I awoke to find myself in an empty car in the middle of a gravel road. It was sweltering inside the vehicle that didn't belong to me. Looking around I realized the car wasn't the only thing that didn't belong to me.
Sitting beside me was an older woman. And with absolutely no recollection of who she was, I decided that I'd done at least something sexual with the girl.
And there was an odour. Some smell that I couldn't quite place but a smell that led me to recall terrifying memories of some fog-covered plain where a battle had been. A battle unlike any that I had ever seen. Friend blindly fighting friend for a prize that could not be seen or touched. A prize that wasn't there. The prize of faith. For it was in the winner that these people would put their faith, blind once again to the ignorance of their squandor and the hopelessness of their situations.
For, if I remember correctly, I was meant to win but somehow couldn't do it. I realized that when these people declared their faith in me, I would instantly change into that which I had hated and rose up against from the start.
And, the woman sitting beside me understood this. But she didn't know it yet. Just as I didn't.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
3 days
Until:
3 days until I see the greatest band ever.
Tool. I can barely wait, and be prepared for another acid-inspired, semi-religious based post upon my return.
3 days until I see the greatest band ever.
Tool. I can barely wait, and be prepared for another acid-inspired, semi-religious based post upon my return.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
As per the Roses request.
There are some things that most people should never ignore. The need to urinate and/or fecate, a desire to eat and drink and a request from anyone with the last name Rose.
There's a reason that I don't have any posts in here, mostly because I haven't been home much. I'm literally home just enough that I may wash my nazi military uniform so that I may go to war with a clean one every day. Fortunately, however, I have been sleeping. I've found a cure for insomnia. Christie.
Since no one wants to hear me drone on and on about some woman from work that I'm currently infatuated with, I'll go through a typical day instead.
I roll out of bed at about 1pm every day. Don't be fooled, this isn't laziness that you are "witnessing", it's necessity as you are soon about to find out. All right, I roll out of bed, get up and watch "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report"which I have automatically recorded on TiVo and enjoy a cup of coffee from my french press. (which I am doing right now).
When I hear the buzzer from the washer go off, I shuffle over (I save all my strutting for work) and switch the laundry and go back to the computer or my lovely TiVo. After sitting there for a full dryer cycle, it's time to get ready for work, which takes a little bit less time every day.
I pack my Tool backpack with everything that I'm going to need for the day. A change of clothes for after work, smokes, a lighter, 200 dollars cash, my cell phone and "the cell" by Steven King, just to remind myself how easy it is for the entire world to all die at once.
Then, I simply drive to work.
Once at work I wait tables. And, who'd have thought; I'm very, very good at waiting tables. It's like my sense of humor, rediculous sales skills and animal magnetism all work to my advantage in this setting instead of against me as in other labour-based professions.
So, while rakin in on average of a hundred bucks a night in tips, one would wonder what I do with it all. Well, most wouldn't wonder, but I just said that ONE would wonder what I'd do with it all. He or she can keep wondering.
I go out.
Every night after work. For the most part, and get some hookers and blow. Just kidding. Seriously though, we usually just either sit in the moxie's lounge and have some beverages, or go to one of the other many lounges in and around Saskatoon. From there, we've been known to go to the hotel rooms where the moxie's trainers are staying and party there until the mid-range hours of the morning.
6am is my average home time, so you can see why I sleep in so late. It's because I've inverted my sleeping patterns. I love it, and Tess, you would too. I only see the sun for about an hour every day.
There's a reason that I don't have any posts in here, mostly because I haven't been home much. I'm literally home just enough that I may wash my nazi military uniform so that I may go to war with a clean one every day. Fortunately, however, I have been sleeping. I've found a cure for insomnia. Christie.
Since no one wants to hear me drone on and on about some woman from work that I'm currently infatuated with, I'll go through a typical day instead.
I roll out of bed at about 1pm every day. Don't be fooled, this isn't laziness that you are "witnessing", it's necessity as you are soon about to find out. All right, I roll out of bed, get up and watch "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report"which I have automatically recorded on TiVo and enjoy a cup of coffee from my french press. (which I am doing right now).
When I hear the buzzer from the washer go off, I shuffle over (I save all my strutting for work) and switch the laundry and go back to the computer or my lovely TiVo. After sitting there for a full dryer cycle, it's time to get ready for work, which takes a little bit less time every day.
I pack my Tool backpack with everything that I'm going to need for the day. A change of clothes for after work, smokes, a lighter, 200 dollars cash, my cell phone and "the cell" by Steven King, just to remind myself how easy it is for the entire world to all die at once.
Then, I simply drive to work.
Once at work I wait tables. And, who'd have thought; I'm very, very good at waiting tables. It's like my sense of humor, rediculous sales skills and animal magnetism all work to my advantage in this setting instead of against me as in other labour-based professions.
So, while rakin in on average of a hundred bucks a night in tips, one would wonder what I do with it all. Well, most wouldn't wonder, but I just said that ONE would wonder what I'd do with it all. He or she can keep wondering.
I go out.
Every night after work. For the most part, and get some hookers and blow. Just kidding. Seriously though, we usually just either sit in the moxie's lounge and have some beverages, or go to one of the other many lounges in and around Saskatoon. From there, we've been known to go to the hotel rooms where the moxie's trainers are staying and party there until the mid-range hours of the morning.
6am is my average home time, so you can see why I sleep in so late. It's because I've inverted my sleeping patterns. I love it, and Tess, you would too. I only see the sun for about an hour every day.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
I can't sleep
Insomnia. When you have it, you're never really asleep and you're never really awake. Everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy. Reality melds with the dream world. You hear things that weren't said. You see the world as though you are looking at it through the eyes of a pet goldfish. Nothing seems as though it could be, yet everything has more being than it seems. Thoughts jumble inside the head as though you have no control over them. Emotions? Ha, I go from feeling nothing about everything to feeling everything about nothing. It's brutal.
It's not that I have anything better to do than sleep. Lately, I've just been laying in bed staring at the cieling or at nothing at all. Appearing dead to the world. My eyes being closed helps nothing. I simply lie there. For hours. It's excruciating, so I get up, read a book, or watch a movie or some bad late night television.
I say things that I shouldn't say. With my mental filter gone, all the things that I've "learned" not to say, I say. Things that offend. Things that shock. Things that put that "you're fucked" look on people's faces. Things I mean is what I'm getting at I suppose, though I haven't decided whether or not this is necissarily a bad thing or not. I mean, what's wrong with saying what you mean? Besides the fact, of course, that we've been taught our whole lives (especially men) to not say what we mean, feel, or actually intend. Choosing for a course of speach that leaves little to offend and even less to understand.
Unfortunately, I look like shit. Though be it asthetically pleasing shit, it's shit none the less. The bags under my eyes were checked at airport security and it took me two and a half weeks to convince them that they weren't full of heroin. Also, my memory and spacial abilities leave a lot to be desired. That combined with my slightly askew sense of perception makes waiting tables extremely difficult. And, I'm ranting. At work. To tables of innocent people and co-workers alike. It's giving people the impression that I'm wierd. Which I am, but in a setting like moxie's, which is essentially every good looking person from high school in one place, you can imagine what they're reaction is. Any straying from the status quo is strictly forbidden and harshly judged and "corrected". By both my "peers" and "management staff".
I've tried everything too, soothing music, chewing on honey comb, home remedies, Tea, babbling brook sounds. Nothing helps. I refuse to resort to perscription or over the counter meds as well as alcohol because they do not correct the problem and I haven't taken any over the counter meds in about 8 months. Just because, well, I don't know how much good they can really be doing us, and I'm fit as a fiddle. C'ept this damn not sleeping business.
Looks like the old blog is going to get some lovin, which it hasen't really been lately. And, I was accepted to U of S, and start on Sept. 6th, which means that I'll have a ton of time to study, but won't be able to remember any of it the second that I close my books.
It's not that I have anything better to do than sleep. Lately, I've just been laying in bed staring at the cieling or at nothing at all. Appearing dead to the world. My eyes being closed helps nothing. I simply lie there. For hours. It's excruciating, so I get up, read a book, or watch a movie or some bad late night television.
I say things that I shouldn't say. With my mental filter gone, all the things that I've "learned" not to say, I say. Things that offend. Things that shock. Things that put that "you're fucked" look on people's faces. Things I mean is what I'm getting at I suppose, though I haven't decided whether or not this is necissarily a bad thing or not. I mean, what's wrong with saying what you mean? Besides the fact, of course, that we've been taught our whole lives (especially men) to not say what we mean, feel, or actually intend. Choosing for a course of speach that leaves little to offend and even less to understand.
Unfortunately, I look like shit. Though be it asthetically pleasing shit, it's shit none the less. The bags under my eyes were checked at airport security and it took me two and a half weeks to convince them that they weren't full of heroin. Also, my memory and spacial abilities leave a lot to be desired. That combined with my slightly askew sense of perception makes waiting tables extremely difficult. And, I'm ranting. At work. To tables of innocent people and co-workers alike. It's giving people the impression that I'm wierd. Which I am, but in a setting like moxie's, which is essentially every good looking person from high school in one place, you can imagine what they're reaction is. Any straying from the status quo is strictly forbidden and harshly judged and "corrected". By both my "peers" and "management staff".
I've tried everything too, soothing music, chewing on honey comb, home remedies, Tea, babbling brook sounds. Nothing helps. I refuse to resort to perscription or over the counter meds as well as alcohol because they do not correct the problem and I haven't taken any over the counter meds in about 8 months. Just because, well, I don't know how much good they can really be doing us, and I'm fit as a fiddle. C'ept this damn not sleeping business.
Looks like the old blog is going to get some lovin, which it hasen't really been lately. And, I was accepted to U of S, and start on Sept. 6th, which means that I'll have a ton of time to study, but won't be able to remember any of it the second that I close my books.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
The non-conformist, sarcastic, smart-ass, tool loving stoner
This is some brutal fuckin shit. 13 days of finding out how many grams of chicken there are in every Moxies resturaunt in western canada. Then you take that number, divide it by the number of Chicken tandori ricebowls there are to find out how many ounces each one contains. But, before we get to learn about the menu, we have our "uniform check" which consists of all of us lining up like cattle, then being individually "checked" or "strictly and mercilessly torn apart" by the poorly dressed, messy haired, extra-ordinarily ordinary looking, bitchy coach woman.
I don't handle this well (no matter how good I look), as they try to get me to do things like "lose the faux-hawk", and "youre lip ring might not fit into the regulations for facial piercings", and always the "did you shave today?"...Though, at every possible chance, they are telling us how much they "still want us to keep our individuality and be ourselves", to which I snicker and the response is "Just, the best possible version of yourselves".
WHAT?! Hail Hitler. There's a small group of us, I call us "the smart ones". That's all I really wanted to say. There's a very small group of people there that actually have a head on their shoulders. Sad to say. But, at the same time happy, as it is infinitly times better than being the only non-conformist, sarcastic, smart-ass, tool loving stoner in the group....And that's a pretty narrow category.
I don't handle this well (no matter how good I look), as they try to get me to do things like "lose the faux-hawk", and "youre lip ring might not fit into the regulations for facial piercings", and always the "did you shave today?"...Though, at every possible chance, they are telling us how much they "still want us to keep our individuality and be ourselves", to which I snicker and the response is "Just, the best possible version of yourselves".
WHAT?! Hail Hitler. There's a small group of us, I call us "the smart ones". That's all I really wanted to say. There's a very small group of people there that actually have a head on their shoulders. Sad to say. But, at the same time happy, as it is infinitly times better than being the only non-conformist, sarcastic, smart-ass, tool loving stoner in the group....And that's a pretty narrow category.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Self-Loathing
Well, that title may have been a bit inappropriate, but I thought that it was fun to type, and may lead more people to read this. It's not as though I care one way or another who happens to read my "Insert Blog Title Here" blog on blogger.com...Which is the best site on the internet ever, and can be found at http://www.blogger.com. The preceeding message was brought to you by blogger.com which may or may not share some or all of the opinions or views written here.
I've been depressed lately. And I don't mean, "Hey, I'm a little depressed today" I mean I'm in a state of catatonic despair that's lasted almost three days and I'm unable to find the source. Now, some of you might be saying that this is an underlying (or overstanding) psychological condition that has both a name and treatment, but I believe there still must be a trigger.
Could it be my new job? Perhaps, the fact that the Moxies corporate staff who have stated that they encourage "individualism" are fucking liars. There's like a checklist of about 10-20 traits that everyone in my fuckin training class fit into. Well, the women anyway. I think they just hire the males to do all of the heavy lifting because you couldn't classify the FIVE of us into one mold. there's two "bigger" guys, obviously hired as they would be no threat to new waitresses. One long-haired, skrangly kid, that's obviously hired as a busboy (which he knows and has stated. Cool kid), a giant that's obviously got the bartender position as he has a "flavour saver" (see below), and myself (Insert brief physical description if you would like).
Could it be the fact that I MISS MY FUCKING FRIENDS? Yes, I'm sure that might have some small part to play in it. Or some immense part. See, it's not that I think that no one misses me, for it's been stated that they do, and I see no reason for all of them (you) to lie to me. For I believe that you do, but that's now making it worse. For, I know that if I up and left Saskatoon right now. Right this very second. Only one person would notice and moreover care that I was gone. My mother. Love her to death. But, she's not exactly going to smoke a doob with me and go over "Super Troopers" quotes with me and explain to some random why it's the best movie ever made.
Could it be that I haven't done anything fun since Motion Notion (best weekend ever)? Yes, I'm sure that I'm suffering a bit of cabin fever, and I feel a small sense of fear at the idea of leaving the house. Maybe I'll become a shut in, I think that'd be fun. With the yelling of people and throwing cats and whatnot. I've vowed to go out tonight, I know that bottled fun isn't quite the same as real fun, but when combined with smoke-able fun and sex with a stranger, it's close enough and sure to ease some of this tension (not the right word, but it worked) that I've been having to deal with on my own.
Writing this out made me feel worlds better. And what kind of saying is that? Worlds better? That's stupid.
*Note: Flavour saver: Type of facial hair located between the center of the lower lip and the chin, made popular in my circle by one Lil' Dave.
I've been depressed lately. And I don't mean, "Hey, I'm a little depressed today" I mean I'm in a state of catatonic despair that's lasted almost three days and I'm unable to find the source. Now, some of you might be saying that this is an underlying (or overstanding) psychological condition that has both a name and treatment, but I believe there still must be a trigger.
Could it be my new job? Perhaps, the fact that the Moxies corporate staff who have stated that they encourage "individualism" are fucking liars. There's like a checklist of about 10-20 traits that everyone in my fuckin training class fit into. Well, the women anyway. I think they just hire the males to do all of the heavy lifting because you couldn't classify the FIVE of us into one mold. there's two "bigger" guys, obviously hired as they would be no threat to new waitresses. One long-haired, skrangly kid, that's obviously hired as a busboy (which he knows and has stated. Cool kid), a giant that's obviously got the bartender position as he has a "flavour saver" (see below), and myself (Insert brief physical description if you would like).
Could it be the fact that I MISS MY FUCKING FRIENDS? Yes, I'm sure that might have some small part to play in it. Or some immense part. See, it's not that I think that no one misses me, for it's been stated that they do, and I see no reason for all of them (you) to lie to me. For I believe that you do, but that's now making it worse. For, I know that if I up and left Saskatoon right now. Right this very second. Only one person would notice and moreover care that I was gone. My mother. Love her to death. But, she's not exactly going to smoke a doob with me and go over "Super Troopers" quotes with me and explain to some random why it's the best movie ever made.
Could it be that I haven't done anything fun since Motion Notion (best weekend ever)? Yes, I'm sure that I'm suffering a bit of cabin fever, and I feel a small sense of fear at the idea of leaving the house. Maybe I'll become a shut in, I think that'd be fun. With the yelling of people and throwing cats and whatnot. I've vowed to go out tonight, I know that bottled fun isn't quite the same as real fun, but when combined with smoke-able fun and sex with a stranger, it's close enough and sure to ease some of this tension (not the right word, but it worked) that I've been having to deal with on my own.
Writing this out made me feel worlds better. And what kind of saying is that? Worlds better? That's stupid.
*Note: Flavour saver: Type of facial hair located between the center of the lower lip and the chin, made popular in my circle by one Lil' Dave.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
My spare time
I was google-ing myself today, an activity which takes up much of my time, and came across these things, enjoy.
The BrandonBrown Doll
http://www.hasbro.com/default.cfm?page=browse&product_id=14086
My life as a lover
http://detumescence.com/e-books/brandon-brown/
A video I apparantly made
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=1946860048873187940
Something I did in Cindy Crawford's house
http://www.roomstogo.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=showItem&ipac_id=9487&fc_cid=cid810
My additions to the Urban Dictionary
http://www.urbandictionary.com/author.php?author=Brandon+Brown
My honorary Canadian Citizenship papers
http://www.jenn.com/canadian/cert.cgi?name=Brandon+Brown
Some quotes
http://en.thinkexist.com/quotes/brandon_brown/
I'mma big city lawyers
http://pview.findlaw.com/view/3231902_1?noconfirm=0
Please don't kill me
http://web.amnesty.org/library/index/engAMR510102002?open&of=eng-2am
Vote for Brandon Brown
http://herndon1.sdrdc.com/cgi-bin/com_detail/C00400325
http://www.evote.com/players_section/candidates2004/SC_Brown_15080.asp
The BrandonBrown Doll
http://www.hasbro.com/default.cfm?page=browse&product_id=14086
My life as a lover
http://detumescence.com/e-books/brandon-brown/
A video I apparantly made
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=1946860048873187940
Something I did in Cindy Crawford's house
http://www.roomstogo.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=showItem&ipac_id=9487&fc_cid=cid810
My additions to the Urban Dictionary
http://www.urbandictionary.com/author.php?author=Brandon+Brown
My honorary Canadian Citizenship papers
http://www.jenn.com/canadian/cert.cgi?name=Brandon+Brown
Some quotes
http://en.thinkexist.com/quotes/brandon_brown/
I'mma big city lawyers
http://pview.findlaw.com/view/3231902_1?noconfirm=0
Please don't kill me
http://web.amnesty.org/library/index/engAMR510102002?open&of=eng-2am
Vote for Brandon Brown
http://herndon1.sdrdc.com/cgi-bin/com_detail/C00400325
http://www.evote.com/players_section/candidates2004/SC_Brown_15080.asp
I miss...
I miss my friends, first and foremost, they're my chosen family. I love you all.
I miss being able to say what I wanted when I wanted, with the only one consequence: someone else saying what they wanted about what I'd just said.
I miss being able to walk into someone's house without knocking. Sometimes this had some interesting consequences, but I miss it none the less.
I miss knowing where people would be at certain times of certain days. At about 4:15 everyday, everyone in the cote' residence would be down in the garage. Between 11am and about 6pm on sunny days, the people could be found at Fort George, not Connaught, fuckin connaught. There are no parks here.
I miss knowing what's going on. Like, what the fuck's going on here tonight? I don't know.
I miss being able to walk wherever I wanted to go. It actually takes longer to drive some places here than to walk to most in the P dot.
I miss people that know how to fucking party.
I miss my favorite families in the world.
I miss me in PG.
I miss being able to say what I wanted when I wanted, with the only one consequence: someone else saying what they wanted about what I'd just said.
I miss being able to walk into someone's house without knocking. Sometimes this had some interesting consequences, but I miss it none the less.
I miss knowing where people would be at certain times of certain days. At about 4:15 everyday, everyone in the cote' residence would be down in the garage. Between 11am and about 6pm on sunny days, the people could be found at Fort George, not Connaught, fuckin connaught. There are no parks here.
I miss knowing what's going on. Like, what the fuck's going on here tonight? I don't know.
I miss being able to walk wherever I wanted to go. It actually takes longer to drive some places here than to walk to most in the P dot.
I miss people that know how to fucking party.
I miss my favorite families in the world.
I miss me in PG.
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