Would You Still Think I Was Cute if I Had Butt Dimples?

I just learned the other day that bartenders can drink on the job.

Today, I was thinking being a stow-away in someone's truck bed would be a fun adventure but then got really disheartened when I realized what if I only ended up a few blocks over.

I can't stop farting. It's not even funny anymore.

The other day I planned to jump off the bus and yell surprise to someone in line near where I planned to exit. No one was standing there but I yelled surprised anyway and surprised myself. High five to me.

I'm not accomplishing much. I can only offer snapshots.

Right now I am dressed like a bro. It feels comfortable. I want to play basketball.

Everyone's house is very different in very special ways. I like the arrangements.

I just farted again, I'm done with this.

Every Island Will Sink Sometime

Perhaps this is in bad taste and by no means do I mean disrespect to the situation in Haiti or the relief efforts. My bone to pick is with the band wagon that is feverishly being hopped upon. Natural Disasters happen but it should not take a natural disaster to decide we need to be helpful, to decide we need to fork over money, to join every fucking facebook group you can find.

Granted, I have a lot of wonderful friends who are really trying to generate some sort of relief but I sadly cannot feel okay with this fair-weather, wishy-washy, kind of help. Also, admittedly I am sitting here and not being productive but rather bitter. I have not neccesarily done things in my recent past but have in my distant (high school) past to help aid global issues but in a time where there is still genocide in Darfur, still political and religious persecution in Tibet, Burma, Palestine, Israel, Afghanistan, Iraq and other reaches of the world, I do not feel so inclined to go bat-shit crazy about another tragic situation.

I am not trying to tell you, 'Stop, your efforts' but I am saying to you and myself we need to consider how we can be better humanitarians before disaster strikes. We (and myself) need to practice the art of being awake and not just waking up. Honestly, was Haiti on your radar before this happened? It was not on mine (which, is not to imply that it was not on someone else's). There are great people out there who do great things but this call to arms seems like a cheap way to justify that we are good people all of a sudden.

There Is So Much Breath In My Mouth, My Ears Are Breathing

It's hard for me to post these because I want them to be so good, as if this is real writing, as if any of it really counts for something and you will publish me on a whim. My narcissism is exploding. So is yours, I'm certain. Your events aren't your events but you make them so. Make everything personal, ours, outward extention of your internal struggle to be god. Hubris.

There is a path I have made like a hampster tunnel that goes from my room, down the stairs to the right through the living room, (the room that anyone at one particular time actually "lives" in) and cuts straight into the office where the computer is so I can pawn off a few hours on whatever social-networking site of the day it may be and hope to establish some sort of conversation that results in hanging out and cutting down trees or snow castles or damning creeks and streets but then that never happens because none of us are so inspired anymore and I have more fun thinking about it than doing it. Coming home is pathetic. This a product and a full-fledged deluge of my patheticism(?). This is clearly what I do when I'm home. I read some, watch TV plenty, internet plenty, check the mail almost daily even though I don't technically live here anymore and know that few people would be so inclined to mail me, sleep until there is no sun left in the day and I have to open the refrigerator on multiple occassions to simulate light and entertain the idea that I might eat something healthy and just settle on cheese and maybe a soda. I do other things that most would do in this situation that can't be said on the internet for the sake of future employment which has been way too much on my mind:

Root Beer Brewery
Architecht
Chef
Food Tester
Food Critic
Food Analyst
Movie Score Writer (really just making mixes and sountracks because I can't write music, intelligently or knowledgeably, at least).
Editor of a Magazine (of the literary persuasion)
Write Reviews
Teach (this should probably be higher on the list, my slacker values are evident)

Anyways, it occurrs to me that this is so self-indulgent and I really only feel 10% guilty about that because if I don't put this somewhere (granted a journal would be a more suitable idea because it is less prone to voyeurism and self-grandeur) then I will either a)explode in like The Challenger kind of way or b)become schizophrenic which, has been a legitimate fear of mine lately.

I should be looking at graduate school, I should be scaffolding my answer to what I will do with my English degree, I should find ways to make money, pyramid schemes (that just sounded appropriate. I have a very limited understanding of them, truly), I should snow-shoe a little more, write something of actual worth versus diatribe, and so on.

If you made it this far thanks for indulging me while I over-indulged you and I hope you don't have to eat for a few days and hope that you still want to be friends. I love you. Who the fuck is this "you" anyways. To be continued...

Nowadays everyone's gettin' so famous

Miley Cyrus may be a total airhead but shit...it feels as though my friends are getting famous or at least the recognition they deserve. My friend was interviewed on Spike Jonze's blog for his photography, my ex-girlfriend's band was on daytrotter, (some of my poems are being published and yes this is a shameless plug), it is only a matter of time before my other friends get their due time. Keep it up!

Running My Face Over With a Vacuum Cleaner

Fucking idiot. Really tired of being a fucking idiot captain shithead jerk. I think I need a shirt that says this, or a panel inside my arm that you can open up for information on why I will destroy you and myself and resent, resent, resent forever. Someone told me I spoke like my mother yesterday, I was a little put-off by this for reasons I will not disclose. Being home is always weird, every time weirder, never better, never more intriguing than the last, never a boost up, just plain fucking strange. By now, I suppose I should plan on this. I should plan on anything I am happy about to disappoint, right? I should plan on never hearing you through the wire, I should plan on never seeing them, I should plan on never more than 5 minutes of happiness a day. Maybe that is all people need but that sure as shit does not satisfy right now.

Never in my life have I been more claustrophobic at a family gathering and wanted nothing more than to hide in the car under my jacket and breathe real loud and maybe call someone to hold my ears instead of my hands, than today. I did call but y'know that whole disappoint thing. I'm just disappointing myself. I'm not writing/have not been writing since I finally got something published which is really dumb. So stupid. I won't be published again for another threee years probably. I'm not sure why these posts either digress or regress into some child-like state where my words become limited to dumb, stupid, and crappy. What an asshole.

Dave Eggers is great! I should write him a letter and mail him a high five!

Namely Names

However strange it may be that the internet is a tool to help solicit for projects, I plan to do so. I need to come up with a final creative project that relates to a poem that has resonated with me over the course of the semester.

The poem I have selected is called "Saying Your Names" by Richard Siken from his book, Crush. The poem is nearly three pages of variations on a name, how we name things, what we name, the people we name and so on, completely exploding the idea of "what's in a name?"

Here is where you come in, I am asking for you to leave here names you have for me as though my name were not Zachary Raum Green. They can be perverse, honest, serious, insincere, adjectives, nicknames, a name you could see me going by, or whatever strikes you from this prompt. Please do not feel restricted.

After I receive your responses I plan to assemble a poem including these names.

The only critical acclaim I have is from myself. That is pretty neat.