I'm apparently listening to blues on NPR right now and I know by writing this I am only avoiding writing something I am in the middle of. Regardless, this is the second recording from the tape that I hardly ever use but feel self-guilted(yes, Firefox. Add to dictionary! Don't doubt me. For some reason you're not linked to dictionary.com or something.) into transcribing, despite how useless the content may be. However, if you are reading this don't be afraid to enjoy the random human experience of another.
Click.
Classical music--lead by piano sounds that sound like Spring or a reflective period of one's time-- drapes the room in dim luminescence. In retrospect, this tape reminds me of a fresh experience in what I normally consider a small, dirty apartment. The piano rises in pitch, falls, rises, falls. I feel like I am riding some strange plastic animal at a carnival, up and down some spinning pole on a spinning wheel.
George: "... uhm, that Baptist guy. . ."
Hunter and Graham burst out laughing.
Hunter: "Jerry Falwell?"
George: "No! Um. . ."
Hunter: "Cuz he's dead. Is it going to kill you if you don't get it?"
George laughs, Yes probably.
Graham: "Billy Graham," sure of it.
George: "...was the president, man. Not after--"
Hunter: "Pat Robertson! No, he's still alive." Someone probably glares.
George: "After Nixon, but [inaudible], was not Johnson. But, uh, Carter is who I'm thinkin' of. But who was after Nixon? Was it Gerald Ford?"
Graham: "May I have a lighter?"
Hunter: "I think so."
George: ". . .but I think Carter was [inaudible]."
Graham: "Regan was, wasn't he?"
George: "Regan died," very matter of fact.
Graham: "Yeah! Regan's dead."
...a lot of shit uninteresting even to me...
George: "FOX News did an entire day of Regan."
Graham: "I bet they did!"
Kim: "Yeeeeah," her words elongated to the very end of the h.
Something about "that's when it should have been. Fuck." Unsure who says this, sounds like George or myself, Hunter.
Graham: "Old people like Ronald Regan."
George: "FOX news likes Ronald Regan."
Something about "white people."
Graham: "He was a good president, I think."
Cht cht cht cht cht cht cht. The tape makes a beat in the absence of voice for the piano to follow up and down, back and forth.
George: "Reganomics. . . what are R--"
Graham: "--yeah, they worked, didn't they?"
Hunter, almost offended: "No they didn't! They didn't work at alll!"
George: "Say no!"
Hunter: "And, and, and yeah! DARE? DARE was terrible!"
George chuckles, says: "It was like the highest drug usage rates," pause, "In American history."
Graham: "B'cuz people knew about drugs," cool and assertive.
And I guess there should be a volume III. Because I don't feel like typing anything, anymore.
With this whole surge business going on, I thought I would take a moment to relay some fears on the future of war. This won't take long. Neither will the onset of the future(s) I detail below.
Future of the Alienated Tech A: In the future, our tech will be so advanced, so distant and remotely automated, we will have forgotten it completely. We will look up and witness what we believe to be aliens from another planet. However, this technology will be our own, developed by people we never met. People who are long dead. The keepers of this technology, all deceased. And yet, those satellites, those watchers of you and I, they'll be there. They'll loom until the gradual slip of their orbit sends them plummeting, fiery hot, right into the ocean. Or onto and through your house.
Future of the Alienated Tech B: " . . . those watchers of you and I, they'll be there." They'll loom silently in the mute of space until you do something wrong. Insult the government or something stupid. Those watchers, way up, they'll send a signal to your brain. You'll die.
Future of the Soldier-less Battlefield A: In the future, automated drones will battle automated drones. This will, in my mind, eliminate the need for human soldiers. Time will pass and we will forget we ever needed violence in our lives. When confronted with violence, we will cower at the thought of actual wounds. We will finally weep at the thought of permanent, human death.
Future of the Soldier-less Battlefield B: In the future, automated drones will battle automated drones. This will, in my mind, eliminate the need for human soldiers, making war a silly pastime. Time will pass and our civilization will seek other avenues through which to release aggression. Art, sex, domestic abuse. Who can say.
Just some thoughts.
don't fall in line, or you'll fall out of character
If you weren't awake at three this morning, which you weren't, you missed out. My clothes, drenched from traveling a mere 5 blocks and having a bicycle accident, didn't even bother me. The wind was cool. The sky was open, with a few stragglers rushing by, low, to catch up to the massing chalk fortress in the North(?). The streets were empty, dimly lit stages. The eerie piercing of light through branch, and to be honest a surprising amount of leaves on Roseneath, distracted me-- Where am I? The city seemed so alien.
Graham said, "I love when there are no cars on the road."
I love when there are no people to drive cars on the road, I thought.
I wondered if the apocalypse would be this peaceful. We almost crashed again as my neck was then craned all the way back, the way only arcing your back a little can allow. I couldn't tell if more stars were visible. I just kept looking up.
I finally got in bed around five. It was still beautiful outside, and I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to breathe the air outside of the dust and ash of my apartment. Instead, I lied down, coughing and sputtering. I turned on the radio and they were interviewing McChrystal, I think, and they asked him his biggest fear. He hesitated. A four-star general hesitated on the radio, said, Atomic weapons without concern for extinction. Said, "States are easier to contro-- to reason with. Factions outside of the state--insurgents. They just don't care."
This probably won't interest you, as it is a recording of random instances of my life with a lot of dialogue. I feel like I want to use the space on the tape, and I would feel terrible erasing the history of these instances, regardless of value.
Volume II will be done tomorrow night. It makes sense to separate them, right? I mean, II will be much longer and much more taxing to transcribe. A lot more back and forth, a lot more content.
Enjoy or don't.
Click.
Hunter, in a staggered monotone, "Don't do it, Hurley. The [inaudible]/[garlic?] mayo is like." Pause. "Doin' things. Ferm-fermin'. Ferm. Fermigating. Fumigating. Furmiatin'." Ferm-ee-eight-en.
The Television character has just smelled a decaying corpse, but I try to reassure him that it's because of his diet(See: Terminally Unhealthy) that he smells death.
TV(concerned voice): "Dude. There's a body bag back here."
Hunter(over the Television, eliminating its next line-- a question): "BOOOODYBAG!" BAAHDEEBAAG!
TV(demeaning): "That's traditionally what you put in a body bag."
"Yeah, well who is he? What happened?"
"Don't worry about it, and don't tell anyone you saw him."
"Dude, what happened to him?"
Hunter(over TV): "[inaudible] because some bitch with a gun."
TV: "...digging a ditch, thinking about some girl named Andrea."
Hunter: "Ohhh, where are my, whe--, where those ignition sticks I got?"
TV: ". . .from his tooth being yanked right out of its socket."
Hunter: "There they are."
TV: ". . . then he was dead."
Hunter(into the mic): "I wish I could talk to the dead. Y'know what I'd say?" Pause. "I'd say, 'Heeeey, Dead Guy! "
Hunter(arms length from the mic): Heey! Is this good? Am I, is that, is that. Ah, oh, oh!"
Graham(inches from the mic and yelling): "Shuddup, I'm trying to watch--"
Hunter: "AHHHH!"
TV(questioning, but with little belief it an answer will be anything but snide or jokingly slung): "You can talk to dead people?"
Hunter(whispering into the mic): "Graham's obsessed. With LOST."
TV: "Can we please just go?"
Graham(irritated): "Turn off the tape recorder."
Hunter: "Why, you got somethin' confidential to say to me?" I get a huge grin on my face, probably, one that makes words longer and harder to enunciate. Like I'm on the verge of bursting into laughter. "You want somethin' off the record, dude." Dude squeaks out as I strain to contain myself.
Graham: "Off the record."
Hunter: "You want something off the record, dude, cuz I got some off the record shit. We can turn this thing off at any time. Let's turn it off."
Click.
A warped whir of noise or voice stains the tape here, then,
Click.
Hunter: "Ashuh, ashi, ashu. Fuck. Ashident. Ashident! Ah-hah! I had an ashident! Because ash fell on me." On accident.
Click.
I get about as far as "One Mississi" before the flashing cursor reappears. And that's all I've. I think it is time to go back to something I have already written. Something unfinished. Looking forward to continuing a story I long abandoned-- Thank You, Robot. A tentative title for a story hardly about robots, but rather dealing in fathers, snow, and the restaurant business.
Look forward to it, as it is a sort of addition to Sink at Sunset, my favorite and probably best piece.
Edit: Perhaps, in fact, this will be a four part series. Sink being in Summer, a skipped(for now) Fall piece, Winter(which I am writing), and Spring.
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing over night.
Eli G.
I had a really strange and far- reaching dream last night. In one of the scenes of this cheese and dip party, which was in a series of snow-covered trailers, you and your dad put on an opera act. And you sang really well, but your dad stole the act by belting out the most amazing notes ever. Everyone was really impressed and you stood there nodding.
Sorry this has nothing to do with your status.
Erin M.
You approached me in the main trailer, which was actually a large estate with a gorgeous mahogany interior. You handed me a magazine which had a cover shot of you, from below your bust line to your face. The name of the magazine: Seduction. I congratulated you on your new career and told you I would catch up to you after I got rid of a disc of porn. I headed outside after tossing the disc into a trashbin and caught up to the crowd standing in the snow. We were about to here opera.
Laura M.
We sat in pews, many rows apart. I leaned to a friend or my mother(I cannot recall) and asked if she has read The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. At this you turn and look with vacant eyes. I get up and leave. Later, outside the opera bound trailer, I am putting down a video game console controller of some sort as I see you riding a hideously painted bicycle through a snowy parking lot. You hardly looked back but once. In that moment I felt the finality of the dream approaching, like a vast black cone closing around me.
Restructured to make a little more sense. Still haven't gone chronological, though. Everything that has been added in this iteration of the compendium has (new) next to it. Six (new)'s under non-fiction and five (new)'s under other. So, eleven entries worth putting on the revised compendium. The last time I did one of these was about this time last year. Not a good sign.
Non-fiction Stories(with no organization whatsoever):
(new)You're Creepy, Hunter - A girl tells me I am creepy. I get even.
(new)Phoenix - I don't think I am supposed to write about something that is supposed to be anonymous. Oh well.
(new)Strange Format - Saturday Show - Seriously the strangest format or lack thereof I have ever used. Almost like a poem. I've bad luck and things get out of hand.
(new)Graham's 21st Birthday - "No, dude, we're walking home. It's like two blocks."
(new)Dead Cicada - A woman is assaulted while holding her child. I intercede.
(new)A Warning - First Friday's in Richmond!
Salvia Gets Too Real - Fourth and worst trip on Salvia.
The Most Puke I Have Ever Seen - Imagine this next scene. Try to visualize it with me. My eyes open to the ceiling, my body shocked out of deep REM sleep. My legs and waist are moist. . .
Drunk People - An interesting twist-- I'm not drunk in this story. For once in my life.
Black and Mild
- I'll miss drinking with friends on top of the roof at my old
apartment. I will miss that Mediterranean market, with its natural
soaps and cheap spices. I will miss all those families who called the
cops on me when I played music too loud on Monday nights. Ahh
Hunter Takes it to the Limit, Throws Up Everywhere - In The Top Five Drunkest Nights
Pissing in Pools I & II - My double standard on people who pee in pools.
A Retelling of the First Time I SmokedA Trip To Walmart - Seriously one of the best destinations while high. Interesting, entertaining, sometimes a little creepy.
To Move My Body - When reality sinks in, when you think you've got nothing, you become psychic, telepathic, and shameless. This story has procession of Segways!
The Things I Remember - I somehow wake up at 2PM in my dorm, still drunk from the night before. A rough bus ride does me in.
Hunter Blacks Out, Goes To Patient First, Blames Free Beer - Pretty self explanatory.
A Tucker Emulation, It Seems - The very first story I wrote.
Handcuffed, Robbed, and 6 O'clock Rush - Pretty self-explanatory. Breakfast club.
Hunter Gets High, Driving Barely Ensues - I get high, and drive. Sort of.
Lebanese: A "Nice Guy" Failure - Nine Guys, One Girl. I get the girl and ride off into the sunset(upstairs), but turn out to be a "nice guy."
JMU, PART I
- The first and, since, only time I have been breathalyzed. There is
no part II. Part II would be better though, as it includes doing
mushrooms, a starving French guy, five plus parties, nearly getting run
over, really drunk chicks with australian accents, and BLOODHOUNDS.
But this story has none of that.
THE WEEKEND - A three day bender, with a decadent interlude of cheating debauchery. All set to the soundtrack of the very trite Garden State.
Perfect Night Ruined by Marriot, Morning -- This story is far too long to hold your attention. Do not read it.
Short(or long) Stories(Fiction):
Saint Dympna - My favorite.
The Sink at Sunset - Guy has mobile home of a heart. This is life at 20.
Shells - My drug induced interpretation of the scramble suits in A Scanner Darkly caused this short. Later turned into a short fiction piece (for a class) called Mise en Place or The Writer.
Nine-Tenths is Nothing - Our children are here to replace us. One man attempts to slow this process by proving he is better than them and protecting his wife from kid perverts.
The Last Boat to the Disappearing - A seven vignette fiction piece about flaming zombies. As much as I wish I had written them gay, they are actually on fire.Story Starter Exercise - A brief story about a friend who got kicked up and did a lot of drugs while living in the woods.
Other:
(new)At The Edge of The Neighborhood - Vivid zombie dream.
(new)Shut Down or Reset - Up late? Two options. Special bonus feature: scene from this year's Best Friends Day @ Hadad's
(new)A Haiku - About a day I spent at the river getting drunk with someone I didn't know. She was taken and I fell and cut myself on a rock. Then there is a sexual allegory at the end. There, I ruined it.
(new)My First Near-Ticket on a Bicycle(new)Autumn - The Greatest and Best Time of Year
Can Blood Cells Have Car Accidents? - Thoughts after the fire.
Janus - Girl cheats on me. Girl dies in short story Sink at Sunset.
Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part I -- I test my voice recorder during a toking session. Heavy on the dialogue.
Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part II -- The better half of the overall recording experience. A lot of in depth high conversation.
Friend's Mom Finds Out About Hunter's Livejournal, Missiles Fly - Probably one of the more significant events in the history of my online writing.
Under a Hot Chicago Sun - I didn't even know my neighbors name.
H-D-P-E Does Not Spell "Hope" - Recycling is hopeful. I am not.
It Is Only Hubris If I Fail - Childhood with a heavy dose of failure, sprinkled with Sloane Crosley.
Sick Dream D.A.N.C.E. - Dreams are fun. Dreams about partying and religious fanatics that all have the same face... strange. Sick dreams are most disturbing.
Rape, Tacos, and Love - I get raped, noticed for my writing at a party, have sex for the first time high, eat really good tacos, and listen in on a nasty girl shit.Tainted Elephant Oil Prices Dowsed in Sickly-Sweat-Stained Dreams - More sick dreams, musings on family life and relationships.
Metal Shows - Are awesome. Especially when you know the band. Even if it's at a lame venue.
Derelict Father, Are We the Cause of Our Suffering?
Shit's Run Its Course - I inherit a bike from a metal head who stole it from a crack head.
The Bear, The Bee, The Rhino - I connect with mother nature, understand things I never thought possible.
Night Luck - I have only gotten in trouble with the law when sober. Sobriety really takes the spine out of me.
Condom Debacle - A young Hunter hides a partially used condom in duct-tape.
Jesus Freaks - I lament about my hatred for street-preachers. This is a Facebook classic.Bloody Knuckles - It wasn't a game that gave me these.
Diphenhydramine - The first time I ever tripped on a deliriant.
Bulgarians are Hardcore - Intoxicated 5 times the lethal limit, this Bulgarian gets hit by a car and sent to the hospital for minor head trauma.
Sunchips? - Do you know why they call them sunchips?
LIRICKES - The funniest rap "lirickes" you'll read all week.
The Binary Universe and How Choice Works - With diagrams and shit.
Poems - A little too sing-songy.
Soundscape - High times.
The Nature of Souls and Soulmates - Got a decent response for this one.
Scanner Darkly and the Universe as a Vague Set of Prepositions
Demon Play, Demon Out - Your shoes are not an extension of anything that matters to your person.
Clocked Out - A New Year - 2007. Some things get better, other things are mentioned less.
New - I miss writing.
-"You're fat." (To my sister, throughout our childhood.)
-Punching my dad repeatedly in the head over some pokemon cards.
-Slapping Caleb in the face so hard it left a mark for a week. When I was 5?
-Calling Caleb the King of the Gays when I was too young to know what gay meant, but old enough to know how to fit in.
-Lying to you, because I probably have.
-Avoiding you, because I probably have.
-"Your tattoo is cliche"(To a former girlfriend)
That's all I have right now. To be continued. . .
I have three instances of invasive behavior that I observed today.
1. A girl I hardly know prying into my life. And thank god she got me out of this apartment. Being open with another person never felt so refreshing.
2. Two girls who invade our get together over at Noah's. Yes, our conversation before their arrival was divided, but it wasn't solely about voter registration. They claimed not to profit, fiscally, from signing people up. But Graham was skeptical. So was I. They were loud, drew their words with a slowed down slinging motion- like they were fertilizing our minds with their very own product. Fucking preaching to us. It's not like their was any dispute over the subject, not really anyway. So they sat down and they drank their PBR and used the house gravity. They must have been there, talking at us in groaning irritation, for about an hour or so.
One of them looks like someone I know. You know those clones you see that look just like someone else. Their hair-style/color, down to their frames. Their facial structure has something slight about it, something different, but every time you look at them, you see or want to see another person. And then they go and open their mouth and it's an epic let down. I experienced that.
3. A family that is never invasive, even when necessary. I take that back. Early this morning(9/25/09) my mother and sister dragged me out of my apartment, when leaving was the last thing I wanted to do.
So last night I was masturbating when I was interrupted several times by what sounded like someone rustling papers behind me. Instead, I discovered a mutant-sized city roach. It must suffer, I thought. I captured it and watched it scuttle about the inside of a plastic box, thought about getting the raid, but eventually let it outside. I went back to masturbating and thought I earned good karma. So this morning, NPR comes on and I'm drifting in an out until something tingles on my shoulder and I touch it with my hand. A giant cockroach falls next to my face. Best alarm clock. For the whole building. But my shoulder feels strange. I think it layed eggs in me.
