| (no subject) |
[Nov. 28th, 2004|05:47 pm] |
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i really hate a lot of people |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 26th, 2004|10:56 pm] |
i love loretta lynn
reaLLY
SLEEP
NOW MOREW TOMORROW |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 24th, 2004|03:42 pm] |
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Just noticed inexpensive copies of skating on the edge over at Amazon |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 27th, 2004|05:14 pm] |
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I just did a really long update and lost it just don't fill up for do it again |
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| right now i am drunk |
[Sep. 29th, 2004|10:44 pm] |
good choice n'est pas/
wow--this is hard
that sAID 3 DOCS TODAYone of them, encouraging
i seem to havwe had lung cANCER THAT SPREAD TO MY BRAIN
I am a fucking party animal
more ;lATER |
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| goldberg wins bad news sweepstakes |
[Sep. 28th, 2004|01:58 pm] |
i have something that no members of the current adminstration have:
proof i have a brain
i know because they found (count 'em)six tumours in it
really.
so we all have the fun of watching my one finger typing to the great beyong on line
the neurosurgeon gave me a pass
we'll see wHAT THE ONOCOLIGIST SAYS
i'll take prayers to any entirty
thAT anyone believes inb
i'llfucking kill and then haunt anyone who types hugs |
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| Pod person lost in a sea of typos |
[Sep. 22nd, 2004|12:16 pm] |
this iswaht happens when i type without going back over evertything carefully and making corections withbit bybut
in the fun with my body department; my brain sends the same messages to my fingers that it always has, butfuck it, somewhere betweenmy brain and the keyboard the neurons
misfire. (i suspect most people have long suspected that i'm just a tad off torque neurologically)
occasionally i entertain myself by trying to scratch my head with my left hand and the silly hand flops around on my head as if it got the message,"dribbleyour head like a basketball."
my left hand, you know,the sinister side has quite obviously been taken over by the aliens and i could not pass a field sobriety test sober. i am hopeful that my wayward hand will start grabbing stranger's dicks in public. thatwouldbe, if nothing else, great entertainment. i'm already gleefully imagining court proceedings involving immense amounts of medical testimony, my hysterical claims of alien abduction, a former elementary school teacher of mine sorrowfully shaking her head and saying, 'we always knew that child weren't right."
i just can't figure out the role that flaming dwarves and Fred play in this scenario and i can't have a good da da redux fantasy without Fred and i have always been fond of flaming dwarves.
my typing speed is firghteningly slow. i feel as though somehow a woman in khaki pants and polo shirt who is clutching a wad of coupons and talking on a cell phone about her pap smear and the cereal preferances of her 8 year old daughter has parked her shopping cart in my fucking brain.
in further news:
the ex-son-in-law of the grandmother of baby crack dealer is trying to get the grandmother of baby crack dealer to will her house to him. the grandmother of baby crack dealer is also bernie's mother. grandmother has put up said house as collateral on the loan mother of both baby crack dealerand federal prisoner has bought with her current immorata. bernie is a tad concerned that his momma will lose her house.
but more signifcantly: my car now has a tax avlue of250 and a blue book value of370. i have a new goal: keep the car until it goes into negative value and the county pays me taxes.
i owe a bunch of people (hello darren) emails and explainations and i will go into email mode later today.
please ffor the love of whatever is holy to you. do not leave hug messagesor sorry you can't function messages or anything positive prayerful or heartwarming in my journal today. if you do, even if i love, i'll be forced to hunt you down and kill you,i'm just that kindof gal rightnow, do keep in mind that it'smy l;eft hand that has the problem and i shoot right handed. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 16th, 2004|09:17 pm] |
i am broke, disorganized, ashamed of what a wretched piece of work i am and completely convinced that i am not really entitled to the oxygen that i use.
i've created a system of torture and cleverly disguised it as a life --- and i am not really crazy about this.
i still don't know whether or not i can go to spookycon--- must argue with the folk at us air again over my frequent flyer miles --- must figure out if i'll have any money at the end of october ---i suspect not
must beat up on self for lack of money
but beyond all that, what has pushed me over the fucking edge, brought me to a point where i could do a Charles Whitman --- is that Roy fucking Horn says the fucking feline saved him, Roy says he was having a stroke and the cat was dragging him to safety
there is only so much optomism, it's all good, and mystical universe has a plan i can take before it's lock and load time. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 15th, 2004|09:22 pm] |
l'shanna tova.
that is all.
that is enough. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 15th, 2004|09:36 am] |
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Is it just me or does this year's hurricane season seem a bit unusual? |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 8th, 2004|04:44 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  bouncy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | humming the brave sir robin music | ] |
When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned
his tail and fled!
What Monty Python Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I've actually always admired Sir Robin As well as wanting my own troop of minstrels to follow me around --- particularly when I am doing something that scares me --- I like to imagine my happy band singing songs about my courage. . . |
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| not even a surprise |
[Sep. 7th, 2004|10:38 pm] |
Virginia Woolf: Orlando. You are a challenge, for
outer events, the outside world, the time etc.
play no importance to you. Your focus is in
writing, in gender issues, and inside your own
head. Self-analysis and exploration of yourself
as well as the outer world hold great
importance to you.
Which literature classic are you?
brought to you by Quizilla |
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| signs of the endtimes |
[Sep. 7th, 2004|10:13 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  bitchy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Loretta Lynn "You Ain't Woman Enough to Take my Man" | ] |
Since this alleged Labor Day seemed to occur without a race at Darlington I think I should still wear white shoes. For political reasons.
No fucking Southern 500. Fuck the mainstreaming of NASCAR.
(and BTW I had a serious problem with reality about two years ago when I first interviewed Jimmy Spencer and began to suspect that he is a closet nice guy. it's got worse. I loved the way he commented on Biffle gettng into to Tina Gordon in last week's BNG race, I suspected that Biffle was way out of line and now hate him, but it was nice to have a driver confirm it.)
I think I am solving the mystery of the Wigger. Poor white trash are the most left behind group in the USA. They try to act black because they have no white models of success via work or acheivement, the Successful White Folks all have smooth hair, American Standard Boradcast Accents and straight teeth, if you are a buck toothed cracker the only people you see who were born poor and get stuff (which is the measure of success) are hip hop artists or basketball players. White people are born successful or born trailer park. Black people are born poor and because of their momas and jesus, or realizing they would die if they didn't stop the evil addiction de jour, or whatever the zeitgeist says is the bad thing this week they overcome it and get Stuff. Stuff is important. Hence we have a pathetic little white boy with that awful burr haircut that all future serial killers wear clutching a tarnished chain and saying, "I got me some bling bling."
And of course all the teachers, preachers, and social workers who have spent the past three decades attacking trailer park trash for being racist, and never recognizing that white skin priveledge is only extended to white folks who sound middle class and wear decent shoes, are innocent of any wrongdoing.
few things entertain me more than a master's educated white person lording it over the child of an unemployed millworker for being racist.
want to have fun? tell a liberal that it would be really cool if the little white children who are the kids of unemployed applachian white trash had a role model like loretta lynn or dolly parton that made sense to someone who is ten now. |
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| pays in exposure |
[Sep. 1st, 2004|04:07 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | GOOFY | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Goerge Jones "The Corvette Song" | ] |
Since HMOs do not let patients pick their doctors they should allow us to choose our illnesses.
I have been thinking about "pays in exposure" and I have been thinking that I will submit to places that pay in exposure if they offer me the right type of exposure.
Here are some examples:
During the years I've practiced therapy I have run into some unethical, power-mad, harmful therapists. Only one of them (to my current knowledge)has been disciplined, most of them have managed to hide their evil so well that they go on practicing. I would except the exposure of a few of them, two come to mind, as payment for a lot of my work.
I have lost several things I really need. All of these things are in my house, at least two of them in this very room, despite tearing the room apart multiple times I have yet to find the needed objects. Is there an e-zine that can expose these objects? If you know of one, let me know and I'll submit my best work and accept exposure of lost objects as payment.
Like everyone else, I have a list of people I'd really like to see naked. I think that payment in exposure would be great if it meant that you get to look at the people you want to see naked, naked.
So, guys, I'm really sorry. I've been fighting the good fight for some time and now I am ready to write for exposure if I can determine the type of exposure. |
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| just sitting here in my Earnhardt shirt |
[Aug. 30th, 2004|03:07 pm] |
eating a mater sandwich . . .and callin folks to see how hard the most recent hurrican hit them.
well, damn.
You Know You're From North Carolina When... |
You've gotten used to the smell of cow manure on a car trip to Raleigh.
Saying "y'all" isn't just a cute expression; it actually means something.
There are big labrador retrievers in the back of every truck.
You give directions using KFC and Waffle House as landmarks.
You still see Dale Earndheart tributes on cars.
You can't imagine life without Bojangles' sweet tea
Your annual church fundraiser always deals with bbq and potato salad
You have a sunburn from May to October
Your 'heavy winter clothing' consists of some turtleneck sweaters, a fuzzy jacket, and your daddy's boots
Your family has fried chicken once a week
You can tell the difference between cotton fields and tobacco fields while driving
One of your neighbors has a confederate flag hanging on their front porch
Those "damn yankees" are taking over your school/church/workplace/neighborhood...
You've been "properly raised", and yankees love it when they hear you say "ma'am" and "sir"
You get your carbs from biscuits, rolls, pancakes, and grits
You know the difference between a "redneck" and a "hick".
You own at least one surf shop or seafood restaurant shirts.
No matter what those people in ohio say, we are still "first in flight"
The Coca-Cola 600 is as big as the Super Bowl
You prefer Chick-fil-a to KFC
You know pastry is a chicken stew, not a dessert item.
Every time you visit someone you’re offered something to eat and a glass of tea.
Your granddaddy always wore overalls and your grandma always wore an apron.
In summer you have home-grown tomatoes with every meal.
When it rains and the creek rises, everyone gathers to see how high it rose.
You know that "chunk" the ball means to throw it.
You've had a burger "all the way" - chili and slaw on it.
You can recognize a copperhead and your heart drops when you see one.
You have at least one relative that raises collards.
Your folks have taken trips to the mountains to look at leaves.
Your school classes were cancelled because of a hurricane.
You know Krispy Kreme makes the best doughnut.
You have an opinion about UNC. You went there and loved it, or you hate everyone who did.
You know the best BBQ is found in Lexington
You would rather eat at Bojangles's than McDonald's
You have actually uttered the phrase "It's too hot to go to the pool"
You faithfully drink Pepsi or Mt. Dew everyday of your life.
You have your own secret bbq sauce.
You or your neighbors have more hunting dogs than you have family members.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from North Carolina.
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| Evil Omens |
[Aug. 27th, 2004|03:47 pm] |
I'm unusally, incongruously perky and almost optomistic today, which, if the past is anything to go on (x-ref. just because the sun has always risen in the east . . .) means that something truely horrible is about to happen.
The only factor that keeps my perpetually morbid pessism intact is that whenever I thought things, you know, things in general -- income, opportunity, health, weather, or dinner--- were actually at risk of improving the cosmic joker has smashed me with blinding speed and amoral malevolance.
So I'm feeling pretty good today, even capatalizing the personal pronoun that refers to moi, so, I'm certain some form of devastation is right around the corner. After all it has been an amazingly good week.
1. My last Submission of Shame, i.e. bizarre submission to a royalties only project, was submitted to and accepted by Walter Hicks for the released almost a year ago anthology Deathgrip whatever. Walter subsequently amended the terms of the contracts post publication and has paid all the contributors .03 per word up to 5,000 words. This may be the first time in the History of Western Civilization that an editor/publisher has gone to writers nearly a year post publication and said, oopsey, gee. . . I'd kinda like to. . . um . . .pay you a better rate, if that's okay. I'm still reeling. And golly gee, he's already paid me via Pay Pal. I think it was my first Pay Pal precipatated orgasm.
2. I have not seen Bernie for six days.
3. 50 % of the people that I've been hoping would be audited by the IRS and have to sit on a hard chair whilethey had hemerroids and leave the audit only to be mauled by a rogue alligator have paid me what they owe me this week and therefore have gone off my must-have-anal-problems-prior-to-being-gnawed-on-by-a-reptile list
4. I bought new windshield wipers for the geriatric car this week and now can drive in the rain. Can't wait for the next series of thunderstorms.
So, everything is going ominously well. No good can come of it. I jerk whenever the phone rings. I tremble when I go toward the mailbox.
Something horrible is about to happen. |
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| the limits of flesh |
[Aug. 25th, 2004|01:34 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | bitter | ] |
| [ | music |
| | D. Parton "Do I ever Cross your mind" | ] |
when i was in the 11th grade i kicked a friend of mine who was shocked, not because i kicked him per sae, but because prior to that he'd assumed i was some form of non-human, minimally corpreal entity. would that it were so.
over the past few weeks my previously hyper level of weird bizarre more-energy-than-anyone-should-have functioning has deteriorated down to the actitivity level of the average coma patient. on a bad day. a Very Bad Day.
during the time i have not posted, i've managed:
to finally see the george jones concert that spousal unit and i initially went to on the wrong date, which was then reschueled and ultimately did occurr. his voice is still amazing. i wonder how many cans of hairspray he has used during his life. it makes me uncomfortable when he sings "same old me" to a background slide show of his current wife. george's real wife is tammy, full stop. odd thing about the concert, his fan base is as old, if not older, than the possum, so instead of demanding an encore, they (the audience) rushed and toddled off as soon as the show ended leaving obviously confused band members on stage wondering wtf.
i went to see the antichrist and had the side benefit of a hurricane, expected margaret hamilton to whiz past on a bike, didn't see her but did enjoy the wind dnace of the trashcans. spousal unit consumed incredible waterzooi at caprice, he is slowly discussing this experiance bit by bit, two days ago he discussed the scallops. spousal unit was manipulated and tricked into consuming escargot.
the life of the antichrist is desparately odd. the only way i can survive maternal angst is to repeat this mantra: he is not nearly as fucked up as you were at that age.
i have really resented purchasing and swallowing the medicine i am supposed to take. why should i take it when it does not seem to be working. oh, it may be merrily doing the polka through my ravaged immune system and protecting me from insidious nastiness encroaching on internal organs that i have been happily trashing for decades but i am still too fucking tired.
i owe some of the people i care about most several emails. i need to email them. i will do that. later.
i am making myself crazy lurking on various message boards and giving people far too much credit for complex nefarious plots when, i suspect that the truth is they are really just fucking stupid.
i am actually beginning to enjoy lurking around the astounding circle jerk of writers who tout each other's work constantly, it's the cyber equivelaant of a New Salem Pig Farmer's Cluster Fuck, and there are few things i enjoy watching more than a NSPFCF.
i am enjoying Not Caring about the Olympics that grand and glorious event that occurs every few years at the point where even the most dedicated TV addicts have watched one-to-many reruns of The Brady Bunch and are desparate for new flickering images, my most favorite part of the Not Caring comes when I leave my lair and hear people excitedly babbling about sports that they neither follow, watch, understand, nor give a flying fuck about between the Olympics, get into a frenzy of gingoistic USA MUST win or there's a plot speech. The only Olympic event i care about is the luge, and that's part of the winter games, i am hopelessly enthralled with luge-lore.
i hate, therefore i am. |
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dgkgoldberg's journal
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