out in bed and losing in poker and reminiscing on things past and present. We're still officially in a flux place in life right now with nothing settled. There was a time in my life when that would have scared the hell out of me, but it's alright for the moment. Sure, there have been moments when the carpet's been pulled out from under me, but the long and short of it is that all is well, even though I have no idea where my life is or where it's going.
But...
But it's going to be alright.

For the first time in months, I started studying for the Series 7 exam, for example. Future planning.
And I've been writing. Nothing new, but I continue to hack away at a second draft of my existing story, and the fact that I can is a good sign. We'll hit a year since I wrote it in August during an extremely empty trip to France and by then I should be close to done or perhaps I'll start another one.

Podcasting set to begin soon too. We'll hope things go better with new podcast partner.
Heh.
Like that was the problem.
"I'm sorry, Crip, we're going to call this quits because of creative differences about the direction of the podcast."
For those of you who ever listened, I'll tell you that I mentioned Al Gore's beard one too many times and that was the thing that set her over the edge. I'm actually planning things for the next time including bits and pre-produced morsels of hilarity. So we'll see what happens... Not going Crip and Mobo this time either. We're staying off the boards and going more mainstream.
But don't worry, I'll still shamelessly whore to you motherfuckers who don't read this stuff.

Anything else? I don't think so. Was originally planning on California for July fourth, but that won't happen. Now I'm staying here and it'll be grand. Then down to New York to see Ricky Gervais at Madison Square Garden, then a Virus Tour stop at PNC in August. And beyond that, I don't have much going on.
We'll see, though. Always planning, always have something on the horizon. That's the secret.
Never stagnate.

Oh, and next spring I'll apparently have a Canadian visitor too, which will be hilarious if she thinks she knows the rules of the game. Heh.
Zing.

And within art shall we bleed.
Take us home...

Resurrection

2008-06-17T14:41:00.000-07:00

Strange crossed worlds I'm living in right now.
Strange days indeed.

I was just thinking about the eyes that cross over these words here, somewhere in conjunction with my post of last week or whenever, and it's just strange. A very strange idea that people from so many different walks of life would be going over these words, people that could, should, and would never meet.

So as referenced by Dream Theater - to those who understand, I extend my hand. To those who don't, or if you just think you know me but have never fucking gotten it right, then I extend my cock and you can suck it. Honestly. Fucking done with your shenanigans.

I wonder how many 'not you' e-mails I'm going to have to field after THAT one. Heh.
But it matters not.
Today I'm feeling good. It's Tuesday, so in real old school fashion, I poured myself a gin and tonic and am listening to Liquid Tension Experiment. I have stories in my mind and poems I can write. I'm angry and happy and content and upset all at the same time, and that's just fine.

Humanity.
For the moment, I'm sort of basking in it.
We'll see how long that lasts.

It was my choice though, when I reached into the flame and scratched my fingertips against the embers of desire and shame, and then I had the audacity to raise my fist to the sky when the burn went too deep. Just as when it comes to fall upon my knees and die, that too will be my choice, or at least a culmination of the choices of my life, not all of which I wanted to make.

And yeah, Trish.
Sometimes it gets boring.
And sometimes it hurts.
And sometimes you want to throw in the towel and wonder what the hell you're doing here.
And sometimes you admit to horrific things like Cin, just trying to get a reaction out of people.
And sometimes you beg and plead for a response and there's nothing but an echo that is also forsaking you.

But what are you going to do?
Stop?
Honestly. Not in our vocabulary.
Very few people actually read our shit, and of those people, very few people give a shit, and of those who give a shit, very few will ever actually say anything back to you.

But still we write.
And we don't even know why.

So write.
It might be shit, it might be drivel, it might be completely unentertaining and self-serving and boring. But write it anyhow, you can't help it, you may as well.
Hell, I do.
Honestly, why do I post here? So that eyes that I don't want prying can come read my words, divine meaning that isn't there, miss the meaning that is, and come back to me after the fact with indignation or mockery? Honestly, there are better ways to spend one's writing talents.
But I don't.
I write here.
As much as the wall may be there, I still expose myself religiously.
I make myself vulnerable for you, and for what.

For your love? For your affection? For your lust?
Or worse... for your understanding?
No.
It's not about you. It never is and never was.
It's about me. This is my time now. And as much as I censor my words and dance around topics, this is my bloodletting to make sure the pressure doesn't start to rise.

For the moment.

Until it becomes more than that.
Much... more.. than that.

Bleed us, baby. Take me home.

Yes, as such.

2008-06-15T12:50:00.000-07:00

Alright, so that takes care of that.
In a traffic jam no less.

Oh.
You.

Welcome folks, big and small, short and tall, wanted and wanted, loved and unloved, to the CrippledAlbino blog. We've agreed that it sucks that it brings nothing to the internet. We've agreed that it actually shares nothing about me, so the why becomes a little ethereal in terms of why I do this or who I'm doing it for.
Once again, for those of you keeping track at home, with the exception of about three people, this blog is read only by people who I don't want to share my information with, and of all the people that I WISH checked in every now and again to see what's going on, none of them do.
So, yeah.

Went to Atlantic City this weekend with a friend and finished 25th out of 80 in a poker tournament. I had a great time, had some great hands, and never really expected to last as long as I did. It was still quite a treat, though. She came in like... 18th or something and couldn't stop talking about the A7 that she should have gone all in with.

No, and I shouldn't have gone in with my KJS but I did, and got beaten by pocket aces. It's just part of poker. Part of poker is that sometimes you do the wrong thing and lose. It happens to everyone, or else everyone would be rich from playing cards.
Now I'm back in my half-cleaned apartment. I started cleaning on Thursday finally and now here it is Sunday and I may just finish. Throw some Th3ee on and keep tidying. I'm gonna cook myself a steak tonight, this much is sure, and it represents the first homecooked meal since last week.
So that's a good thing.

A few of you have inquired about my mental state.
Let me inform you all that it was a tough week, but by now I'm not as raw and all is basically well in my world. Sure, there are fleeting moments of 'well, fuck' but I think most of those are past me now.

Now it's just a question of everything else not being all fucked up in the future.
So far not.

So that's that.

Those of us who are internet exhibitionists like to shout out into the world and have it be heard. A friend of mine has just posted a blog wherein she tossed out some fairly shocking facts in an effort to be heard and to get responses back. We'll see if it works for her. We don't hear anything as a people. Now yes, I know I have you three readers, and you read it and you comment, and it's cool.
But I'm talking about for the most part... we're just sedated in our numb little cocoons and nothing makes it through to us.
I said "COcoons," you racist fucks.
And mostly people don't hear anything at all unless it relates to them, unless it makes them feel like they're part of the 'us' in the world (you all seeing a theme in my thoughts these days?) and then they'll comment and the dialogue can begin.

Some day I'm going to change the world.
But for now I'll settle for someone who can make me bleed.

Another trip, baby.
Take us home.

Mmm.

2008-06-12T16:55:00.000-07:00

Poor Rosie.
Don't worry, I wasn't worried about whether or not you were posting replies or not.
Crippled Albino, show, even though I'm feeling all lost and distant right now. I need a beer.
Molsen XXX tonight for me.

The same old story, but the names have all been changed.

I just want to state something for the record.

I have the shittiest blog in the world. I really do. Why, Crip, do you have the shittiest blog in the world? Because there's never been more of a self-censored piece of garbage that has ever been fucking written down. I used to pride myself in just saying things as it is, but now the only people who read my goddamned blathering are the people I'm fucking not interested in sharing this shit to.

Alright, person.
I'd still let anyone else read this stuff.
Well, almost. Fuck.

And goddamn it all, I need a forum! A fucking man who rants on a keyboard in an empty room has no catharsis! I don't know why, but even though I could very well just write everything that I'm feeling on a blank page, it does nothing unless I'm... uh... entertaining. So what the fuck does do for me? Nothing, because when it comes right down to it, I'm shouting my blathering dribble on three different websites for what, two chicks and a host of prying eyes who want to judge me?
Sounds about right.

Fucking hate the judgment.

So let's see, what's in the news today? I YMBed Wackbag today. The blood is too bad right now, and I just can't stand to draw my eyes over some of the posts that I'm seeing. Some people just have the ability to just get under my skin, and they did today. So it was advised that I take some time off. First instinct was to say fuck off, but as I got to thinking, I realize that in a lot of cases, I really am the problem. They can all have each other...

I get in there, and start causing all this trouble and drama. I'm causing trouble over here, I'm causing trouble over there, I'm too opinionated about this thing, I'm too opinionated about that thing, getting in between this person and that person...
Like it was just a big ball of good feelings before I got there.
So whatever. There you go, have each other. Now that I'm gone, everything can simmer down into sweet nothingness and I'll just go cause my poison elsewhere. A few guys suggested I get over it and stick around because SOME people like me, but you know what?
I wont' be missed.
Let's be honest.

No one ever does. That's part of what I was saying yesterday. I'm not a part of any 'we'. I wish I was. I need it. I need the 'we'.
But what do I have?
I've alienated everyone. At every stage of my life there are people that I've alienated. I've been rejected and in turn have done plenty of rejecting back.

Seriously, now.
Truckee? Where are those friends? I stopped talking to them when I got to Arizona.
Arizona? Excommunication slowed that down, but even the other friends I had... gone.
Boston? What, that first year I had a few people that I talked to, but eventually I get into that relationship and everyone falls off. EVERYONE.
It's my own fault, but damn.
Where does this leave me?

Now, granted.
I do have a few.
But less than I thought I had.
Closest friends are people that I've known for months.

Although my buddy called me the other night.
Hours from my whole worldview changing, he gave me a call. I let it go to voice mail because, let's be honest, I had better things to do.
But he called me back the next day, after the worldview had changed.
He had some great advice for me, though.

Lay off the whole 'excommunication from a religious cult thing' for a while.
Not a bad plan. Although I'm pretty sure that's not where it went wrong.

That's not where anything goes wrong, is it?
Boy, I've fucking rambled this time.
So there you go, unwanted eyes! Look at it, enjoy it, bask in it! Read into my sentences and figure out what I've REALLY been up to.

Still waiting for the numb to come.
Until then, forgiveness scares the shit out of me.
Another trip, babe. Let's do it.

Fragmentation

2008-06-11T15:07:00.000-07:00

And we are a fragmented bunch, aren't we?
No such thing as unity, no such thing as group identity. We come from everywhere ripping through the world and we hunt for the ever valuable 'we.' We want to be a 'we,' and relate to people, learn from people, be spoken for by other people and speak to other people, and there's really never that connection with other people. There never is a we, just a bunch of mes.

That's as stupidly metaphysical as I'm going to get all day long, I think.

A few orders of business.
First, it's been quite the journey over the last few weeks, and while I'm definitely not going to promise any additional shitty blogs, I do know that I think I'll be expressing myself more frequently. Not sure how yet. We've decided after two episodes of sub-standard (they WERE getting better...) podcasts that we are going to shelve the Cripskocasting. It was a good run, there were some ideas that were still in flux, but it's not going to be working out.
I know, you all are completely devastated by the news.

However, I am not going to stop podcasting.
And will not stop auditioning for third... well, I guess second mic, so if you've got ideas, post them or e-mail me for the chance to win a coveted spot on another mic.
Can't wait to see how many of you motherfuckers will be beating down my door to get in on this one.

Does anyone actually read this shit? Seriously now. If three people read their eyes over these words that I post on three different websites, I'll be fucking amazed.

Second of all, I said what I had to say and am feeling better now. There was a lot of rage and bile in me for a while, and I had to look back months, maybe years to see a similar amount of pain, but that too passed. I think it will be a good source for creativity in the coming months, but I'm almost coming to a serene place right now. Zen, and it's only been two days, or two and a half.

But I've learned some things about myself.

As time goes on, I'll be incorporating them better, but every day is truly a day where I can learn new things. Basic things, like trusting my gut, like not settling for something that's not entirely what I want, like keeping true to myself, like expecting the truth, all of these basic things that every human deals with are things that I'm learning daily from everyone that's around me.
Strange, right?
Thirty years old and still learning how to do the most basic of living.
But then again, perhaps when you stop learning, you die. Or become stagnant. Or who knows what.

I'm rambling.
I always do.
None of you are listening anyhow. Can't blame you. I don't say anything. For all of my ranting about speaking freely, I self-censor as hard as anything as I've ever seen. I know the eyes that cross these pages, and they aren't the eyes of readers who want to be casually entertained.
Maybe some day.

But not today.
Another spin of the globe, folks.

CripskoCast #2

2008-05-31T15:56:00.000-07:00

That's right, world.
CripskoCast #2 is available for human consumption.
LISTEN - as Hilarity Ensues
HEAR - as the laughs roll and roll and roll
EXPERIENCE - the shameful self-whoring done by universalremobo to become the third mic guest on our awesome program.
VOTE - on whether Mobo has what it takes to ever be on another podcast ever ever ever ever again!
http://crippledalbino.podbean.com

Meaningless Update

2008-05-24T15:35:00.001-07:00

I know, Cin.
And I'm sorry.

Welcome everyone to the Crippled Albino show.
This is another one of those quick updates that actually doesn't update any of you on anything at all. Many of you know.... well, hold on, scratch that.
One of you is aware of my podcast.
That's right, I've had one listener from all of you who used to read my blog. Of course, I acknowledge that I've done everything in my power to alienate all of you, but still. That doesn't mean that you aren't completely entertained by my dreck and drivel.
Heh.
No, I know, I'm not even entertained by it.

So, let's see. In my news, or at least the news that I'm going to share, there's another podcast on its way this weekend. Another Cripskocast, with special guest universalremobo. Of course, many of you reading this don't know who that is, but it's not important. It may be entertaining, at least we can hope it to be so, and even if you skipped out on the first, you can still catch up. Perhaps you can even participate, oh hilarity of hilarities.

In other news, my cat is on the mend. That's right, he was near death for a short time and I was scared to death that there was going to be major issues, having to do with and relating to his poor little kitty urethra, that apparently became blocked with some sort of crystal that is blocking him, and when that happens, it can be fatal.
So here are my options.
I can either have him treated at the vet, or I can bring him home and let him die.
Estimated cost of services: $960.
ACTUAL cost of services: $1040.
Fuck me in the goat ass.

Actual words to the doc after price was discussed: "Boy, you people really know how to fuck me, don't you?"
Heh.

Otherwise, nothing major. French IP addresses listening to the podcast, sick cats, future podcasts, dealing with rumors and other hilarity... But it's been quiet. And it's been good.

And there you are, an update on my life, that does nothing to explain anything.
Heh.
I love the vagueries of internet blogs.

Another rotation, heading toward another trip around the sun.

Bring us home.

CripskoCast #1

2008-05-13T18:53:00.001-07:00

Here it is, folks.
The world famous CripskoCast
And I KNOW y'all motherfuckers have been waiting.

http://crippledalbino.podbean.com/

Hello everyone, and welcome...

2008-05-11T13:21:00.000-07:00

And Post! for being exceedingly sore in the best way possible.

Heh.
You should have seen the other guy.

Welcome everyone to the Crippled Albino show, I'm your host and I've got very little to say except that I do acknowledge that some things got bumped for other things, and I apologize, but everyone has priorities in life, and my priorities were all taken care of in tip top shape this weekend and last, leaving me today and this afternoon to work on other things and take care of second tier pursuits, like catching up on e-mails and posts, playing some grand theft auto, and getting right back on the 'ol audio remix horse.
You see, I've got another batch of podcast audio ready to go, and in the next few days, it'll be posted.

It's not everything, right now, that it could be. I wanted to be in communication with one guy about stuff to add, I wanted to write some additional stuff, wanted some segments, but I *DID* get in on something that I thought would help, and that is a cohost.
So in the next few days, you're not going to have a CrippleCast to listen to, folks. No no, say it ain't so. No, you're going to be listening to the Cripskocast and it's got quite a different energy to it.

Yup, you heard correctly, it *HAS* energy.
There's your difference.

There were some segments that were failures, there were some segments that might be pretty funny, but it was once again just a situation where we tried to make things work in front of a microphone and see if there was something entertaining we could make out of it. I haven't even listened to the raw audio yet, nevermind tried splicing words together to make actual humor, but I have a feeling that the potential is there.

So... some of you wanted to get involved, get 'interactive', if you will. Which you should. This is about interactivity, this is about connectivity, but this is also something that's not broadcast live (yet) so I can't just tell you to call a phone number and get on the air with me. For now, you all need to just get in touch with me. Drop me an e-mail, leave me a comment, anything, and that can be a question or a comment or concern, wherein I'll address it next time around. And if you've got something interesting to say (Which I know that none of you ever do, which is why I love you all so much) then I'll figure out a way to get you on a microphone with me or us or whoever, maybe prop the 'ol cell phone up on the microphone or something.

But sitting by silently will not make this interactive, people!

But it will make it suck. This much I promise you.

Another rotation, baby.
Bring us home.

The more things change...

2008-05-04T16:12:00.000-07:00

Six months.
And what a six months it's been.
And now I've seen more road kill by the side of the road than I ever believed possible.

Good evening, world.
I'm back, badder than ever, posting in the blog that sucks and coming off a weekend that I'm not going to tell you about. See? Isn't that an informative blog?
Heya, folks! Not gonna tell you a fucking thing!
Ha!
Secretive exhibitionist. No wonder this fucking thing sucks. I'm the blogger that can't stand his readers so much that he doesn't trust them with actual information.
Not you, of course. You're different than those other assholes who read this thing.

So this is going to be nothing, really.
This is just giving you an update. Things are going well in my world. CrippleCast #2 is officially not coming for at least several weeks, but now that CripskoCast #1 isn't a secret anymore, I fully expect folks to actually contribute this time. You know how it goes. Won't jump into the CrippleWorld to talk, but you can sure get behind something like that, hm?
So post me something. CrippledAlbino at G-Mail dot com is where all the podcast e-mails go. I'd write it out for a quick click, but I've heard that internet search spiders grab e-mail addresses that they see posted on webpages, and while I'm glad for the hits to the old blog, still... Don't need that junk mail.

So let's see.... what CAN I say?
Hm.
We're going to say that I'm in the middle of a very good few weeks that will hopefully shape the future to come. We're going to say that finally my cat is glad to see me. We're going to say that the Prime Rib was pretty tasty, but apparently not so much the pancakes. We're going to say that there are some things I do better. We're going to say next weekend ought be more of the same.
We're going to say that there's hope, and it's a strange thing.

I know how frustrated you motherfuckers must be. And I was just asked why I was writing something when I have nothing to say. I mean honestly, what am I doing? Flaunting nothing in your faces? Rubbing your noses in nothing?
Not intentionally.
I just need to speak. When I have nothing to say.
(What's new, Crip?)
Good point. Very, very good point.

CripskoCast, motherfuckers. Even if you don't know what I'm talking about, can you PUH-LEASE write about topics you'd like to hear about? It's hard to be an interactive podcast when I've got no one except for the ass-end of my comedy Alaskan Malamute writing e-mails to me.
And I know there are more of you motherfuckers out there.

The more things stay the same.

My fucking balls again!!!!

2008-04-29T19:02:00.000-07:00

Got your attention, did I?
Perverts. Of course I did. The only thing that gets your attention is thinly referenced secrets about my life and discussion about my balls. So there you go.

Eventful day, though.
It was nice. It really was. Part of being able to go on vacation with your mother is that you get to remember the good old times and the sweetness that you shared. A certain pastel nostalgia washes over you and you remember a simpler time.
Or...
Or you remember just how great it feels to sit in your room staring at your toys, wondering what in the blue fuck you did wrong this time. In this case, it was clearly a case of making the wrong decisions about which connections I make in life, and which ones are more necessary than others. Oh well.

Last day. I leave tomorrow morning.

So... what else? Today was another day of forced helplessness in the ocean, and that's why the title of the post is what it is. Day number two of getting hit in the face with the ocean while holding a piece of styrofoam in my hands. The swells were larger this time around, averaging around six feet, with some into the eight or ten range, and I'm sure I got hit in the face with a couple of twelves. Holy mothershitfuckbucket.
It was a great time.

But I had one of those strange realizations. I was in the water, being hit in the face and washed over by salty, sandy water, and I felt for a moment like I wanted to be pulled away.
And this is not the words of a... depressif. I'm not depressed. I'm not sad. In fact, I'm rather happy with the way my life is turning around right now, and I have something to live for.
You hear that world?
I've got something to live for.
Fuck you all.

But I still felt like being washed away.
I was just watching the water, becoming one with the pull and the push, the undertow and the waves, and I just felt like I could be easily pulled out to sea, going limp and inviting the darkness into my soul. Like I was lulled into a suicide that would have seemed noble and restful, and I don't even want to die.

It was very strange.
But yes... Hawaii has officially become a pain in my ass.
Vacation is more trouble than its worth when you're the third wheel of the entire tourism industry of the fiftieth state.

Although, for all of you who thought that my vow of chastity was a bit (and for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, you suck at stalking me), I got hit on by a random chick on the beach and shut her down. I was walking along, and this girl in a bikini kept kind of maneuvering herself to be in my line of sight as I walked. Then my mom's husband took a phone call so we stopped, and she just came over and asked me what I thought of the waves.
Getting into a conversation, it was clear that she wanted to swim, and wanted to swim with me, and if not here, then where would I be swimming, and if at another beach, how does she get there, et-cetera.
It was flattering.
But meaningless.
I took a vow, remember? And I take these things seriously.

Sing to me.
Sing to me.
Sing
to me.

Hate it when we don't get a spin...

2008-04-28T17:55:00.001-07:00

Well, it's good to know that someone reads this dreck.
Welcome to all you new readers to my blog, which officially sucks. I'm your host, the Crippled Albino, and I'll be here telling you all about just how great and wonderful Hawaii is, and in then in typical fashion, I'll be open and forthcoming with all of my personal stuff and display it for all the world to see.
Right.
First thing on my list.
Right-O.

So I'm back from Jack in the Box. It's the one thing I indulge myself when I go on vacation in terms of awful fast food. It's horrible. I know that I have readers from ALL over the world so I don't need to explain it to people (they were caught in both an e-coli and a 'shattered glass on the burger' scandal. Oh, those cards!) and I partook of an ultimate bacon cheeseburger and two tacos.
No one here knows my old friend Matt, but he and I once agreed that any religious cult would have to be centered around the jack in the box taco, and I agree whole heartedly.

So welcome to Hawaii.
Today I went on a whale watch, which is not another name for the wackbag daily listening thread. It was nice. Saw like seven whales and it was cool. Saw a couple of turtles, and it was cool. Listened to two hours of anti-human propaganda, and not so much with the 'cool.'
Okay, we get it, humans are the worst possible thing for the planet. What do you want us to do, pick up and leave? Honestly.
Three hundred and eight thousand animals die every year because they're kept under water by our diet-coke six-pack plastic rings? Have you counted them?
I mean I know not to litter, not to pollute the oceans and streams and everything, but enough of the preaching and propaganda. You don't have any facts, and frankly I doubt that your petitions are anything other than left wing, guilty bastards signing up for junkmail and Spam. Yessir, please send me another glossy circular in the mail about why I should buy canvas grocery bags.
So yeah... I'm not advocating whale blowhole pate with dolphin snout dressing (unless it's delicious!) but easy guys, we already gave you our money, just show us the goddamned whales already.

Asses.
And then I'm purchasing some gifts for someone, and I see this thing that I want to buy more than anything. Won't describe it, but I've been looking all over for something LIKE this, find what is described as 'five ounces of pure hell' and decide I need to purchase it.
But is anyone standing there?
No.
I ask around. Check in the clothing shop, someone says.
Is someone there? No.
I could have just pocketed the thing, and should have for all the fuckin' pain in the ass it was. It was twenty minutes just trying to buy some overpriced thing that I wanted someone to have. If I could have found that thing ANYwhere else, I totally would have gotten it there, but this was it, so I was stuck standing around the concession stand with my spicy dick in my hand just waiting to be noticed on 'hawaii time.'
Yeah, the locals love it, don't you? You'll get there when you get there? Thanks for showing me that I mean something to you as a source of your livelihood.

So that's all.
We did have a winner in the 'Cripskocast' show question although I haven't gotten back to her with her prize yet. Although in my defense, there really WERE people that had just woken up and wanted attention, I wasn't JUST trying to ditch her.
Just like I wasn't trying to ditch my friend from Spain either.
Oh well.
Like I said at the beginning. First and foremost I'm going to spread my shit all over the place so that you voyeuristic fuckers can roll around in it like one-legged kittens in catnip.

Another voyage around the sun, talk soon....

Third and last time I use this joke...

2008-04-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

I guess this is what it's like without the one you care about, hm?

Oh well.
The price one pays.

Welcome kids.
This is day nine thousand, four hundred and seventy two in Hawaii. Things have gone slow. For a while I was afraid I was going to chew through my ankles to get out of the bear trap or perhaps cannibalize someone to survive, but it looks as though there's an end in sight. My mother was so thrilled that I hadn't yet hit the halfway mark yet. I wrinkled up my face in my best constipation face and said 'yeah, me too.'

It's time to break down a wall, though.
When Average Joe or Jane comes around and says 'When I was playing in the waves, I got sand in places I didn't know I had!', they mean their ass, taint and balls. And when I played in the waves yesterday, that's where the sand went. In my ass. In my taint. And yes, in my balls. "Wow, Crip! What do you mean IN your balls?"

I mean it fucking embedded itself, each little piece of sand, in my fucking sack. I got into the shower, washed the dunes off, and STILL am finding pieces of sand just plastered to my fucking balls. It's romantic, it's attractive, and it's the truth. I played in the water yesterday, got washed around, slapped around, and generally destroyed.
Something about involuntarily giving up power to nature is a good time. Not sure what that is.

Also burned. I'm so sensitive to the sun, it's amazing. Yesterday the forearms, today the shoulders and neck. What tomorrow?
Tomorrow nothing.
But...
But...
But...
I need to watch it, because I don't want to be known as....

...wait for it...

....wait for it....

...Crippled Alburno.
Done. Now I've used the joke to its fullest extent. Enjoy.
Feel free to quote it.

Otherwise, Hawaii is still Hawaii.
It's nice.
But you know what?
Strip away the trees and the blue/green water and the sand and it's just another place.
Another place with road construction.
Another place with lazy fucks.
Another place that's too expensive to live, overpricing everything.
Another place where the wrong people are in power and the right people are bleating victims.

Oh well.
What are you going to do, right?

Alright, so I don't know who reads this stuff, but here's a test:
Going to give you some spoilers here. Let's see who reads this crap.
AC and Bob this weekend may both be canceled for the same reason.
And there will be no Cripcast number two this weekend as promised. It's all about the Cripskocast, and it's coming.
And it makes me happy.
So suck it, world.

This is the Crippled Albino wishing everyone a very happy rotation around the sun.

Miss Bunny Sits Down...

2008-04-24T20:47:00.001-07:00

Sounds a lot fucking dirtier than it is, doesn't it?

Well, news for you kids, it wasn't particularly all that dirty.
But keep reading.
You're about to learn that I'm the worst vacationer ever.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Crippled Albino show. This isn't the Belial show, this isn't something with an eight six six number. This is the show that involves the lovely podcast and has an e-mail address that any and all of you can use to get ahold of me. It's Crippled Albino, without the space, at GMail. Send me a message, leave a comment, interact... you know how it is.
But that's not what we're talking about today.

We're talking about me being lousy at vacationing.
We're talking about Miss Bunny.
We're talking about a tropical paradise being a bit of a long-winded annoyance.

That's right, kids.
I'm in Hawaii.

I got into Honolulu last night after an amazingly long flight. It was eight hours after I met a friend of mine in Dallas for a glorious but brief photo-op, and that was three and a half hours after I left the glorious city of Boston.
And then I sat.
Now, I don't want to be rude.
I've been here before and I remember how nice it was that everyone just kind of goes at their own pace, not so worried about the time, they'll get there when they get there, and everyone is just comfortable and happy and living their lives, enjoying their lives while the rest of us are going crazy with our meetings and our crazy talk and our rushing from here to there.

Lies.
The whole fucking lot of it.
Here's an idea. If a plane is delayed, why don't you fucking move your fat, Samoan asses and put an extra person in the customer service lane so that we can fucking be told some actual fucking information. Maybe try posting some information somewhere. Maybe dial down on the island fucking hospitality for two goddamned seconds to move the line through so that everyone can get some information and be able to call their mother who is coming to Maui's airport to come pick you up.
How about that?
Okay, I understand, you live life and take time to breathe. But maybe, just maybe, it would be beneficial for people to actually receive some info. And you know, that's just on the off-chance that you can't figure out how in the blue fuck to get a plane to arrive. You know, you only fly hundreds of airplanes in and out of your fine terminals, maybe do it right once. And if there are problems, just try posting some info.
Just try it, see what happens.
And then I'll take time to smell your fucking tropical air.

So Miss Bunny came by today.
Sitting there with my mother and her husband, eating some vacation biscuits and gravy, and this lady stops on by. Older Hawaiian woman, not quite black, not quite Asian, and she just asks us how we are.
Fine, we say. But she starts to sort of finger the chair.
She's a sitter.
I knew it.
We say one friendly thing and she pulls up a seat and sits down. Just does so. It's a different world. She told bad jokes ("I forgot her name ten years ago," was one cute old guy joke punchline) she whored out her restaurant ("The best carrot cake this side of the Mississippi")(As if motherfuckers enjoy eating vegetables for dessert is the famous line) and she told stories about her cousin that wouldn't be invited back

And it was nice.
It was fine.
She was very nice and sweet and personable. She's been doing this for years.
But a lot of it is just annoying.
Because even though it's a wonderful, tropical paradise, it's just a place. It's just another fucking place. Maybe we're assholes on the east coast, but you get out of the supermarket in a hurry. I found out today that a woman's husband moved in with his girlfriend today.
Do you think I asked that question?
No. "How ya doin'?" I was stupid enough to ask.
And that's what she told me.

I'm just annoyed, I know.
I've got other things on the horizon.
I've got trips.
I've got visitors.
I've got animation festivals.
I've got concerts.
And Hawaii is just another thing on my list of things to do. Nice and all (Although, come to find out, better for lovers than with your mother, FYI), but it's another thing, and I'm six time-zones away from normal, and I'm tired and perhaps a little cranky.

Anyhow.
I'm an ingrate, and quite possibly the worst vacationer ever.

My Podcast Sucks Too.

2008-04-20T08:45:00.000-07:00

Maybe this is what it feels like, hm? What everyone's been talking about?
Feels pretty fucking good to me.

Good morning, World.
Crippled Albino here, spinning the hits and posting on the blog that sucks. It's been a good few weeks and promises to be a good few weeks after this. I've got a lot of things that I'm anticipating and I still feel as though I'm living the life right now. Perhaps it has to do with the friends that I'm getting to know, perhaps it has something to do with the newly enjoyable freedom, or perhaps the stars are just aligning in my favor.
Of course, the crash could be right around the corner, but I kinda don't think so.

So what's been going on?
Well, I've begun my audio editing/creation hilarity, and that's been quite a good time. In the evenings I come home, record shit, cut up audio, whore myself out, and all in all it's a great fucking time. A lot of work, but it's a hobby that I enjoy.
I've had this conversation with a few people lately... when the relationship ended, a lot of people believed... myself among them... that I was going to be the shut in XBox champion of the world, but to everyone's surprise, I'm not that guy. I barely have time for video games anymore with all the other frantic things I'm getting into, but that's not a bad thing.

Concerts coming up, animation festivals in New York to go to, friends coming to visit, and a tropical vacation in a few days. All in all not a bad batch of things to look forward to. Of course there are glitches here and there... some friends I've lost track of, some rumors being spread about me, some folks blatantly lying about me... At times they're irksome developments in my life, but when I'm here on a Sunday morning, listening to Jordan Rudess' piano medley on his newest album, the sun is shining, the air is fresh, and for the first time in months and years I have hope... I'm afraid that I can't argue about too much.

I've even started editing my story again, which is a recent development. That means nothing to you all, but it means everything to me. I keep talking about when my head is going to be screwed on straight again, and it almost seems like it's getting there.
Heh.
Quite a difference from the stuff I was posting over at LiveJournal, isn't it?
For those of you who were coming here hoping to see the angry yet hilarious rantings of a man who had no hope in life, you'll have to go back to the archived stuff for that. This is just an update answering questions that no one was actually asking.
But it feels good to answer them.
It just does.

CrippleCast!!!

2008-04-13T18:31:00.000-07:00

http://crippledalbino.podbean.com/

For all of you out there desperate to hear yourselves some Crippled Podcasting, I've managed to put up what is going to become the greatest podcast of all time! It is going to be the single greatest example of what true audio can be! Or, barring that, it's the Crip just practice audio editing and talking into a microphone.

Enjoy heartily, world.

CrippleCast!!!

2008-04-12T09:36:00.001-07:00

Setting up for the valiant beginning of the CrippleCast, quite easily the world's most anticipated podcast ever. I'll be hosting it, but in an effort to seem as though I'm being interactive, I welcome conversational topics, questions, comments, concerns, insults, and thinly veiled gay references to be included in the show.

E-mail crippledalbino@gmail.com to interact with the soon-to-be-greatest-podcast-of-all-time!

Deity and expulsion of evil

2008-04-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

It appears as though my godhood has been called into question.

It seems as though it may be pretentious, in this day and age, to call oneself a god.
How could it be?
With all that the gods of creation have done, how is it that you would call my godhood into question? Especially considering I don't even LIVE on 42nd street? Much less rule it with an iron fist?
Spectacular question.

You make a god out of whatever and whomever you choose. Have you made your god out of food? Have you made it out of money and sex? Have you made it out of that invisible man in the sky? You choose your god. It is not done for you. And if you want to make it the judeo-christian ideal, so be it. And if you want to make it a pack of cigarettes and some domestic beer, you may do so.

But I have made my god out of nothing.
I have crafted, from the finest raw bullshit, a god which resembles me. I gathered up with my hands lies and mistruths and extremism masked as humor, and I built it into a mighty monument so that all may come and worship. Lovely women and psychological games and the darkness which can only be expelled when loved.
All can come unto my statue and worship it.

Take the mask and put it on. My mask looks like a bleached man in a wheelchair and it fits upon my god like a pin-pricked condom. And I look at myself and I smile.

And it fails me and is good.

You've done it to yourself, you know.
But when all is said and done and you have only the failure of a life not lived, where then do you worship? Do you fall before your knees at the old rugged cross? Do you kiss the weeping lips of the bottle? Do you inhale the breath of another temporary and fleeting love?
I look at my god.
My failures and lies, my darkness and masks.
And I become him just as he became me.

So do not doubt my deity for mine has failed me as much as yours.

And do not taste my sharpened lips,
unless you intend to drown in them.

Why pick on the blog?

2008-04-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

Because it's here, that's why.
Heh.

Second time today I got into it with a guy on a messageboard and he went for the blog. I don't really actively promote it, I know that there are about nine people who actually read this fuckin' thing, and that's total, not per day, but still, he had the nerve to come and talk about how I've got like seven responses to an unfunny blog.
Can you believe he called this blog unfunny? The nerve of the bastard.

True, but still.
The nerve.

Who cares. I actually don't, believe it or not. I think I need this to be able to express myself a little. Sure, I don't post every day, but I'm not sure it'd be very interesting if I did anyhow. Sure, I could get all wrapped up with which licenses needed renewing every day, but that's not all that interesting, is it?
Of course it happened to Torb, and that motherfucker ended up.... well, I won't say, but it was fucking brilliance and a half.

Anyhow, so it got me thinking.

What the hell do I expect from this thing? I know that we've had this conversation before, but this is a whole new day. I'm done with my former relationship, my ex is fully aware of that, and this, and all blogs, I'm living a whole different life and I can't say I'm unhappy.
So what the fuck is this thing for, anyhow?

Entertainment.
But not yours. Fuck all of you. I know that the six of you that read this fuckin' thing catch very little actual enjoyment from it. It's for me. It's for me to sit and blather on. I write it as though, by way of example, any of you know about Torb and what happened to him. Do any of you know him? Sure. I'm guessing.... I'm guessing two of you do.
But I'm gonna talk like you do know him, and that's a fucking blog, right?

The first time it hurt.
This dude and I get into it and we start a fight on a messageboard (Always how you can tell who's a real manly man, right? Messageboard fights) and he hits me with the fact that my blog was pathetic and stupid. Of course, at that point, there was only like one post and I hadn't advertised on it.
And then today it came up again. Similar situation, but this guy didn't mean harm, I don't think. But still... why go for the blog, man? Am I pretending its' something that it's not?

Fuck, I'm lucky I have any readers at all with the fucking nothing that I put out on a regular basis.

Especially since I give you motherfuckers nothing.
Nothing at all.
My ex read this. I made reference to it, but now I'm telling you overtly. She also promised to never come back, but we'll see how THAT works out. But she read it all, and I had to try to communciate to her that she simply didn't have the capacity to understand what I was writing.
And not that she's stupid.... no no, not the case at all.
But there's a way to read my shit.
And a way to NOT read it.
And I know her better than to expect that she can read it and know what I'm really saying.

The question is... can you?

2008-03-24T17:18:00.001-07:00

It's always interesting, the nature of desire.

In a lot of ways, what we want defines us, but I also believe that what we want isn't always known. I think that we're guided by what we want much more than what we think we want, and that's always where I end up focusing myself. I want to know what I want, but I have a very difficult time doing so. I want to know myself, but then as I get to know more and more, sometimes I wonder if perhaps I'm learning only that I want nothing to do with myself.

That's right folks, strap in. It's one of THOSE days.

Introspective, is all, and a little pensive.
Nothing that will get a flurry of texts and calls about my well being.
I don't think, anyhow.

You know that I'm always glad for the contact, but this shouldn't be one of those days where there's something to worry about. When I get all weird and poetic on you? Fuckin' give me a call.

But how do I know what I want? Or anyone? Let's throw this out there for everyone to partake in. Imagine you're a man or woman and you have a certain idea of who you want in life. You want a nice guy, you want a professional guy, you want a stand up, polite guy, who knows what. But you keep ending up with trashy bike messenger of a motherfucker who fucks you one night and then neither of you ever goes back.
If that's the case, I would argue that in spite of whatever you SAY you want, what you actually want is the fucking bike messenger. In order to not end up with the bike messenger, you've got to not want it. It's the same as any addiction. You ever ask me why you keep ending up with thus-and-such a guy, the answer, in my opinion, is always because you want that guy in spite of what you tell yourself to feel better about your choices.

I wanted to bring this back to me for two seconds.
I wanted to have such and such a discussion, but as I started to realize it, things got a little too strange and real in my heart, and I realize that I don't have any of that figured out yet. So instead of just deleting the blog, I'm gonna simply just pop up what I have, not that at this point it's worth reading.

My apologies.
But sometimes things just get too real.

2008-03-17T17:24:00.000-07:00

It's called a [you] tag, people. Learn how to use them.
Better than Meatspin every day of the week, because people claim to see Meatspin coming.

But got some responses, didn't I?
Ho Man, I sure did.
Some angry, some pensive, some worried perhaps?
Maybe.
I'm gonna break character for a second here.

Character, you say? What character?
Hang tight with me, you'll see what I'm fuckin' talking about.
I'm gonna break character for a second and let you all know two different things.
Here's the first, now this is the most important ones, so I want you to all get a pen and a piece of paper and prepare to write this down.
You ready?
No? I'll wait.

(I fuckin' love this gag, I know how fuckin' crazy you are waiting for me to tell you. I should pull the big tease and just tell you tomorrow.)
But I won't.
Here it is.
You ready?

NOT YOU!
Jesus Christ.

Yes, there are elements that I rage against in everyone. But in that particular case yesterday, it was my chance to turn things around and look at myself.
So that's thing number one.
Thing number two is about the [you] tag.
I'm on a messageboard during the day. The other day they brought back the [you] tag, and that's a real simple, easy game. I type in something like this: "I hate that fucker, [you]. [you] is a traitor and has ruined my life."
Now imagine that you log into the messageboard, and your username is... I dunno, 'RPchick69'. Now, when I wrote that post, I wasn't thinking you specifically. But then when you log in, every time you see a [you], what you ACTUALLY see is 'RPchick69'... so then the sentence reads, in your eyes "I hate that fucker, RPchick69. RPchick69 is a traitor and has ruined my life."

But when "ProgBunny24" logs in, they'll read ProgBunny24 instead, and hilarity ensues.

Why am I sharing all of this with you?
Because I wrote a post that had you tags on it. It might have said 'you' but I was reading 'crippledalbino' or 'godof42ndstreet' or 'Rob' or whatever my goddamned name is. I wrote it to myself, and when I re-read it, it was to me.
NOW...
Now if you felt something when I wrote that... if you read the [you] tag, then those are real feelings inside that need to be addressed. Those are real reactions that need to be looked at. I didn't intend you personally, but if your lip got caught in my hook, then it's real to you.

And while I can't apologize for it, I do welcome the discourse.

I want to take a few minutes and address some other quick things.
Thanks to D and Kalish and Malakyte and a few others of you who have addressed the actual writing. It's a big deal that you guys are looking at THAT aspect of what I'm writing, and I want you to know I'm hearing you.
Perhaps writing shouldn't be such a socio-psycho-emotional thing for me, but it is. It's a major, weird thing in my life, and you guys are looking out for me, and I appreciate that.

And that's that.
I've rambled enough.
It's Saint Patrick's Day, and I'm going to go have some Guinness.

2008-03-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

Why won't I just write?

I mean, I am, of course. Look at this, I'm stringing words together in a sentence. I've also got people I can write back and forth to. I've got e-mails I could send, I've got IMs and Text Messages that I could do. I have all of these things, and all of them involve what passes as writing.
But I haven't written.
I got home late from a party and I was angry a few weeks ago. I posted my rantings here. That's as close as it gets to writing these days. I have a story that I can't hardly look at, I have poems that I can't quite get right.
Is it writers' block?
Writers' cramp?
Something else? Some other distraction? I've been numbing myself lately, blatant and overt sedation, be it with video games or movies or something else. It's an invitation to the white noise to come and nest in my ears until I bleed mediocrity.

But what am I hiding from?

I think that the great writers often numbed themselves because they were afraid of what they could actually produce. Afraid of the power that they could have with focused writing.
I do not have this fear.
I think that I sedate myself because I'm afraid of finding out that I have none of that power, that I have none of those skills. That I do not have the weight necessary to actually follow through with the thought that I'm pretending that I have.

Have I just come up with a genuine, original thought? No, more than likely I just came up with the plot to Rocky III, except this time with bobsledders.

I'm just so dead inside.
So incredibly dead.

How great would it be to feel something? How awesome would it be to feel someone? How spectacular would it be if my feelings weren't a tightly wrapped tourniquet where I'm just trying to stop the bleeding?

I see you.
I know you.
You think that you're unknowable, but you aren't. I've seen all that you have to offer. I've peeled back the layers, and you know what? There aren't as many as you think there are. You aren't special. You aren't different. You aren't an adorable, sweet little package of individuality.
Prove me wrong.
Prove me wrong.
Prove that you're special. Prove that you're different. Prove that you aren't like all the rest of them. I bet you can't.
But I bet you think you already did.

Start from the beginning.
Start from the moment where you rested your forehead against the wall and had no more tears left to give, when you had finally given up, when you thought you were finally dead inside.
Start from there and work your way forward.
You think that you're heading toward resurrection or rebirth. You think that your real life is just about to begin.

Prove me wrong.
Please, I just want to be proven wrong.

2008-03-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

Had some good responses to my last post.
Both because some of you allegedly read this thing, and also because I had to whore it out to people. It was one of those moments that just came from the heart and I needed to say it.
So there it is.
This is not going to be so poetic.
This is just going to be a little update, remind you all that I still exist.

Welcome to my world. I am the god of 42nd street, and the promise remains to officially kill your god and take his place. No one has taken me up on that.
Not that I blame you. Heh.
No one needs a flawed god.
But some people would love one.
And you know who I'm talking to.

I'm typing to you right now on a brand new laptop. It's been an interesting week, to say the least, since the last time I sat down to share with you. Last week, I had all sorts of things in mind. I was going to Louis CK, I was wondering about possible additional trips to Jersey, I had had a wonderful weekend in New York.
I'm in a different place today.
My life is very busy. It has become that way. I've been having dealings with the ex which involve financial and legal matters, I've been having dealings with friends both new and old, with varying degrees of stress and pressure, and I've been keeping busy at night.
And it's not a bad life.
Not so far, anyhow.
Perhaps sometime it can be wearisome, but for now I'm enjoying myself. And that's a remarkable difference to anyone who subscribed to my bullshit over at http://beliallarmenoir.livejournal.com/ but a happier Crip tends to be less funny in my rage, so you pay the price for it now.
It matters not.

So the future is wide open for me. I have friends with whom I am looking at a future, friends that I am not, but most importantly I have friends at all, and this is also a difference. I got into it with one guy today and we both felt like we'd been beat up. He felt like the first fight in Fight Club and that was a hell of an analogy. Killing ourselves for comedy that no one else will laugh at.
Is that what's life is all about?
Maybe so.

So as you read this rambling piece of shit, consider something a moment.. consider your own life and where you're at. Consider if it's where you want to be. Sacrifices can be made, but your self doesn't necessarily need to be one of those sacrifices.
Or at least, that's what I'm feeling.

So I know that there are perhaps maybe two of you who read my crap. Maybe more. Post a little response. Do you think the sacrifices in your life have been worth it? Do you still have any of that most cruel emotion hope left in you?
Do you think you'll ever get it back?

I started this blog with an idea and never got around to it.
Now I'm at the end and have said nothing at all.
But still looking for your responses, even though I've done very little to solicit.

Take care, kids..
And I'll be in touch.

Get off your knees...

2008-03-02T00:25:00.001-08:00

Get off your knees.

Stop praying to the god that failed you long ago.

That god could have been anything. It could have been the god that sits up on a fluffy white cloud throwing thunderbolts and desires for human interaction around, but most likely your god looks different.
And it failed you.

What's your god? Was it money? Sex? fame? Love? Friendship? Honor? Truth?
Failed you. They all have.

There is no redemption here. There is no upward struggle into a shiny tomorrow. There's the darkness of the moment and the empty prayers that it will pass. There is also no salvation. There is no gigantic hand reaching down to pull you from the abyss because your name was written in blood on a scroll from time immemorial.

Look around yourself.
What is there?
Is it a desk? A lamp? A rug?
Is it a dog? A husband? A child?
Is it a lover quaking in the bed, sheening with sweat and hope, waiting for you to become her everything?

Get off your knees.
You've already failed her.

The things around you are immaterial. The wife is no more or less than a tattered paperback is when it comes to your own soul. When it comes to your honor. When it comes to your loyalty. When it comes to your knees.
You have nothing.
You own nothing.
You are owed nothing.
You will be given nothing.
You will earn nothing.

Get up off your knees. Your knees are your own, and bend only by your own choice. The free will that you've lost was not taken forcefully from you, but rather given freely as a gift, as a satin draped bowed box of chocolates. With the same enthusiasm as you'd give a red heart shaped box of chocolates to the object of your desire, so too do you give up your free will, do you give up your choices, do you give up your life, and do you give up your knees.

Get the fuck up.
That object that you're bowing to does not deserve your bent knee.

Instead, stand.
Stand for beliefs. Stand for truths. Stand for love, if you must.

And when they come for you and take you by the arms, force your lips to the earth, and break your knees with a hammer made of gold, you can know that though you have maintained your integrity and your faith, though your knees have been given in sacrifice for your sins.
Get up off your knees, friend.
So that they too can be shattered like mine.

2008-02-25T16:05:00.000-08:00

What do you want me to say?
New York was fucking awesome.

Welcome, everyone... as always, I'm the god of 42nd street, and this weekend I found out that one of my friends was actually in the fan club of the band that turned me onto that phrase. But all of that being said, this weekend was a pretty spectacular weekend that I've actually already re-lived a bunch of different times, so I'm not going to go into tons of detail, but I'll point out the highlights for all of you who are sitting and taking notes at home.

Because you all are. Admit it, you totally are. All... uh... what, one of you? How many people read this fucking thing, anyhow?
Hm.
One more after this last week.
Oh well, unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. It is what it is, after all.
And now I'm being intentionally vague for my audience of one.
Sorry.

Anyhow, so this weekend I really was the god of 42nd street.
You may not love me, but I'm hard to beat.
I went down, hung with some friends, and the big bonus was on Friday I was inside of the XM Satellite Radio studios, as Ron Bennington and Fez Whatley put on a great fucking show.
GREAT fucking show.
By request, I'll find you the audio, but the interesting thing to note is that I was in the studio. My laughter can no doubt be heard on the audio. It was a bunch of wackbaggers, and it was incredible. Makes me love it more than ever.

That night, the world premiere of Gap, the worst movie ever. Didn't matter. It was the Unity party and of course we were there and united like hell. Baggers, Dot-Netters, FBA people... I've got pictures that I can post too.
Here, I'll find them for you. Wait there.
(That old gag....)

Here's Friday night, otherwise known as Paul O and Melly's wedding. This is a thread on wackbag. I've posted down at the bottom of the third page, perhaps, but they're all me. Look for Crippled Albino. That's me.
But I think you guys know that already.
http://www.wackbag.com/showthread.php?t=85894

And now here's the birthday party that I went to:
http://s274.photobucket.com/albums/jj249/crippledalbino/Simby%20Party/

You should be able to view photos there, if'n y'all are interested.
And furthermore, if any of you want explanations about who's in the pictures, then we can do that one on one, but there are the pictures anyhow.

Highlights: Friday night at the Gap Premiere (we're in lockdown!) was a great fucking time, and Saturday night was Fondu and Karaoke, and come to find out, I got to do a duet with Big A, who I'm a big fan of. We did "Safety Dance."

But here's the trick of things:
You know you've had yourself quite a night when at ten o'clock in the morning you don't wake up hungover... you wake up still drunk.
Fuckin' A.
Mainly beer, but fuckin' Flea came around with shots of Jaeger at one point and who am I to turn the little fuck down?

So details can be had by request, but just to say I've had an awesome weekend. Only one person the whole night ever acknowledged my birthday, and she's been warmly thanked for it. But it was still an incredible time that I'm going to remember for a long time.
It's the bessst....

Until next month's Babyfuck party, of course.
Stop it, faithful readers... it's not as bad as it sounds. Baby Girl and Angelfuck are coming together (AF was at the Friday night party, but I've still never met Baby Girl) for another big party for a birthday, so I think that'll be my next pilgrimage. We'll see.

Anyhow, you guys are all reading this not giving a shit because it's all people you don't know and show references and whatnot, but fuck it, it was my whole fucking weekend, and now you've got pictures. And now I need to get a hold of Big A to see if there's a YouTube clip of us singing Safety Dance.
I hope there is.
A Big AAAAAaaaa... Singin' with a crippled albino at Karaoke, a BigAAAAAaaa....
Heh.

Sorry.
they can't all be winners.
Peace.

I need a T-Shirt that says "Comcast Sucks" please

2008-02-19T15:15:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting here at the bar.
I mean, I'm sitting here at the Group W bar, and WHY, do you ask? Why am I here?

I'm here because Comcast sucks. I hate them, I hate them all.

A little history.

One lovely Saturday evening I'm sitting at home and just about to crash, trying to say good night to some friends, when all of a sudden, POW. Nothing is connecting. Now, of course I don't care, because like any single lad, I'm already drunk and therefore couldn't give much of a shit about whether or not my last 'good night' messages are making through, so I drunkenly grab my phone and finish texting the couple of people who I was talking to, shut it up, and go to sleep.
Ah, blessed, blessed sleep.
Now the fun begins.

The next morning I wake up and go stagger out into my luxurious front room in order to see what the problem is. The first few lights are on on my modem, but not the last few. Fine.
Call Comcast.
Not the brightest thing ever, but what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Well, so we go through the whole thing and it's the guy's opinion that my modem is shot. So I have two choices: Monday night he could have guys come to look at it, or I could buy a new modem. Fuck that, I want the internet TODAY so I went to Best Buy and dropped eighty bucks on a new one.
I know, I know, kids today just want everything right now. Well, motherfucker, I'm paying forty two bucks a month on cable TV and fifty something on channels that I never watch, it'd be nice to fucking enjoy them.

So I buy a new one, come home and install it, call them to register and...
....
...nothing.
No, they can't get through to my modem. It MUST be that I bought a faulty modem at Best Buy. The service call is still in effect, so fine.

The guy shows up.
Meanwhile, I've also discovered that my channels aren't coming in. Just some of them. The premium channels, so called and alleged. He tells me that the channels are a coincidence, he installs a new cable modem, and lo-and-behold, it works.
So I'm an idiot, right?
Clearly.

It lasts until Wednesday. On Wednesday I come home and find that once again, my cable is out. Another service call.
You keeping track at home? Good.

This time I stay home on Thursday because they're offering me 11-2 as a window.

So I get good and drunk that night, fall asleep, sleep in while listening to O&A, and the guys come by the house while Ron and Fez are discussing the N-Word and fuckin' Jane Fonda's use of the 'ol Cunt word. Loved it.
Loved. It.

So they go through everything, andthis time the problem is not my modem (as it never was, thanks for making me buy a new one, Comcast) nor is it anything to do with me, now it's some big box that's all coroded, some junction point has been frozen, then filled with some sort of... who knows. Honestly? Who the fuck knows any more?
Just that they said that they fixed it.

So I come home from work today.
Guess what?

Yeah. So now I've got my laptop at a bar that offers free Wi-Fi, eavesdropping at a table with five dudes who are all talking points and closing costs, and two chicks that are probably girlfriends of some of the dudes, that are just NOT interested in being here.
And eating wings.
And drinking beer.

So take lemons, make lemonade, right?

So while I may have a nice dinner tonight and internet at the local pub, I wholeheartedly say the following:

Fuck you,Comcast. Fuck you in your fucking ear. Fucking don't make me feel like an idiot, like it's MY fucking problem that I'm not getting things, that I was stupid to go buy my own modem, when it turns out it's a fucking building wide problem because the whole thing is wired so shittily. And furthermore, Fuck you for coming out for this problem once, and I'm fucking GLAD you have to fucking come by again, and I'm gonna keep fucking calling every single fucking day that there's a problem and getting every fucking tech out in the state to fix my goddamned problems. Fix it the first time or die gargling rectal cancer, you stupid cunts.

Fuck Comcast.

Untitled Poem - Draft #1

2008-02-11T17:04:00.000-08:00

Scrawny shoulder against the red brick wall,
he writes his name with fingertips like
burnt pine.

Once he dreamt of an end to the wall,
or a beginning,
and waking, he devises a plan:
his name scrawled in dirt
pronounced in broken twigs.
What is this wall and where does it go?
Is he within or without, where does it end?
He rises and walks, stick in hand.
He does not drop the stick, but scratches it against the wall.
He can trail the charcoal with empty raw eyes.
(Searching for the end or the beginning
or for anything at all.)

Weary, cheek resting against the bricks.
Another side, somewhere,
but he does not hear it, nor it him.
He hears but mortar and merely
tastes stone.
So he walks anew.

The stick was gone.
Was it in his pocket or against the wall?
Did he drop it?
Was it ever his to lose?

It is both days and nights that he walks.
By light, footprints in sterile, cracked wasteland. By night,
fingers repaint the wall with tears.
And sometimes he rests.
And had stopped crying long ago.
Of all he had learned, the nature of dirt
and fists pounding bricks
became the most useful.
Of course, how also to walk and walk and walk.

He never found the end of the wall, nor the
other side.
But he did find his stick, next to the brick
and fingerprints like burnt pine.

Now he could once again write his name
if only he hadn’t forgotten it.

New Beginnings...

2008-02-05T18:46:00.001-08:00

Never posted here before.

I have no readers. I have no subscribers. I have no fans. I have no insatiable hungry groupies waiting on my every word. This is, in effect, what it feels like to write to no one and to have said all you needed to say. The writing equivalent of the proverbial tree falling in the forest. If I write words out onto 'teh interwebz', and no one ever reads them, do they really exist?
It's fascinating, but it's also stupid.
Of course they exist.

But it doesn't matter.
We're beginning our dance here, folks. This is where it begins.
I'm going to start with a little bit about myself, and we'll see where it goes from there.

I'm the God of 42nd Street.
I'm the Crippled Albino.
I have a name, but as we continue to move forward into this digital age, a name means no more to anyone than an identification number. No, in this new world, we're known by screen names and handles. We're known by titles and we're judged by postcounts. We have somehow seek legitimacy in a medium where there is none.
I am one of those people.
I am one of you.

So now here's the trick of things... and as time goes on, and people view this (or not) and subscribe (or not), this will be the dance that I move to every single time I set my fingers to the keyboard.
How much do you want to know?
And how much do I want to tell you?
And what can I tell you that's real within me while still maintaining my anonymity?

I don't know.
I'm cursed by being both intensely private and exhibitionistic at the same time.
I want to show, but don't know if I want to be seen.
I want to be known, but I also want something to hide behind when things get too real.

But I want to entertain.
This much I know.

I know that this is not particularly funny or poignant. This is not a brilliant piece of bloggery.
But it's me, and I'm finding my voice.
I'm getting there.
Gimme a few posts to get my training wheels off. Heh.

And yes... it would have been wonderful if some of us could find that New Beginning.
But to twist the words of the cliched poets, one beginning turned out to be someone else's end.

And it would have been nice for you to catch me when I fell.

Welcome...

2007-12-10T21:04:00.000-08:00

Hello, world.
I, as the title suggests, am the God of 42nd Street.

We're aiming for interactivity here, we're looking for nothing short of a revolution.
Your participation is mandatory,
my life will not become yours,
but will intersect
intertwine
and we'll taint each other.

I don't know what I'm looking for... but this is the beginning, the first step, of a revolution.
I can feel it.
Can't you?

Feel free to drop your comments.
But they don't have to be in response to this blog. They can be anything and everything. We're starting a revolution, and that starts with a conversation.
Drop me a line about what's on your mind.
Anything.
Anything at all.

Let's get a conversation going.
Let's blow this world of its hinges.

One post at a time.