I burnt my finger on a hot pan tonight. Last time I burned my hand badly (worse than this, I assure you) I proceeded to drink Old Grand Dad whiskey until I couldn't feel anything at all except for my burnt hand. I spent much of the night doubled over while clutching a frozen chicken breast. Sometimes I would alternate between that and a hunk of frozen beef. Come morning I had two spoiled hunks of flesh and my hand was scaly and numb. I quit my job a few days later. That was a couple of jobs ago.
I am gonna have to get a job very soon. I know I probably say that alot. Sometimes I feel like this journal is simply a documentation of my unemployment. Other times I feel differently about it. I may as well be that guy Beaumont fixed up with a plate of glass. You can see inside my stomach. Bile, venom, acid.
Diagram of Alexis St. Martin's wound (from Dr. Beaumont's book, Experiments and Observations on the Gastric Juice and the Physiology of Digestion, 1833)
"This engraving represents the appearance of the aperture with the valve depressed.
A A A Edges of the aperture through the integuments and intercostals, on the inside and around which is the union of the lacerated edges of the perforated coats of the stomach with the intercostals and skin.
B The cavity of the stomach, when the valve is depresed.
C Valve, depressed within the cavity of the stomach.
E E E E Cicatrice of the original wound."
It was a bittersweet weekend. Friday night at Jacoby's was a blast. Cowboy Messiah may get a weekly gig there so I am certainly excited about that. It is such a nice, homie kind of place. I felt extremely comfortable. The bext evening I attended a nice little get-together at the Abreact. I was very pleased with the music, and I met quite a few new and intersting people. I prattled on about my own station in life with virtuostic self-depreciation. I cut into myself like a concert pianist. Maybe I just cut myself, I don't know. I think I made a nice impression on people, but I can never tell. I met a softcore porn director, he cracked me up. It was a great little send off for my friend who is on the cusp of joining the Airforce fulltime. He is going into the Bomb Squad. More power to him, I hate land minds and nuclear warheads. Still, I can't say that I am not afraid that he won't be different once he gets out. To each their own. To each their own...
I have been having ideas, but they are mostly halves and three-quarters of an idea. I need a whole. Wholeness is a beautiful thing. I think working midnight shift is the best move I could make. It would give me a better reason for being antisocial than I have now, which is basic ineptitude. Plus, they usually pay you more for living like a vampire. Hello frozen foods. Hello scary janitor lady. Hello stars, I hope you never burn out. Burn like my hand. Burn all night, but touch me all the same.
Today was a birthday party. It was kinda neat, kinda sad. It made me want to strangle the shit out of Peter Pan. That bastard. Maybe it is just me (it usually never is, at least I think) but I think everyone lets fictional characters run around inside their heads. Childhood fornever. For never again.
I need to leave this rock.
Watch out, I plan to repeat myself for the next week. Mantra Mania!