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Logbook ( page 4 )
A weblog or journal. updated weekly by owen. New entry
Three Little Birds
by owen on Sat, 17th Nov 2007 at 9:36 pm
I know I'm not perfect but if your heart is weak I can't be the one to save you. My mother will ask me when I'm going to give her some grand children to spoil. But I'm no angel and it doesn't mean that I don't care. To know me is to love me. However I tend to avoid things that I might regret and let people die by their choosing because I can't save everybody, no matter how hard I try to save a life. I was talking to her the other night. Her life had a sudden change. While shes mine to leave or take. I imagine that the worst had happened - now I only fear is that I might impregnate a woman that annoys the hell out of me (but eventually, accidentally). I would say that I haven't found anyone thats right for the job. The how I can't recall, for those that I made the mistake of allowing in contact with my mother often led to her nagging me about the stages. Don't worry about a thing, because every little thing is going to be alright.
I've been lucky, its hard, but I'm banking on good faith and condoms, eventually where you are and where I am and where she is will be the same place. I could care less how big her butt is or how nappy her hair looks in the morning, we are all the same. When you are between unsure and a hundred there is only one place to go and that is up. No regrets, everything happens for a reason. I would have been well on my way if it had not been for the fact that getting a woman pregnant changes the dynamic of the sex all together, and she better be damned sure shes ready. Plus pregnancy just doesn't fit certain women. Some women need to be free for as long as possible. And most times I am not the man for the job. Her eggs may eat my seed. Cry not for me my willow tree.
Its not that I wouldn't love her, its simple a matter of what to pick up the supermarket. How easy it is to make her happy, satisfy her soul, what she will try to kill me with when she gets angry, warm her heart because such things are important - just as important as a pre-nup or the size of her breasts. Come to decisions quickly, change slowly. I would rather cross all the bridges necessary than jump into the water and hope for the best. Patience is a virture. Sometimes you know for sure and other times you play the game while your young and your dreams are clear and bright. I don't want to grow old, wake up the next morning, put all my cards down on the table and find that the crazy little life that we brought into this world is going to look at us and wonder - wtf.
Mad Bull commented: There is such a thing as being too choosy and having too many standards. Life is about compromise. Make a few and many candidates will appear who will fit the bill. Do it before you get too old to shag, of else, you'll regret it forever. ... read 9 more
Man On The Moon
by owen on Mon, 05th Nov 2007 at 6:24 am
Its dark outside and what I don't know haunts me ever so constantly. The work is too important and I'm no longer young. The air is cold and there is a buzzing sound coming from the vents in the low ceiling above my head, thats driving me crazy. Harvey Danger plays in my head phones as I facade my facades. Thirty minutes to go and somebody here knows what I want to know but is afraid to tell me or just doesn't know that cup a tea. I wonder why. I don't wanna get up yet, the answer is somewhere here, abstracted.
At some point I can only hope that somebody wakes up and runs a kill on something so that I can be entertained, save a life or be inspired to crash. The menu for today is pork ham choy, beef soup, fried chicken, sweet & sour chicken, fish. The man-ager calls me to the side and askes me if everything is ok, (as if I just came back from rehab). For happiness writes white. I thought. As long as I don't have to interact with anybody on a meaningful level I'll be fine. Espouse. I just want to sleep. Every so often the power goes out and I wish it didn't comeback for an hour. Warm my hards on the monitor.
I often never talk about the lives I've lived or the ways in which I can warm your soul. To know me is to love me. Because when you live by the day, pay by the hour, and sleep on the weekends, you tend to lay in the bed that you made, die by what you live by. Whatever makes you feel alright, whatever people may think, the tall grass. This is how we roll. There is no goal, no devious underlying routine or kernel, hand or mission. Everyday is like a first day and as long as the sun still rises and everything is new, now, today will always be the best day ever i.e. until tomorrow.
Gods Child commented: fish? It doesn't follow from what else is on the menu.
mmm chinese food ... read 11 more
Porcelain
by owen on Mon, 15th Oct 2007 at 2:04 am
There comes a point every so often when I end up at a point of "culture shock". Where the patterns stop occuring as I expected. The noodles in my chow mein don't taste quiet as well. The same parties, the quietly increasing cost of the sunday gleaner, the rain, babies coming out of vaginas, secret weddings. I am not easily surprised but every now and then a new pattern begins to form, a simple enigma. Some are clear while others exist only to confuse me - change my cheque point. On such a rare occasion I will ask a question and get a weird look. Hell is other people.
I solve problems. Troubles. Tribulations. Nothing is ever quite what it seems unless you are apart of it. I have this analogy which I often use to explain a certain theory of relativity. I don't remember where I got it from(I seem to be quoting alot of literature lately - My Coy Mistress). The truth is like the sun, its benefit is totally dependant on how close you are to it. Too close and you'll get burn up in the bueaty of its firey desire. Too far and you won't feel the warmth of its glow and go mad. Not only won't you feel its effect but you'll spin off into the depths of outer space.
At the points where new patterns arise I often end up with a muse. Someone who connects with me on a level that nobody else can. Together we will create bueatiful things. A cookie in the Jar. God's child. A little monkey. Eventually we will loose communictions with our muses, life is bitch depending on how you dress her. And life doesn’t let us forget the best muses we’ve had. And our better muses tend to keep annoying us until we die.
gods child commented: is that a shout out?
I am confused.
... read 13 more
Not About Love
by owen on Wed, 10th Oct 2007 at 8:47 pm
It has been raining a lot for some odd reason which I cannot understand or out think. It makes no sense at all. Let the love back in, give us the sunshine instead of the rain. All that I want is to be happy again. I broke office style code and started wearing sneakers to work, why does it have to be so hard, linger, remain present although waning and gradually dying. I am never ready for what you do.
"Leave pretty women to men without imagination". I have no idea who said that - look it up. And I would rather not be lured into commenting on relationships even when talking to myself. I get myself in trouble. I always say the wrong things like an insensitive bastard from a far away place with wide never ending fields of grass and stone walls on the edge of the ocean. Any comment I make is usually misinterpreted, one false move, its hard to breathe, words fail me, can't trust my hands for the work is too important.
I have not written in a while and without a suitable muse, writing about anything is useless sans something beautiful. Before long I'll start writing about writing. Or I'll just not write anything at all but there is always a ton of beauty in the world that appeals to all my senses. Had I the time to stop, look, smell and kill it. It is like when you feel something for a split second and it changes you somehow that you have to go back again and feed the hunger.
Gods Child commented: sneakers to work?!
were they stylish this-is-not-a-sneaker sneakers? You know the kind--they sort of look like a soccer shoe for punks. ... read 12 more
Perfectly Perfect
by owen on Tue, 18th Sep 2007 at 12:19 pm
Paradise? Most people have no Idea what programmers are like, and why they do what they do and not just get a regular job like a fireman or get pregnant. Its because we can't and I'm not even going to try and explain it because it just gets me weird looks in the "fresh fruit" lane of the supermarket. Blindfold me because what you don't know can't really hurt you. There is a thousand yous but only one of me.
Enjoying? I once upon a time subscribed to the whole: "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" theory but I've been hearing that phrase quite a lot as of late. Its become sickening. That and "Enjoy you stay". Definately a change from the cliff I was jumping off before, now I'm just climbing up can't tell you how it looks yet. Alot more structured and pragmatic like, say a prison camp except they don't kill people - with guns - but with air conditioning, subsidized lunch and bonds.
Its not so bad so far, made it a couple lunchs, read through 2 policy manuals and am planning a prision break as soon as I find an exit through the maze of cubicles. To my surprise we can go casual on fridays - yay. I'll probably still wear the long sleave and tie because I'm getting quite comfortable in them right now, keeps my arms cool and people have stopped giving me "looks" and refering to me as "paster". I'm optimistic, play secretary and the boss tonight, I no longer feel like I am going to a wedding everyday. Harder, faster, stronger.
Gods Child commented: strawberries? What happened to the strawberries--in the fresh fruit aisle. ... read 6 more
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