Coffee.

(Tuesday, June 28, 2005 4:55 PM)

I trekked over to Wal Mart in the wee hours of this morning to buy some coffee. I just quit my graveyard shift job, so I need some assistance reversing my sleep schedule. Broke as a joke, I went there in hopes of something inexpensive but decent; Eight O Clock Bean Hazelnut, which they didn't have, so I settled upon the Eight O Clock Colombian. Why I chose "Colombian" I'll never quite understand,..."Colombian Coffee" is a marketable term, but it's validity EXPIRED in the 80's, right alongside the novelty of pastel sport coats and Colombian drug lords ala MIAMI VICE. Let's be realistic, who gives a fuck about Colombian coffee in 2005? With all the crazy nutty wacky bean choices out there, what the fuck is so special about it? I was later reminded of the olfactory approach to choosing coffee--> If it smells good, it'll prolly taste real good, and if it smells like shit,....well.....


First off, the coffee grinding machine and it's accompanying Millstone display is fucking TRASHED. There are coffee beans EVERYWHERE. You can tell little kids walk up and push on the dispenser and let beans fly everywhere. And in true Kenny style, I walk up and press the dispenser and start chewing on a small palm-full of coffee beans;^) There's a half-full bag of beans just sitting there near the grinder. There's a huge mess around the grinder itself too. A pile of ground coffee under the chute, a conglomerate of whole beans AND already GROUND coffee inside the top of the machine,...WTF? Someone poured ALREADY GROUND COFFEE back into the top of the machine?!!? Add that to the corresponding pile of ground sitting below the chute where you would normally place the bag, and the half-full bag of whole beans,...and what do you get? I really can't say. A caffeine-addicted retard with a taste for Millstone Swiss-Chocolate-Almond was just there? I dunno...

In any case, I'm standing there trying to navigate this mess, cause I just wanna grind my Eight O Clock beans. Noting the already ground coffee inside the top where you would pour your whole beans, I get kinda skittish about even grinding mine. There's some other mystery-strain of ground coffee inside the machine that's no doubt going to contaminate MY Eight O Clock Colombian and it's flavor, of which I'm not yet even familiar with.

BREAK--> A memory jumps out of my psyche like an unexpected insect flying at my head in the summer, lusting after the smell of my beeswax pomade: My best friend in Ohio told about a lovely little coffee-scam he and his lady would pull at the grocery store cause they were poor, but had to allow room for their discerning taste for good coffee. They'd grab a bag of the cheaper stuff(sometimes Eight O Clock Bean...), dump the contents, and fill the bag with something yummy from the dispenser, like Millstone. Thus, paying the Eight O Clock price for Millstone beans, which is nearly HALF. $3.99 vs. $7.99 per pound. So I thought about doing it, and then shot my eyeballs directly at one of the big camera-globes hanging from the Wal-Mart ceiling.....yes I'm a pussy.

Trudging on--> I gotta get this "other" coffee outta the top of the grinder somehow. I don't want it contaminating my bag man......

Coffee grinding machines in grocery stores are one o' those few unsanitary elements in the foodservice industry that are just accepted. When you buy a cup of coffee from Wawa, there are these little "communal" pints of milk and flavored creamer that are just sitting there in the coffee-fixin's bar that everyone just pops the cap and uses. Plus coffee pots just sit there, no "lid" to cover it's contents, that's a just-about-everywhere thing. If you REALLY hated coffee drinkers, you could poison them all, lickety-split! No one really implements any regulations regarding the fact that anyone can just walk up to the grinder machines and grind something up that you're going to consume, no gloves, no cleansing of the machine and it's innards, nothing. What if there was an option in a grocery sore to grind your own hamburger meat on a machine right there in the store? Yep, first choose your favorite slab of beef, unwrap and insert it into the top of a big stainless steel grinder. Would you like auto-drip, espresso, or Turkish-ground hamburger meat? The same machine that someone else used before you. My point being, besides the coffee that gets ground in there every day,....considering the mess undoubtedly made by pilfering, unmonitored children, what else could have been ground in there? A die-cast metal Hot Wheels Batmobile? A foam-rubber Spongebob? BOOGERS?

Pushing that thought aside after noting that the machine is very high off the ground, approximately 5 feet, 8 inches to the top of the machine. I remember this measurement so well because I'm 6ft 3 in tall, and I had to get on my tippie-toes just to see inside the top of the machine to see what the fuck was in there. I always do this at these coffee-grinding machines due to above-mentioned paranoia.

I ascertain(thank you Bruce McCulloch and Kids in the Hall for I've always wanted to use the word "ascertain" in real life...) that I have to turn on the grinder and perhaps agitate it a bit to make it grind and dispense whatever's left in the top. Okay, press "start",...not happening. OH! I see,...there's a little safety lever that keeps the grinder from starting unless there's a bag under the chute!!! How clever! That also means that whoever made this fucking mess was probably an adult! So I press the damn thing and grind the unsavories away...

Now. To grind MY coffee. Engine whirs, grinding noise ensues. Hummm-hum-ho-hum, dooo-doot-de-doo, looking at other coffees whilst mine grinds away, chew on a nother sampled bean in my hand. I used to eat coffee grounds when I was a little kid you know,...other kids ate sticks of butter, spoonfuls of sugar, snuck cans of sweetened condensed milk, learned the near-fatal lesson of "baking chocolate",....I ate fucking coffee grounds.

Okay something STINKS now. Something smells like shit,...not literally,...but you know,...something smells of inferior, not-so-pleasant coffee. Hmmm. Trust my nose? It's definitely what I'm grinding. Shrug it off. Maybe it'll pan out, fooling me later by actually tasting good? FUCK NO.

Fuck you Pablo Escobar. Fuck you Juan Valdez. Fuck you donkey. Wrap it up, your days in the coffee spotlight are OVER. The REAL money is in public meat-grinders....

YEEEEEE-HAAAAAAWW!!!!

(Monday, June 27, 2005 1:23 AM)

Damnation, what a fucking awesome Sunday. I feel like I just got off a rollercoaster or crawled outta the General Lee with Bo & Luke.

Got up early, and despite the rain, made the treck with Lani out to the Rev Ho Heat show @ Chicks Beach. Drank alotta beer, saw alotta familiar faces, and ascended into great heights via the revival of such. I'm a tad dehydrated, hoarse, and walking in wet shoes but I emanate glad tidings.

To top of the evening, I QUIT MY FUCKING JOB. Don't work the graveyard shift, kids,...it's unnatural and damned unhealthy.

So here I am. jobless, bandless, full of beer.
Any takers?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'M FUCKING OVER IT.

(Thursday, June 23, 2005 10:23 AM)

Being:
-Shat upon.
-Misunderstood.
-Taken advantage of.
-Taken for granted.
-Manipulated.

Do I invite this? I do want to be happy,...honestly...

Overall, I'm feeling the effects of one, actually a few corrosive elements in my life. It's gradually worn me down to a bare minimum of sorts. It's brought me to this dull apex of feeling nothing,...of feeling morally lax, of feeling sour, dry, empty,..of feeling very far away from being myself(if not reevaluating who I am). I've been here before, and now I've returned with a different haircut and a few more wrinkles, sans leather jacket.

But I must apologize on behalf of said "corrosive elements",...it's only a matter of time before some people realize that IAMTHEMOSTINTENSEMOTHERFUCKERALIVE. My life is slated to either be a short-lived tragedy or a blinding success, there is no in between, there is no gray. Stay tuned, for this is the twist in the plot, this is the turning point, this is the time of making or breaking....

And I'll see you in HHEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!

p.s.(The Bella Lea show and the company and the beer and the full moon were good to me tonight,...in spite of all this wreckage)

You wanna know what I fucking hate?

(Monday, May 23, 2005 1:01 AM)

People that call themselves "friends" imposing their will upon your life of what they think is right for you. With no regard for your own intuition, beliefs, and standards, just passive aggressively trying to slide their hand under your skin in an attempt to puppeteer you along.

I'm astounded at what degree some people really believe they can influence me to whatever degree of their liking. I can't describe how it feels when a "friend" underestimates your intelligence and will, metaphorically looking down upon you.

I am the God of my own universe. Sloppy and misguided as it sometimes might be, I'm still the goddamned Captain of this here ship.

I feel strongly...

(Saturday, April 30, 2005 4:01 AM)

...A little too strongly as a matter of fact. Logic born of apathy and vis versa is rare in my life.

Lately, and at this very moment, I feel very strongly that things aren't going to work out. I'm starting to realize I have this gradually bubbling feeling that I don't really care about too much right now. Things that I suppose I should care about anyway. I sincerely don't mean this in a whiny, naive, pathetic, sniveling sort of way, I feel very calm and cool about it. I've had a million little epiphanies in the past six months,...a million fears and ambitions and fireworks-finales exploding in my noggin. Lots of perspective, lots of new dawns.

I had just started to climb out of this shell,...this shell born of comfort and the belief in predetermined fate. I learned a blip or two about Quantum Physics,...that blew me away and made me question everything. I started to realize that I am in control. I am the god of my own universe, I manifest my own destiny through my own will, I'd always seen evidence of it. Now I'm simply questioning my abilities as Captain of this ship and the strength of my will,...and I'm fucking going in reverse. And I don't really feel any sort of panic. Which is a little scary I suppose...

I seek truth at all costs and question the real worth of everything around me. As I get older and learn more, as I peek behind more facades and my overall perspective widens incredibly,......I don't really feel good. I don't really feel complete. I've actually gotten more angry as I've gotten older. Everything seems less and less "worth it".

Congruent and oh so sexual....

(Saturday, April 16, 2005 11:52 AM)

Lines being blurred between the senses;

Food, Music, and Coitus, are on many levels all the same to me. Actually, I relate most things to sex. For instance--> If I find that the music I am listening to or writing or playing is devoid of any sexual energy, I'm bored and distracted. Whatever I do onstage outside of manipulating my instrument,...sex with clothes on. Like Muddy Waters said, "Want you to rock me baby, rock me all night long...Well I want you to rock me baby, like my back ain't got no bones. Want you to roll me, like I roll a wagon wheel...You know I want you to roll me over, you know how good that makes me feel". Rock and Roll = Sex. Extremely pleasurable things passing across my tongue,...*insert imagination here*....food and things, that can be damned sexy man. Beer & Wine; I'm into the taste as much as the effect. Shapes are sexy. Orchids and stuff, they look real vaginal and whatnot. Cars, particularly those manufactured by General Motors from 1967-1972, I'm convinced those engineers sat around a musky room plastered with risque centerfolds whilst they drafted the lines of quarterpanels. Baboons' asses(sike). Scents too,...but those are tied quite steadfast to memory, so even a scent you would normally regard as mediocre becomes intoxicating when it's tied to the object of your affection. Pheromones, you know,...that natural eminence right around the neck.

It's all one big 'ole sexy buffet.

DANG.

Grrrrrrrrrr.....

(Friday, April 01, 2005 2:26 AM)

Motherfuck right. Somehow I'm starting to remember,.......I'm fuckin made o' steerhorn shavings, pig iron, and mahogany,....with a pretty little mother o pearl inlay in the middle and an uncontrollable habit of spitting on everything.

Yet somehow I'm still this fucking fruitcake who's obessive compulsive about his fucking fingernails always looking neat & clean.

Come on, cowboy.....give us a show!!!

Losing over and over again...

(Tuesday, March 22, 2005 2:05 AM)

By my own fucking tyrannical hand that seems to operate on it's own voluntary accord. Pushing away my love and companionship. Pushing away my favorite. Giving not an ounce of slack to those who love me and put up with me. Losing over and over again, just to maybe win again, but only to lose again, in the end maybe breaking even on sanity and patience. And still, other than this ghost-limb that intrusively does what it wants at will,...I can't seem to lift a single digit of motivation to make change. I don't understand why I want and dream so fervently but do very little to back it up in reality. I'm faaar too deep inside my own insular little Kenny-head. I'm foreshadowing and planting seeds of tragedy from the damned couch.

I sometimes think that if my life were completely devoid of any everyday distractions, people, etc,......ie; Picture Michael Madsen's character in Kill Bill Vol. 2. "Budd", other than his humiliating has-been ethics,....he lives a simple, solitary life in a camper way out in the desert. I dream of that shit man. Solitude. Sometimes I need it to recharge myself.

Tonight @ 2am I stood on a pier over the water on Roanoke Island, N.C. and felt it. I was completely alone for a few miles,....except for this Heron that scared the shit out of me,...in the dark it looked like a fucking terodactyl when I scared it up from it's perch. But I was very comfortable with the damned thing, he was just hanging out, basking in his fundamentals like me.

Despite all of that, I still feel this innate need to be deeply connected,...to love and be loved fully and at all costs. To have and to hold or whatever. And this isn't born of insecurity, but it validates things more than most people can understand.

Back and forth, waxing and waning,...I'm perpetually at war with the very ideals I summon. And when whatever permutations I've ushered in arrive, I'm never quiet ready to be shaken up again. I know I'm the Pheonix Rising from the Ashes n' all,...but I still flinch when I'm about to get burned.

Losing to win again, winning to lose again.

Raccoons stole my garlic...

(Sunday, March 20, 2005 4:03 AM)

I've been trying to grow garlic in the backyard, and these two fat, guido raccoons fucking dug into the pot and stole that shit.

Pre-Dawn Hot-Tubbin'....

(Monday, March 14, 2005 7:03 AM)

Is my new favorite hobby. Jub-Jub, and sometimes a flagon of oat-soda accompanies me. Along with lotsa birds, which makes me feel kinda like Snow White. I just sit there in the bubbles and watch the sun come up, the sky looks like a gigantic yellow-purple bruise. Possibly the easiest hobby ever this side of being conscious.

CLASSIC ROCK KAREOKE....

(Sunday, March 06, 2005 3:31 AM)

ALL NIGHT LONG.

At my old/new job I get to karaoke to classic rock all motherfucking night long and it rules harder than a diamond studded demoncock. I drive around in the wee hours in a new truck that for some reason came stock with tape deck, and between here and all points 100-200 miles west, south, north there must be 20 different classic rock radio stations. My fucking pipes are getting WORKED!

If you somehow hear a rumor of my death in a violent truck crash on some deserted road @ 3am, know that I died happily singing the rock n' roll praises to whatever gem fate happened to be broadcasting....

Plunge.....

(Sunday, February 27, 2005 11:08 PM)

So I quit my job. I quit my soul-and-wallet-sucking sales job. I'm really happy about that. I should've done it a very long time ago. "Comfortable Rut" as Brian so eloquently put it.

That isn't the "plunge" I'm suggesting. I'm starting a new/old job. I went back to what I did before sales. Driving a delivery truck. For a lot of money. From 9pm to 5am.

Now I have to sit here and stay awake. All night long. To force myself back into that unnatural cycle of working at night and sleeping during the day. And my girl's simultaneously moving into her own place now. She works during daylight hours. I mean,...dammit she snores and hogs the fucking bed, but no one to sleep with and wake up with and eat breakfast with? She's warm and beautiful and mine. We're not going to spend nights together at all now, not even in the same bad, much less the same place. And I'm sitting here awake,....forceably so, drinking coffee, just wanting to go to bed with her.

366 days.
Remember I used beg & plead for you to simply stay the night? It was so important to me just to wake up next to you.

So I'll make money. A good shit's worth. And bask in the warmth of treeless concrete landscapes, empty parking lots with empty 40's and emptied-out blunt tobacco, permanent oil stains coated in kitty litter, diesel fumes, and crackhead-antics. And an empty bed with sunlight bursting in and around the corners of black mini-blinds and those dark green curtains you hate.

And then I'm off......

Secret-Secret, I've got a secret.....

(Monday, February 14, 2005 7:09 AM)

I secretly desire to be;

1) A male stripper

2) One of David Bowie's guitar players

I don't think the proprietors of either entertainment monolith would dig my love handles.....

Fuck Christmas...

(Wednesday, December 08, 2004 7:07 PM)

More people should stay the fuck home and make their loved ones gifts out of twigs and yarn.