tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58344012011-04-21T16:13:24.993-02:30An online etch-a-sketch for my technicolor world (or is that the other way around?)Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comBlogger861100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-62103152413871321362009-01-08T19:15:00.001-03:302009-01-08T19:25:01.036-03:30

This is a test, not copyright infringement.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1149113658391386512006-05-31T19:43:00.000-02:302006-05-31T19:44:18.403-02:30

I hear Edmonton's got a hocky team now.I wonder if anyone will like them.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1129839631402170542005-10-20T17:42:00.000-02:302005-10-20T17:50:31.406-02:30

"Poetry is the art of economy of words," she says.I used to say that.Nearly verbatim.And an artful economy it was...until the crash.Now my poetic musings consist mostly of lines akin to:"Well that's just fucking perfect""You've got to be fucking kidding me"and"Mother fuck!"Sonnets of the Portuguese, my friends.Sonnets of the Portu-fucking-guese.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1129572205558592312005-10-17T15:28:00.000-02:302005-10-17T15:42:05.386-02:30

Just slightly out of phase.I can almost touch, almost hear, almost interact...just not quite.It's like every atom in my body, every synapse in my brain is propelling me toward something that's not there. The compass points north, south, east, and west and I'm supposed to head yellow.I think I'm supposed to be here, but here is not supposed to have me.I've had this feeling before. When I was

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1129523197891843492005-10-17T01:49:00.000-02:302005-10-17T01:56:37.896-02:30

Parallel plans:identical in form and flowsame cast of miscreantssame tragic hero.Two violently opposing intentions.I think I managed to foil them both.But I can't seem to shake the feeling that door #3 is a broom closet.(call me if you need some sweeping)

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1120638917534010582005-07-06T06:03:00.000-02:302005-07-06T06:07:33.170-02:30

you fickle notes againyou've robbed me of my sleepdragged me from my bed to watch the colors in the sky.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1119636221439008412005-06-24T15:29:00.000-02:302005-06-24T15:33:41.443-02:30

(on me AND my blog)

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1103071402856876652004-12-14T20:55:00.000-03:302004-12-14T21:13:22.856-03:30

That's just fucking bullshit. I quit. Everything.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1103069701788911282004-12-14T20:43:00.000-03:302004-12-14T20:45:01.786-03:30

is this the shape of promised glory?

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1093823232098761662004-08-29T21:10:00.000-02:302004-08-29T21:17:12.100-02:30

2 "I heard screamin' and bullwhips crackin'." She wasn't kidding when she told him it was a little sketchy in that part of town. Being witness to four separate drug deals on the same block and within the same minute was a new experience for our madman. One might argue, though, that there could have been no more appropriate halftime show for the day's activities--a forty-block odyssey through

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1093740222911733592004-08-28T22:09:00.000-02:302004-08-29T21:09:50.633-02:30

1 "I saw a horse. There was a man on fire. And I killed someone with a trident." Amidst a sea of bad coffee, afloat of a raft of good pizza, illuminated by the twinkling light of Korean lettering of indeterminable quality I'm getting sleepy (and absurdly symbolic). All I can think about is that, now that I've seen the sun rise from the Atlantic and set into the Pacific, I can't wait to see it

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1093593210320214862004-08-27T05:18:00.000-02:302004-08-27T05:23:30.320-02:30

...yeah, it was pretty dark but I sure as hell didn't expect to find that toe there. (not to mention all the rest) Should have opened that second one. Ah, well. Live and learn, as they say. Live and learn.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1093259795514012562004-08-23T07:56:00.000-02:302004-08-24T02:00:48.096-02:30

--take me from this place of doorless keys where frozen ground is Comfort's chosen face. Save me from this time of timeless grace when patience falls as limp as apathy. Can one be maddened by one's own silence? In this newest depth of acute desperation I'm afraid I've betrayed my own soul--speaking words for wordsake, making plans actionsake, moving every single muscle to fend off atrophy from

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1090872061258231852004-07-26T17:08:00.000-02:302004-07-26T17:31:01.256-02:30

...so there are to be no more promises. Even I have tired of how hollow they are always shown. Today there is naught but intention veiled. Tomorrow I spend what intention affords. Yesterday I intend to forget. I suggest you do the same.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1088056570046330992004-06-24T03:25:00.000-02:302004-06-24T03:26:10.046-02:30

A decade ago I never though I would be 23 on the verge of spontaneous combustion woe is me.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1086308206863534252004-06-03T21:27:00.000-02:302004-06-03T21:46:46.863-02:30

Lo! Who is that, striding amidst the icy wasteland! It is Nicholas Perreault, hands clutching gilded boxing gloves! He roars gutterally: "I'm going to hump you until you bleed puke!!" Stalking through the icy wasteland, carrying a jeweled meat hammer, cometh Tanya Corbin! And she gives a bloodthirsty grunt: "I'm going to brutalize you until the sun burns out, then steal your lederhosen!" Zang

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1083283333151688482004-04-29T21:32:00.000-02:302004-04-29T21:36:30.936-02:30

Once upon a time I was a creative muse. Then came a time when I needed a creative muse and one could not be found. Great was the sadness and ass-poor was the music. Sad were the creations and abundant was the ass-poorness If anyone sees God over the weekend, let Him know His "sewing and reaping" principal is malfunctioning. (Nick, maybe if we approach Him together...) Thanks.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1078379520407163322004-03-04T02:22:00.000-03:302004-03-04T02:24:59.576-03:30

Ya know... This new nation of mine really hasn't worked out for blog regularity. Mayhaps I need a week or two back in the motherland. Nashville: The land where my blog died and my bluegrass career was born.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1076020342874072352004-02-05T19:02:00.000-03:302004-02-05T19:04:44.700-03:30

Always the same dissonant clash when time wasted turns to time intended. What makes me think I can condense thoughts before I sift them and filter? What makes me think I have the right to order them before release? Always the same murky mesh of muddled melodies and disjointed diction. --kept my rhythm in perfect time walked in purposeful stride lost my footing down riverside will you

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1075854546401091652004-02-03T20:59:00.000-03:302004-02-03T21:01:25.763-03:30

...and thus begins my intensive campaign to have "y'all" replaced with "b'ys" as the preferred term for southerners addressing groups of two or more people, animals, beer, etc. Wish me luck. " This is my beautiful new wife, Lila-Ann. The moment Momma brought her home from the hospital I knew we were destined to be wed. So here we are, thirteen years later, just as happy as kinfolk should be on

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1075750029034799202004-02-02T15:57:00.000-03:302004-02-02T15:59:26.746-03:30

Last night my dreams were set in Ohio---as though that was my ultimate destination. I woke up in a panic as though I was not ready to be there yet. I'd like to say the realization I was not in Ohio let the panic subside. I'd like to say a lot of things right now.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1074289279904732052004-01-16T18:11:00.000-03:302004-01-16T18:22:00.483-03:30

Here ye shall find the last typed words of Andrew Collins, Convergys employee. I see my time as an working man, once again, dwindling down to a matter of minutes. Twenty-eight, at this point, and I seem to have run out of things to do. Sort papers, recycle said sorted sheets, clear out email, and stuff free candy into my already bulging pockets. Though not nearly as sad a departure as I had

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1074112643918488512004-01-14T17:07:00.000-03:302004-01-14T17:15:50.810-03:30

So she says to me, " I guess I won't see you again. Well, not till you come back with youngsters." Then he says, " I'm doing a course on landmine awareness. I'll give you my text before you go. You're going to need it." I hate my friends. All of them. Except Jack. It's not considered drinking alone if your drink has a name, right?

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1073951461165954492004-01-12T20:21:00.000-03:302004-01-12T20:21:21.786-03:30

For this evenings performance I would ask you all join me, mentally if not rhetorically, on the rough and faded plain of an old church pew. Here you can lose yourself in the joyous cries of endorphin bliss. While a quick roll to the window reveals the faint sound of weeping and gnashing of cigarettes, a long roll back will let us watch for falling prices. Open your lips and embrace the goodness

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1073685177176604322004-01-09T18:22:00.000-03:302004-01-09T18:23:16.976-03:30

discuss

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1071717716270624422003-12-17T23:51:00.000-03:302003-12-17T23:52:10.473-03:30

I think I startled myself as much as the rest of my house tonight. When I subtly announced that I leave this place in scarcely a month I experienced some sort of bastard hybrid of adrenaline rush and severe projectile nausea. I leave my island in just over a month. Again. And I have no idea when I'll be back. Again. So if I've been here before why does it freak me out so much this time?

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1071603209547867702003-12-16T16:03:00.000-03:302003-12-16T16:03:43.220-03:30

The space between choice and chance is measured differently by everyone. For some of you there is no space. For me it is wide and always has been. Only their words make me doubt that gap. Their words and their eyes. Throughout this twisted ride I have never seen choices. No crossroads. No rock-bottom. No yellow wood. I am as unapologetic as my uncertainty allows. Regret is exclusively directed

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1071250199502088382003-12-12T13:59:00.000-03:302003-12-12T14:43:48.376-03:30

I just stumbled across a poem I wrote when I was 17. The class assignment was to write a little verse about love and recite it to the room. This one caused the teacher to double over and call me a "sick son of a bitch". Gotta love invoking profanity from authority figures... *My darling dear, or should I say, my former eyes delight Assuredly it pains my heart to send you off in flight

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1071085551002494202003-12-10T16:15:00.000-03:302003-12-10T16:16:02.926-03:30

You'll compete with the Devil for your immortal soul in a midnight game of Scrabble, and win handily when he can only think of creepy, depressing Latin words. (I want to marry TheOnion and bear its ungodly children)

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1070898943900476102003-12-08T12:25:00.000-03:302003-12-08T12:25:55.126-03:30

Anybody want to buy me a new pair of boots? I think I'm getting trench foot.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1070898251123970692003-12-08T12:14:00.000-03:302003-12-08T12:14:22.510-03:30

Blue light, pale, flickers across your face in twisted premonition. If I knew, now, how to read the flashing I don't believe this act will have played out any different. Revelation comes far too late for any less time to be wasted. But his picture brings words to resolution. Words will make this concrete. This flickering blue casts understanding on your oblivious frame, curled in fetal slumber.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1070420467582449932003-12-02T23:31:00.000-03:302003-12-02T23:31:18.156-03:30

There's been a lot of talk about this kat... maybe too much talk. This kat is not a rebel kat. This kat is Nicholas, bloody Nicholas.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1070374566162712522003-12-02T10:46:00.000-03:302003-12-02T10:46:16.400-03:30

Alright, Christmas. You win. I am now officially Santa's bitch. Happy? Jolly? Ass.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1070286434710128072003-12-01T10:17:00.000-03:302003-12-01T10:17:24.263-03:30

14 hours of road-tripping this weekend has given to me the priceless gifts of a permanently cricked neck, acute numbness of the arse, and a new album hoisted among the ranks of my alltime favorite discs. There's nothing quite like a weekend in rural Newfoundland spent playing " 5th-rate poetry set to 6th-rate music" to sear and, well, urinate on a man's love for music. Burlington was the town (

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1069912060116021932003-11-27T02:17:00.000-03:302003-11-27T02:17:48.510-03:30

If anyone was wondering, he's the guy in that Paris Hilton sex video.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1069862296873077112003-11-26T12:28:00.000-03:302003-11-26T12:28:24.973-03:30

You're totally missing it. The Drews are fighting and you're all the way over there. Not all the Drews, mind you. That would just be crazy. No, today it's only a couple of me that are at odds. Today is goofy, anxious me vs. serious, brooding me. They're fighting over who gets to post on the blog. Goofy Drew wants to ramble on about how little there is to do at work, how amusing the bitter,

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1069853730897359952003-11-26T10:05:00.000-03:302003-11-26T10:05:39.270-03:30

When toy shopping, look for the Joe Mantegna Seal Of Safety. It's your only guarantee that the toy has been deemed safe by Joe Mantegna.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1069188961696992242003-11-18T17:26:00.000-03:302003-11-19T19:20:03.510-03:30

Ramble long and flaunt verbose finesse to sandbag sagging consciousness. Harness all the fury of pretentious diction for crystal deception for perspicuous fiction. Cranial mining for superfluous findings finds my fanny aligning with these corporate bindings- bound to white women whining about a boss above a basic request regarding respectless reproach (revealing relentlessly retarded reasons for

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1068934273175137042003-11-15T18:41:00.000-03:302003-11-15T18:41:19.103-03:30

There's nothing like a healthy dose of Catholicism to start off your Saturday afternoon. At 3:21pm I awoke to a phonecall from Clouston (who had also just risen) and an invite to Saturday mass. What red-blooded charasmaniac could refuse an opportunity like that? So there we sat--a pair of sharply dressed protestant twentysomethings amidst a sea of the balding, the middle-aged, and the

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1068654907875307942003-11-12T13:05:00.000-03:302003-11-12T13:23:27.493-03:30

This reminds me of highschool. I've been stricken with melodic inspiration in the midst of my apathetic stupor. This always happened to me at the worst possible times. I'd find rhythm on the bus. Basslines in the parkinglot. Lyrics in the bathroom...wait...that was lyrics in the classroom, limericks in the bathroom. Of course by the time I made it home the song had pretty much disintegrated due

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1068239633009902382003-11-07T17:43:00.000-03:302003-11-07T17:48:41.506-03:30

I was pretty bored at work today so I applied online to join something called the "FLQ Nouveau" . Apparently, if they approve my membership, I get one of those cool-looking French guy hats and unlimited subway tokens. They sounds like a really swell bunch of "hommes". Wish me luck.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1068003000245748012003-11-05T00:00:00.000-03:302003-11-05T00:00:03.226-03:30

Sometimes I'm so useless it hurts. Everybody.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067964751711286212003-11-04T13:22:00.000-03:302003-11-04T13:22:35.043-03:30

If a man were to step out into his years first autumn snowfall would you think him foolish for not wearing a hat? If that man were to walk the length of his street, with the frozen assault forcefully beautifying his hair, would you look down on him? And if that man, when out of public view, produced an umbrella and shielded his head as he walked beside the river, would you mock his absurdity?

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067832321113544602003-11-03T00:35:00.000-03:302003-11-03T00:35:23.910-03:30

So many things I can see, now, that are devoid of opportunity to spoil. It's by simple virtue of the fact that I don't even deserve to be part of them. Virtuous ignorance affords me occasion. Allowance by inaptitude. I've finally started to understand why this canvas has been kept blank all this while, save the yellowing of time. There are colors that simply don't exist in this place. Only dry,

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067739664282384762003-11-01T22:51:00.000-03:302003-11-01T22:57:11.950-03:30

It was something in the way she gnawed on my hand that made me think perhaps this wasn't the best of choices.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067664586269376902003-11-01T01:59:00.000-03:302003-11-01T01:59:48.200-03:30

Sick of watching fluid joy through passionless eyes. When my hermit's stretch finally pulls itself limp I should hope it finds me a little less numb. Every morning I wake with tired feet. It makes me wonder if my soul has grown so tired of this sessile drone that it has found a way to wander off when it knows I'll notice least. Every morning I wake with vague memories of foreign streets and

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067534646144691592003-10-30T13:54:00.000-03:302003-10-30T13:53:56.550-03:30

So I just heard a great joke. It starts with, "C.S. Lewis, Rich Mullins, and Jesus walk into a bar," and ends with organized Western Christianity suffering a massive aneurysm and spontaneously combusting. I don't quite remember the punchline but I think it was something along the lines of, "to get to the other side." *badumching*

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067469076637394402003-10-29T19:41:00.000-03:302003-10-30T10:10:00.113-03:30

Isn't it sad that I only just figured out how to put links up on my own blog? Ah well. For all those interested, behold the fruits of my boredom at the "InkBlots" link over there. Right there. Waaaaaayyyy right. Over there. Yeah. That's the one.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067457628753890782003-10-29T16:30:00.000-03:302003-10-29T16:30:30.473-03:30

Just got off a conference call with Fred and the WordBird. Apparently the word of the day is "unclever". That hurts me. I know you know it. After a few agonizing moments of self-probing (bite ya tongue) I came to the conclusion that, with all of the effort I expend trying to convert thought to wit, I quite often lose the intent. On the other end of my verbal spectrum is my tendency to vaporous

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067372844959317892003-10-28T16:57:00.000-03:302003-10-28T16:57:26.060-03:30

Are trial and error part of your timings grace? There are so many new questions but do I have to live the answers before I can know the answers? Expectations from the sympathetic have a much greater weight. And I fear that I... I fear.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067262848366586092003-10-27T10:24:00.000-03:302003-10-27T10:24:08.763-03:30

I feel crazy. Crazy like the man who poured the empty glass over my head, again and again, because he felt that I needed a drink. Crazy like I felt that night when I wished the glass was full. I feel crazy because I think that act may have been more symbolic than he realized. I feel crazy because I tilted my mouth and sang my heart skyward. Crazy because I think the reply came third-hand over

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067033533071421982003-10-24T19:42:00.000-02:302003-10-24T19:42:11.653-02:30

If I were God I'd want all worship music to sound like Portishead.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067019376418647312003-10-24T15:46:00.000-02:302003-10-24T19:37:24.826-02:30

And suddenly I find myself somewhere entirely different. Entirely removed from the metaphoric realms that have afforded me words to draw the scattered few into my line of sight. Brilliant walls and darkened doorways faded out long ago, though I'm not sure when, and I am left to drift. This neitherhaze that surrounds seems impossibly immune to words. I cannot scream through the undark. I cannot

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1067000807975339492003-10-24T10:36:00.000-02:302003-10-24T11:52:20.043-02:30

Nod your head to the static-shot beat crackling from my mouth. Force a smile as if to show you hear familiar songs. Crank the volume till the garbled verse shreds your last patient nerve. Change the station. It's not mine but at least you know the words.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1066912308727190992003-10-23T10:01:00.000-02:302003-10-23T10:01:48.583-02:30

To my friend the Flaming Sword Angel: I am now officially out of debt. Tonight there'll be chilled wine and chocolate-chip cookies waiting for you at the foot of my bed. Ready when you are, big guy.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1066777969027443912003-10-21T20:42:00.000-02:302003-10-22T10:22:10.660-02:30

Welcome, my children. Hurry and take your seats up here in the Drewtopian Peanut Gallery. Thanks to my insidious colleague, Ms. Klasson, we are now opening our gates to the genital public so be sure to pay her adequate props when the rioting commences. In the meantime sit back, open your thesaurus, unwrap your over-ripe produce, and get ready to summon your inner Statler/Waldorf.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1066752902523788412003-10-21T13:45:00.000-02:302003-10-21T13:45:25.056-02:30

If you've never had the opportunity to speak with an 84-year-old woman I strongly urge you to seek one out. Even beyond the sagely outlook on existence that only seems to accompany the aged there is a definite charm that you just don't find anywhere else. It's something in the way they unashamedly display their take on common sense, I think. Or maybe the fact that they all seem to have grandsons

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1066686998032141442003-10-20T19:26:00.000-02:302003-10-20T19:27:25.493-02:30

Amazing how much dust can collect on one's thoughts, no? The last week or two have found me floating in ethereal haze, tirelessly seeking the answer to questions like. "How useless CAN one person be?" and "Excuse me, ma'am, but is that my ass or a hole in the ground?" Been a little difficult to herd free-range thoughts and brand them in print but now I'm back from outer space. I just walked in

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1065754651736225272003-10-10T00:27:00.000-02:302003-10-10T00:27:31.990-02:30

*tiny cobweb*

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1065477157214210342003-10-06T19:22:00.000-02:302003-10-06T19:22:36.660-02:30

So today was the first day of taking calls after nine weeks of training by my employer. I learned quickly that the best procedure for an informationally overloaded drowning man like myself is to panic just long enough to invoke a adrenaline rush and say the first thing that comes to mind. Yes, sir, you can use a pen for that form. No, sir, you don't have to use a typewriter. Yes, ma'am, fax

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1065303605119464262003-10-04T19:10:00.000-02:302003-10-04T19:16:29.073-02:30

With apologies to the jealous and the uncomprehending... I am a realist frequenting the fantastic. And though I sometimes question which world is which the only lines I cross are imaginary.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1065217509418168032003-10-03T19:15:00.000-02:302003-10-03T19:16:10.186-02:30

In recent months I've come to the conclusion that my only real creative muse is overwhelming frustration. Being that I am a man who is trying his damnedest to be a career artist the fact that I am mono-museal is, itself, overwhelmingly frustrating. Now, one would think that such a scenario would be a mechanism for perpetual inspiration. And yet this is the end of my post.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1065128542101558072003-10-02T18:32:00.000-02:302003-10-02T18:32:22.253-02:30

There hangs a wire, slack and silent, scarce below the sky. Swayed by the tiniest of currents, it offers scant safety in passage. Tower though it does the fall is swift enough to make you feel as though the earth was dropped upon you or the sea was poured out mercilessly on your unsuspecting body. The only question, it would seem, is one of dropping to the left or the right. The water, churned in

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1065099636051246022003-10-02T10:30:00.000-02:302003-10-02T10:30:36.220-02:30

No insult intended toward the poor, sweet lady at the front of the class but after nine straight weeks of HR training I don't think it's humanly possible to care less about the stream of Greek and muted horn sounds coming from her mouth. I'm sure she's a very good trainer. She may even be the best in the whole of the company. But when you choose 8am to start a day-long lecture on tax protocols

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064926998324614842003-09-30T10:33:00.000-02:302003-09-30T10:33:18.460-02:30

This morning I'm thinking about hiding. I did it so well in a dry and distant landlocked city. One would think that a land devoid of hills would have slim selection of places to conceal your conscious corpse but one with such a thought would prove herself quite unimaginative. Hide in a townhouse in a row of townhouses on a block of rows of townhouses filled with displaced Newfoundlanders and

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064884643729715572003-09-29T22:47:00.000-02:302003-09-29T22:47:23.766-02:30

I thought I saw something move. Still far too dark to know for sure if what passed through my eyes had any hold in the space around me. Through year after tired year I've watch my mind conspire against me with nearly every sense I have but this looked different. Past the poisoned oasis of malfocused eyes there's a tiny drip of color. Neither bleeding nor fading it seems to be tracing the outline

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064726370547078672003-09-28T02:49:00.000-02:302003-09-28T02:49:30.456-02:30

Very late, very tired, very far from sleep. It's just one of those nights you want to curl up with a warm body and wait. Wrap your arms a little tighter, rest your head in the curve of her neck, and let the sound of her breath sweep you off into dreams. Maybe soon. Before I'm too old.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064676351732439272003-09-27T12:55:00.000-02:302003-09-27T12:55:51.570-02:30

And now I'm off to the Catholic basilica to play third rate worship music for thousands of young folk all in the name of staying away from those nasty drugs. My friend Josh, the singing ex cokehead, will be telling us all about how he cleaned up his nose. Then we'll be listening to, world-famous former Puerto Rican badass, Nicky Cruiz talk about how he stopped being a badass. Josh could have been

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064670836249538922003-09-27T11:23:00.000-02:302003-09-27T11:23:55.690-02:30

Welcome to the wall. I don't know if I am to walk through it or slam my face against it. But on I walk...

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064580828176372632003-09-26T10:23:00.000-02:302003-09-26T10:23:48.396-02:30

generalizations Whenever I walk through a college campus I get the urge to shave my head and practice Wicca. Does that make me a lesbian?

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064579425935393962003-09-26T10:00:00.000-02:302003-09-26T11:19:56.950-02:30

"When man talks to God, it's called prayer. When God talks to man, it's called schizophrenia." -Fox Mulder What can be said of my character if I can walk blameless in the eyes of those I neither respect, nor trust. Maybe vindication and honor are not so akin. Parallel but very separate. Maybe time will run the transversal.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064511789550776642003-09-25T15:13:00.000-02:302003-09-25T15:13:09.100-02:30

My mom never comes here. Doesn't even know this place exists. That being the case, I have prepared the following statement: Damn. Damn, damn, hell. Shit, shit, hell, damn, ass. Sodomy, sodomy, fellatio, autoeroticasphyxiation. Penis. Penis, penis, penis. (come to think of it, my mother has become rather internet savvy as of late and may very well stumble in here some day. In light of that I

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064492707230665082003-09-25T09:55:00.000-02:302003-09-25T10:53:43.123-02:30

"Maybe I'll just wait until my break to get coffee." Great idea, Collins. Smegging brilliant. Now I've got little red squares on my forehead that bare an uncanny resemblance to the number pad from this keyboard. Some days I'm just plain silly.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064417608074156512003-09-24T13:03:00.000-02:302003-09-24T13:03:27.793-02:30

Not to offend any Hindus in the crowd tonight but I have developed a case if Sitar Envy that would have sent Freud screaming into the arms of his loving pharmacist.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064407184799186202003-09-24T10:09:00.000-02:302003-09-24T10:09:44.410-02:30

Just far enough outside the city for the night to be as dark as a cold night should. What narrow starlight shines uncovers a thick mist rising from the water. The lake, I understand, just needs to know that, through the darkness, a sky still hovers over. Just dark enough outside the city for my mind to reach back as far as a clear mind should. I remember the night, four years before tonight, when

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064343049439427162003-09-23T16:20:00.000-02:302003-09-23T16:20:49.723-02:30

liquify me liquify these walls let me see them gushing like niagra falls

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064329495695444232003-09-23T12:34:00.000-02:302003-09-23T12:34:55.823-02:30

"You, oh Lord, are a shield about me..." Met another demon last night. Her name was Alison and she shook me while I slept. She hovered over my dreams. She mocked me while I couldn't move. In my partially lucid, earlymorning state I can see a little clearer the need to constantly revoke the rights they never really had. I've got half a mind to let her come back tonight so I can scorn her the way

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064260764077599112003-09-22T17:29:00.000-02:302003-09-22T17:29:23.400-02:30

***WARNING*** Any coin insistent upon holding position on tracks in proximity to this sign are in immediate danger of being rendered flat by oncoming locomotives. Sheen offers no protective advantage. Pretty pennies are not exempt.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064244014375806152003-09-22T12:50:00.000-02:302003-09-22T12:52:04.526-02:30

I seem to have contracted an acute case of homelessness. The condition, my physician informed me, could most likely be attributed to the pre-existing presence of "financial leprosy" somewhere in my social circle. My thoughts turned immediately to my father who has become infamous for flinging finances about like a naughty primate hurling goods of a more deficatory nature. And so, with the

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064192520024509172003-09-21T22:32:00.000-02:302003-09-21T22:32:00.210-02:30

Ha ha, God, you're really funny. I get the point. Now please cut it out.

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064167454146651572003-09-21T15:34:00.000-02:302003-09-21T15:34:14.233-02:30

It all looks so clear in the separation. When I can feel the divide between spirit and flesh, when I slip away form the beat of my everslowing heart, the echoes fade and again I can hear. Only in that separation of self can I understand the distance of the others. Like wanderers passing in a fog each step away fills the remaining void with twisted vapor. Each steps worth of fog twists their eyes

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064117115704408012003-09-21T01:35:00.000-02:302003-09-21T01:35:45.200-02:30

Oh that there were precious blue pills to make rigid my impotent tongue...

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064113866643616302003-09-21T00:41:00.000-02:302003-09-21T00:41:06.723-02:30

There are many things one can learn from failure. Unfortunately, there are also many instances when failure teaches you naught but the fact that you have learned nothing. I fear this is one of those scenarios. Succeed and I will have gained a new skill, grown deeper in social adaptability, and become an all-round better human. Fail and I may very well have to adopt drinking alone as my lifelong

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064079854820827812003-09-20T15:14:00.000-02:302003-09-20T15:14:14.363-02:30

...oh...and eyeshadow...you can never wear too much blue eyeshadow

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1064079563011995092003-09-20T15:09:00.000-02:302003-09-20T15:44:33.683-02:30

that i might never lose this air of resolution... It's always the cold nights- the bitter darkness that becomes the corridor between dissonance and sanctuary. I don't know why. Maybe it's the sadistic mercy of providence that knows I need to be numbed. Maybe it's another of the decreasingly subtle ways my mind conspires against me. Maybe just the unfortunate timing of coincidence. And so, in

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5834401.post-1063984863416513352003-09-19T12:56:00.000-02:302003-09-19T12:57:47.570-02:30

Weary of the flipant fridge-buzz that is my audible voice I have decided that mayhaps a new medium is in order. Safer than an escalator handrail, and nearly as clean, this is what the inside of my head looks like...

Andrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03351137058184706312noreply@blogger.com