Punching Art Show in the ugly face

Frank Lister has something odd stirring up inside of him. On a couple of occasions now I have resorted to violence (okay, not so much violence in practice but violence in thoughts). Yesterday in a fit of rage, I yelled out of my window at an older gentlemen, probably in his early 50’s, driving his little SUV, right into my parking space at WHOLE FOODS. I had patiently waited for little old lady station wagon and her disgruntled husband to so carefully back out of the spot to allow me to stroll right in. As I waited, I see little SU f’in V creeping up. I edged forward, he edged forward. We took our swords out, ready to do battle. I made incoherent hand gestures, scolding him like my 3rd grade school teacher or my Mom from the piano when I would act up in church (mom=school teacher, church organist, pastor’s wife. Dad= Pastor (now angry non clergy worker-we have more in common than I think). Yeah, Mom would wave that bony finger in between chords of “Lord, you are all I need” (sexual relationship with Jesus?, Oh yeah, I’m going to hell.) I stuck my bony finger out of the front of my windshield (literally I put it through the windshield. Okay, that’s what I imagined I did. But man, I was like fucking ZEUS cracking a lightening bolt through the windshield of my Toyota Tercel (1994 I might add). He fired back at me with his own series of non-sensical hand motions (looking like he had gotten a case of his own spiritual remembrances). Then, out of the sky a Samaritan came to my rescue to keep me from ramming my front end through his passengers’ side door. I heard a little voice call out, “You can have my spot.” As I watched him slide into the spot (like he was having drunk sloppy sex with it), I felt my anger boil up again. When the Samaritan offered me his spot, I felt the rage go away. I got what I wanted which was to be rewarded for politely waiting in the parking lot to procure a place to tie up my horse. That’s all a shopper wants. A place to tie up his horse. But when I saw that SUV go into my spot in the sun, I wanted to scream. So that’s what I did, I rolled down my window and waited for someone to make eye contact with me. “you gonna say something lady? You gonna point your bony finger at me? I don’t think so.” Then the old man came from behind his car. I couldn’t help myself. I slide my head out of the window and started speaking gibberish. Non-sense. Here I am with an empty spot now in front of me, blocking traffic arguing with an old man about a parking space. Finally I proclaimed a truce and the man and myself shook hands. I pulled in my spot (not the one I wanted I might add but a spot nonetheless) and cried some invisible tears of embarrassment. Wasn’t embarrassed because an old man yelled at me or made me feel bullied (see family history) but because that was not the type of person that I wanted to be when I thought about growing up when I was 12. I did not want to be a bitter angry 35 year old who argued about parking spots. I didn’t want to be the guy that punched Art Show in the face last week.

I don't have the energy to go into that whole shit right now.  I know I know.  You can't just show back up and not give any type of new info.  But you know what?  That is what is going to happen.  So here is the review:
1. Still blood on the wall (have 5 suspects now)
2. I suck at magic and get kicked in the balls every saturday afternoon
3. I have 2 friends now ( used to hate ted but now I like him- i'll explain this soon)
4. wrestlemania is tomorrow
5. I have lost control
 
see, you didn;t miss much.
 
coming attractions:
Bryce Patterson (or Peterson, I am not sure which)
 

An open letter to depression

Dear Depression




Frank Lister has been feeling bad lately. The problem (besides the recurring sightings of blood on the wall) is that the one thing I want is the thing that I deny myself when I feel this way. It’s quite a conundrum that I get myself into during times like this. See I cut myself off from the world during these gray days. I put myself into a hole with a small lantern and a can of green beans and I leave everyone else out. The thing that drives me to create is to connect and I refuse to do that when I feel this way. It makes no sense. Then what ends up happening is I come to this realization and I come out of the hole. I come up with all sorts of reasons why I do this and come to the point of deciding that I am not going to do this anymore. It will last for a few weeks and then I will end up in the same spot. Quite stupid it is.

Bryce has been calling me to do things (along with TED, who apparently has worked his way into our circle). Can’t really call two people a circle, more like a line oif people. He has worked his way into our line. I guess that is alright. I really shouldn’t complain. I have to ask myself what is it about him that I don’t like. When I think of it, he’s alright. We have some similar interests or at least it seems that way since he usually runs in the same line as me and we end up at the same spots (just the other day I saw him at the library). Maybe I should just give in and welcome him. Maybe I need him. Maybe he needs me (not in a weird relationship way but in a weird friendship way). Maybe he would be different if he felt included in my life. Maybe he just wants to be my friend. Wow, I sound really sad and pathetic.

Anyway, depression, I am sorry to drop you off on the side of the road and leave you there but I am sure you will find your way home when you are ready and I am sure you will be okay. It has been nice hanging out with you for the past week or so and we sure had some good times. But, as with all things, the good times have to end for now and we have to get back to living real life. I hope this letter finds you well and I hope that we can hang out again at some point under different circumstances. For now I say see you later as I can’t honestly say goodbye. So, to conclude I say, my dark friend, we will see each other again when the time is appropriate. Until then I wish you nothing but good things and I hope you find someone else to spend your time with and that you have many good experiences with them. Thanks and so long.

it has to do with everything

Some days Frank Lister feels as though he has dried up. This is supposed to be a daily thing right? Isn't that what life is all about. Everyday something exciting, nice, crazy, sad, intense, or whatever is supposed to happen which would enable one to wax philosophic about it for others to see or hear or experience. Isn't that what being cursed with creativity is supopsed to be all about? See for years now I have found myself cursed with dry spots. Not normal, "it hasn't rained in a week" dry spots but "i have watched television for 3 weeks solid becasue I can;t gather enough sanity in my mind in order to string together a coherent idea or thought" dry spot. And being a shitty magician does not help at all. To be honest (which is not to imply that I have not been honest previously) I haven't really spoken to anyone ( who am I kidding, I make it sound like I have a lot of options of people to speak to). I haven't spoken to Bryce (or Ted for that matter) in a week. I find myself with racing thoughts again (not thoughts of racing). See what happens (at least with me) is that the thoughts and ideas come in waves. In most people the waves crash and the ideas flood the shore line and then they recede to make room for the next wave of waves. With me, it is as if there is a barrier, a reef of sorts that casue the ideas to crash before they hit the shoreline and then build up. Then when the weather patterns change or shift all of the ideas (waves) come rushing towards the shoreline and then crash debilitating the beach tourism economy. In other words, the ideas and thoughts hit like a hurricane and destroy everything in its path leaving no trace of what was there to begin with. At the end of the day, this has to do with failure or a fear of it. Today has nothing to do with Bryce or Ted or work or mom or dad or anything. It has to do with everything. Right now I feel like a blank piece of paper, waiting for someone to write on me. If creativity is a vampire and needs to be invited in my house I say come on in, the door is open and there is cold beer in the fridge.

weird shit

Frank Lister has found some weird shit on the internet.  Typed in the words weird shit on you tube and this what i got.

balls

Frank Lister is sorry for the delay. If you are interested in the details of what happened:


Anyway, the bathroom was empty (remember I was on my way to the can at Tattooed Mom’s on Monday Night with Bryce-not going to the bathroom with him but you know what I mean!). I barreled through the door in the graffiti littered bathroom room(apparently a lot of people want you to know that they do their business here), felt around for the light, and watched the bulb crackle and pop and flash a beam of light directly into my eyes. For a second I was blind. All I could see were spots and sparkles. Then the lights flickered again. On and then off again really fast. Then it started to happen over and over and over like a strobe light. Now for anyone that has been to Tattooed Mom’s the music is also something of note. Generally it is punk rock (of an older nature). Sometimes they play some older Hip Hop or even novelty Hip Hop (that usually only happens later on Saturday Nights). Regardless the music is kept a fairly low volumne to encourage talking amongst the patrons (and probably because the main waitress is mean and is making them keep it low). But what happened while I was standing in the strobe light bathroom was really weird. The music got insanely loud. Almost turned into noise. It was fast. Racing (this time like nascar). The same sounds over and over, in time with the lights which were flashing over and over and over. On. Off. On. Off. Everything was flashing and pulsing fast. I couldn’t find myself anywhere. I forgot where I was. I didn’t know how to move or to turn away but I kept moving towards something even though my feet never felt like they left the sticky ground. In the midst of all of the noise I felt my ears burn. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out. Why did I come here in the first place? Everything was spiraling out of control. I feel like I fell on the ground for a minute. I climbed back up (I think I fell down into the basement). Why isn’t anyone helping me? I got back on my feet. There was something clear moving towards my eyes. I could hear it coming towards me. Getting closer and closer and closer. It strolled right past me. It said something but I couldn’t make out what it was. But what I could understand is that I started to hear the slowness underneath the fast static. I started to be able to see between the flashes of light. Underneath all of the chaos was this calming white noise and gentle grey glow. It looked like the shore of the ocean, filled with sand and rocks and dead jellyfish(or syringes). Moving and flowing with the water heading back out to a black voided ocean. I looked behind me and could see the static and the flashes of light (kind of like when you go to shore and you are on the beach at night and all of the noise and chaos seems so far away even though it is right around you). For whatever reason I felt nothing. I heard nothing. There was nothing in my head anymore. I was out of control. Not crazy out of control but NOT IN CONTROL. I was just there being moved and swept away. Just there. Smack. Door slams behind me. Lights come on. Noise stops. Low volume Buzzcocks on speakers. TED taking a pisser in the bathroom. WHAT? YES! TED taking a PISSER in the bathroom that I thought was EMPTY because it WAS (or at least I think it was, I don’t know anymore). TED. He flushes. Washes his hands. Walks up to me (I’m standing with my back against the door) and says “Hey Frank. Pretty cool huh?” I step out of the way and he opens the door and leaves. Just like that. Did this happen before, during, or after I got cross eyed drunk with Bryce? Can’t remember (again with the memory loss).

All of this because…..work e-mail party planning. He sucker fished his way onto my e-mails balls.


this is nothing similar to what it was like.

whales

Frank Lister and Bryce Patterson (or Peterson, now I am really not sure and too embarrassed to ask cause Bryce is really good with names) are becoming fast friends. It’s weird how you are looking for something but you have no idea what it is and then it kind of stumbles up next to you at a meeting and its nose starts bleeding. Creepy son of a bitch (really, he told me about his mom) was talking to me about some letters and numbers and work related words and next thing I know, I’ve got blood all over my hand and papers. This is what caused me to immediately suspect him in the blood smearing incident. It definitely made sense (at least in my head it did). A dude with chronic nose bleeds. Blood smeared on the bathroom wall on floor 14, the floor directly underneath the floor that you work on. This is a slam dunk (what am I doing, using sports references? I hate sports, except tennis and pro-wrestling and cage fighting). Did I ever tell you how I wanted to be a manager for a professional wrestler when I was young? Anyway, Bryce is not and could not for that matter be the blood smearer. Too much noise was clouding my head. I just have this feeling now that it is not Bryce. He is not a smearer. He is a dripper or a pooler. His bleeds are controlled unlike someone who would smear and mess their blood all over walls (and now stairwell stairs). They drip and then he cleans it up. He even re-typed my presentation after he dripped his nose blood all over it when we first started hanging out (hanging tough). Actually, we weren’t hanging out, we were working but it was kind of like hanging out. I think if there is music playing in the background and you are doing something with someone else then it is considered hanging out. Correction: One must select the music. It cannot be selected for you (like white noise department store music or trapped in an elevator pulse panic reducing music). A process must be used in order to select the correct music for the situation. There is an order and a way to do things. First a mood must be established. In our case we were looking for something anti-authoritarian. Then options must be displayed (usually in a neat vertical stack) and finally a selection is made based on a series of arguments about the merits of each album (purity, ability to stir emotion, backstory, etc etc) You know what I’m saying, right? The same process everyone uses to select songs to listen to. So since we were working a fortress of solitude (the file room) and there was no one else in at this time, we selected (from my CD envelope), drum roll….. Guns N Roses Appetite for Destruction. (Mr. Brownstone + multiple persons-alcohol=hanging out.) The hanging out didn’t last too long as Bryce, who is coming up for a promotion, was adam ant about actually get things done. Sorry. NO NOT WORK NOW! We have been hanging out a lot lately and it has been fun. Similar tastes (food, humor, music, movies). He is definitely more together than me but still he has his own monkeys (suckling on his back teets). I mean you already know he has bad taste in bars since I told you about our douche bag bar incident. I picked the next one as we went to Tattooed Mom’s last night (see my rambling post from last night at 12:33 AM). Drank until we were cross eyed. We cast bets on whether Ted would show up since we make most of our plans via work e-mail (is that really smart?) I don’t have another method (I know e-mail is free and easy but why do I want 2 accounts. That is 2 things that I have to maintain, remember I have a problem with obligation and the need to please everyone. I reply to spam (I have gotten some pretty nice things from this practice). He suggested we communicate through the blog instead of work e-mail in case someone is watching (and the guys on the 10th floor are always watching) (EXCEPT when someone is smearing blood on the wall, weird huh? Maybe it is one of those dildo’s!?) BUT I don’t really want comments on this thing (Or do I and I am upset secretly that I have gotten any and am just pretending to k=not want any-why are things so damn complicated?). See, the problem with work e-mail is that eventually everyone gets an e-mail accidently forwarded or read or deleted or replied to or replied by. It’s incestuous. Once this kid I worked with (he committed suicide, it was pretty messed up, day before 9/11) anyway, he once replied to an e-mail to one of our co-workers saying some girl was dumb because she couldn’t figure out something to do with a file. Turns out that e-mail got forwarded at the bottom of a chain of e-mails to THAT very girl. now the chances of someone reading the entire chain all the way to the bottom are slim but a well trained office worker does exactly that, she READ THE ENTIRE CHAIN. Very awkward moment when she stopped by to pick up her file from the kid. SO the point is, SOMEONE CAN ALWAYS FIND OUT WHAT YOU ARE UP TO (unless you know how to operate ) Unfortunatley for Bryce and myself, I think we have a hanger-on. Our temp Ted, the electric (sarcasm added here) seems to know exactly where we are going even before we do. So odd how he just seems to follow us around (or maybe we are following him). He’s always on the work team with us. Always working on the same project (or NOT WORKING since I always seem to end up doing his work). He’s like one of those sucker fish that sit on a whales balls, you know eating up the fish that fall out of the whales mouth. Ted is always on my balls (wow that sounds so bad that it must be immortalized in print, never to be deleted. My internet footprint is littered with shit like this), so TED. He’s always alone but always has a bunch of commotion going on around him. Examples: We were at IKEA last weekend eating French fries and in the corner sucking down meatballs was Ted. A little kid dropped his tray of fergenbleun (IKEA pasta) and then went screamiong through the cafeteria. Later I saw him laying on a bed reading a magazine wearing biker shorts. People were just standing there gawking at him. He was at the music store the same day we were (he was buying a flute (Bryce said it was a skin flute)). He started playing the solo from van Halen’s Eruption on the banjo (after he purchased the flute) He was at the Pissed Jeans show at the Khyber (click here to move through space, scroll down and take a look around). He stormed the stage, made an announcement about parking meters and then he dove off the stage backwards and landed in the middle of the crowd after doing some crazy corkscrew twist crap.   Went up to the bar after that and a guy at the bar (not BRYCE) had a horrendous bloody nose.   One evening, I saw him walking around in my neighborhood, just hanging out, watching people shoveling snow, smoking cigarillos. Again, commotion around him. This douche is an odd bird. I hate him. Oddly though, now every time I see him I can’t remember why I hate him so. It’s like he is starting to be entertaining to me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to hang out with the guy but at least there is a level of excitement with him. He’s the type of reckless abandonment that you want to do LSD with. When he is around, I seem to draw a blank in my mind. Seems like Bryce gets a bloody nose every time he sees him. Anyway,  back to last night.   I head to the can at Tattooed Mom’s (a horrible experience if you have to file paperwork, luckily I did not) and the door (which is usually locked because it is seemingly perpetually occupied) is cracked open, lights out. I am stoked because I have to piss like a race horse (again with the odd sports-even though horse racing is not a sport it is a cruel way for humans to amuse themselves. Use your brains people. You run because you choose to, not because you are forced to. That only happens when there is a crime in progress either by or against you, you made a bad choice and are running late or you are being chased by a horse who is mad at you for making him run all the time (even when he didn’t want to). I’ll have to finsh this story later. Buzzer just went off.

i hate magic

All Frank Lister wants is to be a magician.  I go to work everyday in this shit-job and make copies and get yelled at and drink stale coffee (with a shot o licker init!) and all I want to do is magic.  Okay, it's dumb but I bought a book and thought it was AWESOME!  Hiding things in your sleeve!  Pulling crap out of a hat.  Criss Angel shit.  What could be better than this?  My goal was to be awesome and all I am is a spot for kids to kick me in the crotch.  Obviously I had a GIG (like I'm Axl rose or something, listen to Chinese Democracy after drinking a bottle of wine.  It's as bad as you thought but I still go see him wail You're in the Jungle baby!)  Anyway, I think I am failing at this magic thing.  Kids kick me in the crotch and I drink when they are eating their cake.  Okay.  I admit that is horrible.  But what am I supposed to do?  I am a shitty kids magician who can;t even fool a five year old kid while doing a pick a card?  I'm not sure what you want from me at this point.  It's late and I am fulfilling my obligation.  Now shut up.  also:  bryce apparently wants to start posting.  what?

he's listening to chinese democracy

15th floor is compromised

It isn't often that Frank Lister is short and too the point but this will be one of those times that you remember.  It’s in the stairwell. At the base of the 7th step between floors 14 and 15. I darted past and it's like it freaking yelled out at me.

"Looky Looky! I’m growing and getting bigger like a real boy!"

 Freaking blood smear has moved from the bathroom wall to the stairwell and no one was going to do anything about it.

Is this from Bryce?  Where did they get this? 

I gave a douchebag a bloody nose (sort of)

Frank Lister has felt weird all day so far. This morning my thoughts were racing (not NASCAR-too redneck but Motocross-just right). I felt all over the place. At one point, my thoughts were moving around so much that I totally didn’t even realize that my headphones had no noise coming out of them (still listening to noise looking for the answers). I didn’t wake up in the wrong spot but It seemed like I just ran out of my brain and carried all my thoughts along with me clanging and banging around like a set of cans on the back of a party crasher car (or a set of balls that don’t work right banging along the side of your leg while wearing corduroy pants). Sorry. Again. Brain a mess. The word jumbled keeps coming to mind (not sure why?) and cobbler. Then, about an hour into work, it just cleared up. Kind of like weather. It was as if something or someone climbed into my ear (hobbits traveling through a valley of weird hairs and lint as tall as trees in order to quest for the safety of the kingdom of Abbalabbador) and took a broom and swept everything up into a pile and then sorted it out and organized it and put it all away. Weird thing is I started to think about things in a whole new way. Bryce came down to talk at the window. Not to sound, you know, but I really like him. Nose bleeds aside, he’s a pretty cool guy and for the most part doesn’t think I am an odd spazz. In his own odd way he is a spazz as well (Don’t touch his paper clips. He will cut a man). It’s weird when someone tells you that you are their only friend. Me. Frank Lister is someone’s only friend. That’s actually pretty sad. Even I have more than one friend. Granted, I don’t speak to them anymore but at least I could call them friends. In fact, if I ever had a facespace I probably would have at least 8 friends. Whatever. OKAY! Stop it! The only friend that I have is Bryce Patterson (or Peterson, I’m not sure which). What is so wrong with that? Nothing. Sure there was a time when I had a lot of friends and I was on top of everything. But that was a long time agao and now I am an office drone who has dreams of being a magician with only one friend who gets bloody noses and I don’t know if his last name is the same name I have been using. There I said it. Go ahead and take a break and laugh.


While you are laughing, think about this: A douche from 15 came down and tripped on his way from my window. Nothing odd about that except that every time I see this douche, I wish (with all my heart) that he would fall [(specifically when he has his toothbrush in his mouth (more on that later)(wow a parenthesis inside a parenthesis)-does this call for a bracket] flat on his stupid face and smash his eye socket out of place. Why? I don’t know. He is just the type of person I do not like and think bodily harm on. Without a doubt I think this every instance that I see him and this has never happened before but today that douche bag fell and broke his nose. Yes, he broke his nose. Weird shit huh? Shot out all over the place (where did that line come from)? As if someone is behind the curtain.

a crowd gathers everywhere he goes

Am I Inside?

Frank Lister’s brain was a fucking jumbled mess this morning. Onions. Lost. Feed the cats. Would like to have surgery again, simply for the forced sleep and pampering. Don’t let the door slam. Blood on the wall. Moving to China, starting a Chinese punk band and then getting arrested. Crazy weird shit. Shot all over the place. Not sure where this is coming from or what it means. Seemed really worried. Distracted. Would move from despondency to elated joy in the course of three thoughts. Like a gameshow. At one point said “I can change that tune in three thoughts Jack” Bryce Peterson or Patterson (not sure which). Thought a lot about work on the way to work this morning. Jumbled fucking mess I tell you. Bret Easton Ellis novels. Reviews of albums. Places to eat that serve vegan options in Philadelphia. Killer whales. Where do you go for a quick vacation? What city has what I want and need? Distracted. Almost hit by car. How long before anyone would know? What if I was cut in half? Does anyone else I know feel the same way? About life, not about being cut in half. Although that would be interesting to know as well. Wrestling, Lost again. Love. Don’t let the door slam. Making movies. Making music videos. Corn. Cancer. Playing Hackey-Sack. Falling down. Desire. Going to the grocery store and seeing a ghost how do you react. Ted. Blood on the wall again. A fucking mess. Couldn’t get a handle on it for the longest time. 25 minutes maybe. Caused slow walking. Finally I did and now I am inside.

this is what they all look like.