Frank Lister apparently threw his calendar out of the window after setting it on fire. At least, that is what my neighbor said that I did. I seem to be losing days again. I will wake up one morning and not know where I've been or what I've done but I will feel as though I have had memories of that time. I will be able to tell you what I've done or where I've gone or who I talked to or even what I said but I can;t tell you when I did or said or saw it. I just know that it happened between the last day I remember and the day that I am telling you. For instance, I woke up this morning and thought that I had already reported back to you on this but in fact there was no evidence that I had done this. But it was so very clear and vivid that I had. I checked and the last thing I had posted was on 4-22. Even stranger is I don't remember taking a break between 4-1 and 4-22. But I did. Go back. Look. There is nothing posted between those dates. I reported nothing between those dates. What is weirder is I think that I have already told you all of this once or maybe I just think that I thought about telling you this. I really do not know.
I am still being stopped on the street (or at least I think that is what is happening to me) and being congratulated. I saw my picture on the cover of a magazine here in the city (I think I did). I was holding up a contract and shaking some dudes hand. Seeing this bugged me out because I really don't remeber that happening. Even scarier is I have no idea what was on that paper that I was holding up. People keep wanting to shake my hand and then they say "Show Me! I want to see!" I don't know what this means (but I think I should know). I usually just look at them, smile and say "I can't right now. I need to do this in a controlled environment. call my office and set up a time or catch me at the next show." Call my office? I don;t have an office. A show? I am a kids magician and a really shitty one at that & there is no way I am having a show anywhere, especially one that will have adults as the main audience. But why did I say this and how did i know that I said it? (Dramatic Pause for effect)
BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN TAPING EVERYTHING.
Apparently this is something I started recently. I had a box delivered to me this morning from PUS Industries and it contained a bunch of VHS cassettes and little audio cassettes. The first one I opened up was labeled:
Street Conversation #13
And there it was me telling someone to call my office and set it up with my people. (paused again)
I just sighed.
I'm quite confused but I have been pretty busy by the amount of tapes in this box. Ted is coming over later to help me go through them. I still have not heard from Bryce (or maybe I have and it is on one of these tapes). Apparently he still works at the office according to Ted.
Did I tell you yet about the ONION?
4.29.2010
4.22.2010
can I control the radio knob with my mind?
Frank Lister says good morning and he hopes you all had a restful night of sleep. The environment in which I now live has gotten pretty freaking crazy. Some weird shit is going on with me and with everything around me. This morning I woke up, made a quick call trying to locate Bryce and then stepped out around the corner for coffee. As soon as I stepped in the door of the Flying Saucer, I noticed it. I mean right away. Usually in the morning there is a line. People getting their drug on in the morning. And this morning was no different. The douche bag that I HATE was behind the counter. He doesn’t really acknowledge you because he is too busy musing on his own existence and over the fact that his thought process will revolutionize modern art for the next millennia. You know that guy? The music selection was bad (as it always is with this guy). It was some Indian meditative morning jazz bullshit. I need some punk rock in the morning, you know? The Bronx or some Bikini Kill or Minor Threat. I don’t need somebody playing a sitar that is basically playing a lullaby to lull me into sleep. Hey jackass, why do you think I am ordering a RED-EYE? It has shots of espresso in it. I want to WAKE UP! Anyway, all of that is the normal part. What’s abnormal is the fact that as soon as I passed the threshold of the establishment my brain started to race. I started to tune in. I heard the music and immediately I thought of Jay Reatard and then 50 foot Wave. My next observation was the line. I could hear everyone’s conversations and started realizing how annoyed I was with what people were talking about. Almost instantaneously I started to hear new conversations about puppet shows and one about the merits of eating paste as a child and one about mowing the grass while wearing slippers. Really off beat stuff, you know? At one point I envisioned these 2 guys (who actually looked like 2 people I would like to know) talking at once. Oddly it was all stuff that normally would make me start to laugh. At that moment too, I thought about Bryce. For a minute I felt like he was there. Sitting in the corner. This scenario would be something that he and I would totally laugh about (especially since we started hanging out with TED and weird shit follows him around). So the music switches, the conversations become weird and most conveniently the line parted for me like the RED SEA and Moses. Everyone looked at me like I was carrying two tablets about to drop the rules of the world and they all just parted. I walked to the front of the line and the douche bag was gone, nowhere to be found. In his place was the normal weekend guy. The one who is nice and talks to you and doesn’t think he is better than you or smarter than you. He enjoys serving you coffee and providing VEGAN treats periodically. A guy who provides a great coffee experience. He was there and he waited on me, even offering to pay for my coffee. “For you, It’s on the house” he said. Wow! That felt good. What I thought was going to be a terrible moment in my day, a horrible way to kick things off turned into a great time of my life. A little thing to think about throughout the day to help me move on in this life. I got great music (more specifically the exact music I wanted to hear), interesting conversation (the kind I like to eavesdrop on), premium front of the line service and the respect of my barista. AND FREE COFFEE (free drugs). I stuck around long enough to hear the end of the song (Scars on Broadway-THEY SAY) and headed for the door. As soon as I heard the little bell on the back of the door clang against the door and I took the first step outside I heard it. I heard the voice of that douche bag behind the counter, all smarmy and smart ass. I heard the ridiculous music again, the chimes and new age lullaby bull shit that he usually plays. I heard the absolutely asinine conversations from the people in line. Everything that I HATED just a few minutes earlier, that I thought had magically changed, was back, as though they always were. I stuck my head back in and sure enough it was that horrible taste in my mouth again. It just seemed so real only a couple of minutes before. I stood right outside the door, and took a sip of that coffee and it was the WORST cup of coffee I had ever had.
Then two of the guys that were in line in front of me came out, stopped, looked over at me and said “Congratulations man”.(this was odd to me, what are they congratulating me for? What did I do?) So as they are walking away, one of them looks at the other and says ‘What were we talking about?” and the other guy says, “We were talking about the merits of eating paste as a child.”
I took another sip of coffee and it was the best tasting coffee that I had ever had.
Then two of the guys that were in line in front of me came out, stopped, looked over at me and said “Congratulations man”.(this was odd to me, what are they congratulating me for? What did I do?) So as they are walking away, one of them looks at the other and says ‘What were we talking about?” and the other guy says, “We were talking about the merits of eating paste as a child.”
I took another sip of coffee and it was the best tasting coffee that I had ever had.
4.21.2010
Standing in the middle of the road too far to see behind me and too far to see in front
Frank Lister hasn’t the foggiest idea what went wrong but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that something definitely did.
Ever have one of those days where you wake up and you know that suddenly everything has changed? What you thought yesterday or even before you lay your head down on the pillow the night before (even if you can’t remember doing so) was so very different than what you are thinking, feeling or even believing at this moment?
Apparently I stopped working at my job or at least when I woke up this morning I had not even the slightest reason to believe that that is where my day was supposed to begin. In fact, it was so strong that at first I thought it was Saturday, which would make the feeling that I was not going to work today make sense. The only problem with this is that if today is Saturday then that would mean that I missed about 5 days of my life or that I had been a sleep for 5 days straight. So today, it is determined, is NOT Saturday. It is in fact Wednesday and I did miss one day of my life, Tuesday (although I have this weird feeling that I missed more but I cannot seem to make sense of any of that). Regardless, this morning I came to the realization that I no longer work in the office. When this occurred I don’t know but I believe it to be true (the realization occurred when I was shaving, the act of no longer working at the office is where it gets hazy). I wonder if Bryce is no longer working there. I tried to call him but he did not answer his phone and his voice mail box seems to be full as I could not leave a message. In fact, I have no idea where he is. I feel like my voice sounds different.
I feel much more powerful today than I did on Monday. I feel like I can do whatever I want to. That feels good.
Here are some weird things:
1. I woke up to find myself in a stranger’s apartment (this morning)
2. I wasn’t at all bothered by this
3. I have a mysterious set of keys in my pocket(I have no idea who they belong to)
4. Bryce must have bled on my shirt (Not weird in and of itself but weird since this is fresh blood and he was not in the stranger’s apartment with me when I woke up: THIS MORNING)
5. When I was walking back to my apartment this morning people were pointing at me and seemed to be a little frightened ( I had removed the bloody shirt in exchange for a Villanova Sweatshirt so it wasn’t the blood)
6. Speaking of blood, I saw the blood on the wall guy in the bar (Eulogy) bathroom on Monday night (yeah I KNOW it was him). Even though I no longer work there, I think I want to kill him.
Remind me to tell you the story about the ONION.
Ever have one of those days where you wake up and you know that suddenly everything has changed? What you thought yesterday or even before you lay your head down on the pillow the night before (even if you can’t remember doing so) was so very different than what you are thinking, feeling or even believing at this moment?
Apparently I stopped working at my job or at least when I woke up this morning I had not even the slightest reason to believe that that is where my day was supposed to begin. In fact, it was so strong that at first I thought it was Saturday, which would make the feeling that I was not going to work today make sense. The only problem with this is that if today is Saturday then that would mean that I missed about 5 days of my life or that I had been a sleep for 5 days straight. So today, it is determined, is NOT Saturday. It is in fact Wednesday and I did miss one day of my life, Tuesday (although I have this weird feeling that I missed more but I cannot seem to make sense of any of that). Regardless, this morning I came to the realization that I no longer work in the office. When this occurred I don’t know but I believe it to be true (the realization occurred when I was shaving, the act of no longer working at the office is where it gets hazy). I wonder if Bryce is no longer working there. I tried to call him but he did not answer his phone and his voice mail box seems to be full as I could not leave a message. In fact, I have no idea where he is. I feel like my voice sounds different.
I feel much more powerful today than I did on Monday. I feel like I can do whatever I want to. That feels good.
Here are some weird things:
1. I woke up to find myself in a stranger’s apartment (this morning)
2. I wasn’t at all bothered by this
3. I have a mysterious set of keys in my pocket(I have no idea who they belong to)
4. Bryce must have bled on my shirt (Not weird in and of itself but weird since this is fresh blood and he was not in the stranger’s apartment with me when I woke up: THIS MORNING)
5. When I was walking back to my apartment this morning people were pointing at me and seemed to be a little frightened ( I had removed the bloody shirt in exchange for a Villanova Sweatshirt so it wasn’t the blood)
6. Speaking of blood, I saw the blood on the wall guy in the bar (Eulogy) bathroom on Monday night (yeah I KNOW it was him). Even though I no longer work there, I think I want to kill him.
Remind me to tell you the story about the ONION.
I know how this guy feels
4.19.2010
The ending to events that have yet to occur
Frank Lister will be back tomorrow. In celebration of that occasion, this evening, I am going to stage a recreation of events that have already occurred but have never happened. If I really wanted to, I could do this over and over and over and over. I could just keep everything in a loop. I could have you reading the same Frank bullshit everyday over and over and over and over. Each day it would be as fresh as it was the first day. Each day you would continue to wake up, rinse and repeat if I allowed it. However, I am merciful and am not that easily amused or complacent. I have a purpose. I have a reason. I have a strategy. I HAVE A REASON. And that reason starts and ends with Frank Lister. So, in his honor, he will attend the ONION this evening. He has already been here. He just doesn’t know it or at least not anymore. And tomorrow he will tell you in great detail about the ONION and the events that occurred in the haze of minutes after we left that bar. There will be a casualty and there will be a legend that will grow out of the seeds that will be planted tonight. This legend will be unknown until the time in which it chooses to reveal itself. At that time, all will have the realization and all will have a memory.
In closing, I want you to know that none of this has happened.
Truely
Ted the Electric
In closing, I want you to know that none of this has happened.
Truely
Ted the Electric
4.12.2010
Think about where you work for a minute
Imagine a huge pristine lake on a sunny summer afternoon. I’ll give you a minute to imagine this. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
Are you done? Good. Now…
Did you see the houses that lined the shore of the lake? The 2 story lake houses with their docks and jet-ski’s and music playing in the backyard? Did you see the happy family playing bocce ball in the yard? The dogs digging up the human remains from the side of the house and the father trying to cover it up by showering his kids with gifts and his wife with all of her desires? Did you see the man that was wearing the red Speedos? You know the one who is sunbathing in his backyard but his Speedos are on the ground next to him because he thinks no one can see him but he can certainly see the family in the pool next door? Can you see the teenagers sneaking beer out the neighbors cooler because he is passed out from drinking too much too early in the morning? Can you see the woman who is crying on the 2nd floor of her house while her husband shoots crystal meth before leaving for town to buy hot dog buns for the kids? Can you see the guy smearing blood on the wall of the bathroom in your office?
Ok. Now imagine you are in a boat. A small 22 foot Umiak with a calfskin sail and two 9 foot oars. You are in a boat on the lake on the sunny summer afternoon. The lake with the houses nestled against the shoreline with the people waving out at you. Go ahead. I’ll give you a minute.
Good.
Now imagine for a minute that you fall out of the boat. You flail your arms as you limply fall into the water. You sink into the water slightly; seaweed wrapping itself around your arm. You kick your legs once, stretch upwards as hard as you can. You see the light piercing the murky water and finally you rip open the surface of the water. You breathe out, spewing smelly sulfur lake water into the air. Gasping softly trying to understand what has happened.
After wiping away the algae and muck from your eyes you try to get acquainted.
You look around and the boat is gone.
You turn around again and the houses are gone.
Panicked, you turn again and the lake is gone.
Finally, you are gone.
I’ll give you a minute.
Now imagine you were never in the boat. You were never on the lake. There were never houses and there were never people in the backyards or bones being dug up by dogs. There was only you in the bathroom at your office smearing blood on the wall and thinking you knew who did it. There were only people who thought that they were at houses on lakes sitting naked in the sun. There were only people who thought that the bones of their dark secrets had been dug up by the dog that belonged to the people who believed that they were your neighbor living on a lake in a 2 story house. There were only people who believed that they saw you fall out of that boat. They believed it so strongly that every time that they saw a picture of that boat they cried, even if they were at work looking at the picture of that lake in that town where they lived that they had framed after they saw it in a magazine and knew, just KNEW, it was the lake where they had lived. They told the story so many times over drinks with those same neighbors who lived on the lake burying their secrets for their dogs to dig up. The story of how they lived on a lake and they saw you sail out onto the lake in a boat and then fall out of the boat and disappear even though you know that there is no lake and there was no boat. They cry and then they tell the story again the next day sitting in the office, naked with their Speedos on the ground while the wife in the next cubicle cries because her husband just shot some crystal meth before going to pick up the kids. They tell the story because they believe it. They need stories to tell to get through this meaningless life. They believe this story because they need it to feel alive. Like they were part of something. Part of something other than Cisco IP phone systems and Post it notes and certified original document stamps. Part of something that they don’t understand but must put their trust in. Part of something that they must believe in. They believe that you, insert your name here, fell out of a boat on a lake that they live on and disappeared. They think this even though they get e-mails from you every day in the office or pass you in the hall or sit next to you in the cafeteria. They believe that they saw you fall out of that boat and disappear. You are not you but someone else. You fell out of the boat. You see them. You hear them. You try to show them that you did not fall out of the boat. You are right here and they have a meeting with you at three. Frustrated you get in the boat. You paddle out to see if you can find you in the lake. You paddle out in that boat. You are going to show them that you did not fall out of the boat. You are going to show them all that THERE IS NO BOAT.
Now imagine for a minute that you fall out of the boat. You flail your arms as you limply fall into the water. You sink into the water slightly; seaweed wrapping itself around your arm. You kick your legs once, stretch upwards as hard as you can. You see the light piercing the murky water and finally you rip open the surface of the water. You breathe out, spewing smelly sulfur lake water into the air. Gasping softly trying to understand what has happened.
After wiping away the algae and muck from your eyes you try to get acquainted.
You look around and the boat is gone.
You turn around again and the houses are gone.
Panicked, you turn again and the lake is gone.
Finally, you are gone.
The next day over drinks you tell them all of how you were sitting on the shore of the lake where you all live and you saw a someone, you perhaps, fall out of a boat and disappear. You cry and order another round so Sue can tell the story.
I’ll give you a minute.
Again, Truly
Ted the Electric.
Are you done? Good. Now…
Did you see the houses that lined the shore of the lake? The 2 story lake houses with their docks and jet-ski’s and music playing in the backyard? Did you see the happy family playing bocce ball in the yard? The dogs digging up the human remains from the side of the house and the father trying to cover it up by showering his kids with gifts and his wife with all of her desires? Did you see the man that was wearing the red Speedos? You know the one who is sunbathing in his backyard but his Speedos are on the ground next to him because he thinks no one can see him but he can certainly see the family in the pool next door? Can you see the teenagers sneaking beer out the neighbors cooler because he is passed out from drinking too much too early in the morning? Can you see the woman who is crying on the 2nd floor of her house while her husband shoots crystal meth before leaving for town to buy hot dog buns for the kids? Can you see the guy smearing blood on the wall of the bathroom in your office?
Ok. Now imagine you are in a boat. A small 22 foot Umiak with a calfskin sail and two 9 foot oars. You are in a boat on the lake on the sunny summer afternoon. The lake with the houses nestled against the shoreline with the people waving out at you. Go ahead. I’ll give you a minute.
Good.
Now imagine for a minute that you fall out of the boat. You flail your arms as you limply fall into the water. You sink into the water slightly; seaweed wrapping itself around your arm. You kick your legs once, stretch upwards as hard as you can. You see the light piercing the murky water and finally you rip open the surface of the water. You breathe out, spewing smelly sulfur lake water into the air. Gasping softly trying to understand what has happened.
After wiping away the algae and muck from your eyes you try to get acquainted.
You look around and the boat is gone.
You turn around again and the houses are gone.
Panicked, you turn again and the lake is gone.
Finally, you are gone.
I’ll give you a minute.
Now imagine you were never in the boat. You were never on the lake. There were never houses and there were never people in the backyards or bones being dug up by dogs. There was only you in the bathroom at your office smearing blood on the wall and thinking you knew who did it. There were only people who thought that they were at houses on lakes sitting naked in the sun. There were only people who thought that the bones of their dark secrets had been dug up by the dog that belonged to the people who believed that they were your neighbor living on a lake in a 2 story house. There were only people who believed that they saw you fall out of that boat. They believed it so strongly that every time that they saw a picture of that boat they cried, even if they were at work looking at the picture of that lake in that town where they lived that they had framed after they saw it in a magazine and knew, just KNEW, it was the lake where they had lived. They told the story so many times over drinks with those same neighbors who lived on the lake burying their secrets for their dogs to dig up. The story of how they lived on a lake and they saw you sail out onto the lake in a boat and then fall out of the boat and disappear even though you know that there is no lake and there was no boat. They cry and then they tell the story again the next day sitting in the office, naked with their Speedos on the ground while the wife in the next cubicle cries because her husband just shot some crystal meth before going to pick up the kids. They tell the story because they believe it. They need stories to tell to get through this meaningless life. They believe this story because they need it to feel alive. Like they were part of something. Part of something other than Cisco IP phone systems and Post it notes and certified original document stamps. Part of something that they don’t understand but must put their trust in. Part of something that they must believe in. They believe that you, insert your name here, fell out of a boat on a lake that they live on and disappeared. They think this even though they get e-mails from you every day in the office or pass you in the hall or sit next to you in the cafeteria. They believe that they saw you fall out of that boat and disappear. You are not you but someone else. You fell out of the boat. You see them. You hear them. You try to show them that you did not fall out of the boat. You are right here and they have a meeting with you at three. Frustrated you get in the boat. You paddle out to see if you can find you in the lake. You paddle out in that boat. You are going to show them that you did not fall out of the boat. You are going to show them all that THERE IS NO BOAT.
Now imagine for a minute that you fall out of the boat. You flail your arms as you limply fall into the water. You sink into the water slightly; seaweed wrapping itself around your arm. You kick your legs once, stretch upwards as hard as you can. You see the light piercing the murky water and finally you rip open the surface of the water. You breathe out, spewing smelly sulfur lake water into the air. Gasping softly trying to understand what has happened.
After wiping away the algae and muck from your eyes you try to get acquainted.
You look around and the boat is gone.
You turn around again and the houses are gone.
Panicked, you turn again and the lake is gone.
Finally, you are gone.
The next day over drinks you tell them all of how you were sitting on the shore of the lake where you all live and you saw a someone, you perhaps, fall out of a boat and disappear. You cry and order another round so Sue can tell the story.
I’ll give you a minute.
Again, Truly
Ted the Electric.
4.10.2010
Berzerk
Frank Lister has left the building.
It has been rumored that in 1985, a boy near the age of 11 suffered a massive heart attack while playing the arcade video game Berzerk. His medical history was free of heart defect, free of malfunction, free of even the slightest indication of weakness. In fact, the Sisters considered the boy, the picture of health in all aspects of his life. His body was healthy. His mind had been free of defect as well. He was the perfect student, the perfect servant of the higher power, and the perfect tutor at the school. He was the perfect orphan. The boy had been abandoned by his parents as an infant and was left at the gates of the Sisters of Mercy of our Lady of the Highway convent in the middle of the night in 1974. Although it sounds like a scene from a novel or a movie and seems completely unbelievable, it was entirely true. BELIEVE ME. In fact, to add to the unlikely similarities from a movie, the boy, it is rumored, when brought into the convent, smiled and pointed to the image of the mother Mary, etched into the stained glass window looming behind the altar of the chapel. As the rain subsided on that evening, the boy began his new life in typical movie fashion, an orphan dropped off at a convent on a stormy rainy night to be raised by nuns. On this day, it seemed, that fate would be neither creative nor original but instead as plain as white bread.
For the next 11 years, the boy served. He served the will of the Sisters. He served the will of the church. He served the will of a higher power. He was told that the higher power had blessed him with the goodness of the Sisters. He was told that the higher power had blessed him with the goodness of the church. He was told that the higher power had blessed him with a malleability of spirit, which allowed the church to mold him like a clay pot into the vessel that the higher power wanted him to be. He was also told never to question the higher power, never to curse the name of the higher power and to never, ever, under any circumstances, do anything without thinking about the consequences and how anything he does will most likely disappoint the higher power as we are all dark inside. He was told to ALWAYS obey the call of the higher power regardless of what that call details. So for nearly 11 years, he laid himself bare and plain. His mind was as blank as a piece of standard A0 size 32lb Cotton Fiber paper. His mind was as white as the sand at Jervis Bay in Australia (known as the whitest beach sand in the world). He was as dry as a fresh 3M sponge taken straight from the package (it should be noted that sponges when used for cleaning are the harborers if bacteria and fungus). In digression, he was under the complete control of a higher power, waiting to be instructed what to do or think or feel. For nearly 11 years, this was his purpose in the universe. A beacon for the higher power to convey its message.
On the eve of his 11th year, the boy was sent to town to procure eggs. The Sisters had informed him that the higher power requested that they be bathed in egg yolk (for what purpose he did not know but also did not question as that was one of the cardinal rules that could never be broken). So the boy set out by foot to the local market to purchase 108 cartons of a dozen eggs. His task would be difficult as the road was treacherous and filled with many temptations and dangers, as the Sisters had repeatedly informed him before putting him to bed each evening. “Beware of the world and all of its evils and darkness. The citizens beyond these walls know nothing of goodness and are pure evil. Never succumb to the perils of the carnal world. And also in closing, look down on anyone who does not believe in the higher power or does not serve with the passion and fever of your Sisters. For these citizens are abominations to life.”, they would say to him as they strapped him into his white hosiptal bed. This last statement had begin to trouble the boy in his older years, as he was always under the impression that Love, above all else, was what the universe required of him. Yet, he would heed these calls of his Sisters and obey without question. So off he went on his journey, small plastic bag in hand.
Again, in typical storybook fashion, the boy met a man on the road. He was sitting in a recliner next to the highway. Odd as it was to him that a recliner was placed next to the highway and that a man was sitting in it, the boy understood it to be a sign from the higher power that this man and this recliner were part of the challenge of the day. This recliner was a message. So the boy, approached the man and asked of him, “How can you help me acquire the eggs?” The man in the recliner, how appeared to be out of his mind (it will later become clear to the boy after, (how should I put it?) a broadening of his own experiences, that the man was in fact drunk after having consumed 2 bottles of barley wine that morning. Regardless, at the time the boy thought little of this incapacitation of the man in the reclining chair and asked him again, “How can you assist me in acquiring the eggs that the higher power has requested my fair caregivers bathe in? OR Should I assume that you do not believe in the will of the higher power and are an abomination of life?” The man, looking the boy of nearly 11 years, square in the eye and said, “Son, I think you have it all wrong. Let me explain to you how this works.”
The man reached out, and like the priests of the church had, touched the boy on the forehead (what you were thinking because they were priests that I was going to imply something inappropriate?) he touched the boy on the forehead and shone a light directly into the mind of the young boy. At that moment, seemingly lasting for hours but in actuality only consisting of a brief uncountable moment of time, the boy had a shift in his mind. He no longer felt as though anything was in control. Chaos flooded his mind like a tsunami. All of his thoughts, that he was completely unaware of their existence due to the suppression system that was put into place as an infant as this was a sign of disbelief in the will of the higher power, filled every available cavern of his mind, even so much, according to the man in the recliner after being interviewed by Police, that they began to spill out of his ears. Yes, you heard me right, as unbelievable as it sounds, the boy had thoughts coming out of his ears. BELIEVE ME. This sudden wave of thoughts and ideas and realizations that life is not controlled by an unseen force that one fears the wrath of, in turn causing one to never make a decision in the fear of angering the power resulting in eternal damnation; BUT by oneself was almost too much for the boy to handle. At that moment he understood the power that his own mind possessed. He was in complete control over everything that he encountered. For once in his life he felt as though he had an amazing power. He was no longer a vessel, he the potter who was creating the vessel. He was the craftsman at the wheel. He was the controller of thoughts and ideas. He was, in his own words, a higher power.
As the paramedics cleaned themselves up from the bath of saliva, urine and egg yolk that was dripping from the ceiling underneath the Berzerk arcade game in the back of the convenience store, the Sisters looked on in sheer and utter disbelief. “How could our precious son be so unwise as to fall to the evils of the world? How could this secular devil’s den of bells and buttons seduce him so as to abandon all that he feared and loved? How could he have spent our money to play this abomination, score a very high 15 million points, throw all of the eggs that he had purchased for us up into the air landing and sticking to the ceiling and then ultimately die? Where do you think our change is from the $100 bill that we gave him?”
As the paramedics put the sheet over, what they thought was my body but was actually no body, I walked past the Sisters, $100 bill in hand, and went about living my life, never to be heard from again but always remembered as the guy who, on THAT day, in the back of that convenience store in Eustis Alabama, got the high score of Berzerk and then died. Axel Randcastle. Born 1974. Dead 1985 of a sudden heart attack while playing the video game Berzerk. My tombstone for all to see for eternity. And today, sitting at Frank Lister’s desk (who has been absent for more than a week now with no trace of his whereabouts), in Philadelphia Pa on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, while no one is here in his office, except for him, Frank Lister is about to smear blood on the wall of the bathroom. Or at least that is what people are going to read.
Truely,
Ted, the Electric (as I like to be called).
It has been rumored that in 1985, a boy near the age of 11 suffered a massive heart attack while playing the arcade video game Berzerk. His medical history was free of heart defect, free of malfunction, free of even the slightest indication of weakness. In fact, the Sisters considered the boy, the picture of health in all aspects of his life. His body was healthy. His mind had been free of defect as well. He was the perfect student, the perfect servant of the higher power, and the perfect tutor at the school. He was the perfect orphan. The boy had been abandoned by his parents as an infant and was left at the gates of the Sisters of Mercy of our Lady of the Highway convent in the middle of the night in 1974. Although it sounds like a scene from a novel or a movie and seems completely unbelievable, it was entirely true. BELIEVE ME. In fact, to add to the unlikely similarities from a movie, the boy, it is rumored, when brought into the convent, smiled and pointed to the image of the mother Mary, etched into the stained glass window looming behind the altar of the chapel. As the rain subsided on that evening, the boy began his new life in typical movie fashion, an orphan dropped off at a convent on a stormy rainy night to be raised by nuns. On this day, it seemed, that fate would be neither creative nor original but instead as plain as white bread.
For the next 11 years, the boy served. He served the will of the Sisters. He served the will of the church. He served the will of a higher power. He was told that the higher power had blessed him with the goodness of the Sisters. He was told that the higher power had blessed him with the goodness of the church. He was told that the higher power had blessed him with a malleability of spirit, which allowed the church to mold him like a clay pot into the vessel that the higher power wanted him to be. He was also told never to question the higher power, never to curse the name of the higher power and to never, ever, under any circumstances, do anything without thinking about the consequences and how anything he does will most likely disappoint the higher power as we are all dark inside. He was told to ALWAYS obey the call of the higher power regardless of what that call details. So for nearly 11 years, he laid himself bare and plain. His mind was as blank as a piece of standard A0 size 32lb Cotton Fiber paper. His mind was as white as the sand at Jervis Bay in Australia (known as the whitest beach sand in the world). He was as dry as a fresh 3M sponge taken straight from the package (it should be noted that sponges when used for cleaning are the harborers if bacteria and fungus). In digression, he was under the complete control of a higher power, waiting to be instructed what to do or think or feel. For nearly 11 years, this was his purpose in the universe. A beacon for the higher power to convey its message.
On the eve of his 11th year, the boy was sent to town to procure eggs. The Sisters had informed him that the higher power requested that they be bathed in egg yolk (for what purpose he did not know but also did not question as that was one of the cardinal rules that could never be broken). So the boy set out by foot to the local market to purchase 108 cartons of a dozen eggs. His task would be difficult as the road was treacherous and filled with many temptations and dangers, as the Sisters had repeatedly informed him before putting him to bed each evening. “Beware of the world and all of its evils and darkness. The citizens beyond these walls know nothing of goodness and are pure evil. Never succumb to the perils of the carnal world. And also in closing, look down on anyone who does not believe in the higher power or does not serve with the passion and fever of your Sisters. For these citizens are abominations to life.”, they would say to him as they strapped him into his white hosiptal bed. This last statement had begin to trouble the boy in his older years, as he was always under the impression that Love, above all else, was what the universe required of him. Yet, he would heed these calls of his Sisters and obey without question. So off he went on his journey, small plastic bag in hand.
Again, in typical storybook fashion, the boy met a man on the road. He was sitting in a recliner next to the highway. Odd as it was to him that a recliner was placed next to the highway and that a man was sitting in it, the boy understood it to be a sign from the higher power that this man and this recliner were part of the challenge of the day. This recliner was a message. So the boy, approached the man and asked of him, “How can you help me acquire the eggs?” The man in the recliner, how appeared to be out of his mind (it will later become clear to the boy after, (how should I put it?) a broadening of his own experiences, that the man was in fact drunk after having consumed 2 bottles of barley wine that morning. Regardless, at the time the boy thought little of this incapacitation of the man in the reclining chair and asked him again, “How can you assist me in acquiring the eggs that the higher power has requested my fair caregivers bathe in? OR Should I assume that you do not believe in the will of the higher power and are an abomination of life?” The man, looking the boy of nearly 11 years, square in the eye and said, “Son, I think you have it all wrong. Let me explain to you how this works.”
The man reached out, and like the priests of the church had, touched the boy on the forehead (what you were thinking because they were priests that I was going to imply something inappropriate?) he touched the boy on the forehead and shone a light directly into the mind of the young boy. At that moment, seemingly lasting for hours but in actuality only consisting of a brief uncountable moment of time, the boy had a shift in his mind. He no longer felt as though anything was in control. Chaos flooded his mind like a tsunami. All of his thoughts, that he was completely unaware of their existence due to the suppression system that was put into place as an infant as this was a sign of disbelief in the will of the higher power, filled every available cavern of his mind, even so much, according to the man in the recliner after being interviewed by Police, that they began to spill out of his ears. Yes, you heard me right, as unbelievable as it sounds, the boy had thoughts coming out of his ears. BELIEVE ME. This sudden wave of thoughts and ideas and realizations that life is not controlled by an unseen force that one fears the wrath of, in turn causing one to never make a decision in the fear of angering the power resulting in eternal damnation; BUT by oneself was almost too much for the boy to handle. At that moment he understood the power that his own mind possessed. He was in complete control over everything that he encountered. For once in his life he felt as though he had an amazing power. He was no longer a vessel, he the potter who was creating the vessel. He was the craftsman at the wheel. He was the controller of thoughts and ideas. He was, in his own words, a higher power.
As the paramedics cleaned themselves up from the bath of saliva, urine and egg yolk that was dripping from the ceiling underneath the Berzerk arcade game in the back of the convenience store, the Sisters looked on in sheer and utter disbelief. “How could our precious son be so unwise as to fall to the evils of the world? How could this secular devil’s den of bells and buttons seduce him so as to abandon all that he feared and loved? How could he have spent our money to play this abomination, score a very high 15 million points, throw all of the eggs that he had purchased for us up into the air landing and sticking to the ceiling and then ultimately die? Where do you think our change is from the $100 bill that we gave him?”
As the paramedics put the sheet over, what they thought was my body but was actually no body, I walked past the Sisters, $100 bill in hand, and went about living my life, never to be heard from again but always remembered as the guy who, on THAT day, in the back of that convenience store in Eustis Alabama, got the high score of Berzerk and then died. Axel Randcastle. Born 1974. Dead 1985 of a sudden heart attack while playing the video game Berzerk. My tombstone for all to see for eternity. And today, sitting at Frank Lister’s desk (who has been absent for more than a week now with no trace of his whereabouts), in Philadelphia Pa on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, while no one is here in his office, except for him, Frank Lister is about to smear blood on the wall of the bathroom. Or at least that is what people are going to read.
Truely,
Ted, the Electric (as I like to be called).
4.01.2010
Shirtless, on the floor of someone elses apartment and I think I have been here for 3 days
Frank Lister found himself in the title this morning. I'm not sure what happened. The last thing that I can really put together is Monday afternoon convincing Bryce after me being convinced by Ted to meet up for an ONION that night. I had 872 messages on my phone all from a guy named AXEL except for 1 from an unlisted number telling me he had my keys and something else I would want. I have blood on my back (I only know this because I walked past a mirror in some strange ladys ( I assume it is a lady because a dude would not have doilies) aprtment. I also think I am missing a toenail. I need some time to figure this out.
P.S. I'll explain what an ONION is later.
P.S. I'll explain what an ONION is later.
I want to live here
3.28.2010
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)
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)
3.21.2010
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.
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.
3.13.2010
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.
3.05.2010
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.
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.
3.04.2010
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
3.03.2010
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.
"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?
3.02.2010
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.
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.
2.24.2010
there is no out in down pt 2
So Monday, Bryce and Frank Lister decided that we would go out after work for a drink. We head to the bar on Chestnut Street (totally not my scene but Bryce was buying so he got to pick. One word for you- abercrombie & Fitch douchebags who pump iron, smell of some odd foreign cologne and probably still live in their mother's basement). Anyway, we grab our drinks and sit down at a booth. The bar is so crowded that neither one of us can hear each other talking. I mean there were so many times that I thought Bryce looked at me and said that I smelled nice. Really odd, Bryce is a low talker anyway so that made it worse. The more I look at him, I really realize that he is kind of a dork who happens to work on the "cool in the senior in high school way" top floor. I, on the other hand, work on the "we got held back a grade and we are going to some special classes after graduation before getting good old american jobs" bottom floor of the company. but he should really be down here with us (frankly, I think I should be up their with them. Just ask my mother) But I digress. So, it's loud as all hell and we finally stop talking. All of the sudden Bryce's nose starts to bleed. It's freaking hilarious becasue he is wearing a pink shirt (YES A PINK SHIRT) and now the blood starts dripping on it and forming a rose shape. So NOW it looks like he is wearing a pink shirt with little roses over the boob part. Sort of like he has rose shaped man-boobs peeking out underneath the shirt. After a minute or so of blood shed, i decide to tell him that he has rose boobs and he runs off to the bathroom. My first thought while Bryce was gone was that he was the culprit. You know the blood on the wall. But then I remembered that it wasn't him. I'm convinced it's somone on MY floor. There are some people that have vendetta's against me because I don't allow certain things to go on with my documents, so there! So, while Bryce is at the bathroom, I look over and there is TED. Standing alone in the back of the bar by the bathroom where Bryce went. I hate this guy so far. So, our eyes met. And this is where it gets weird. So hang on.
Our eyes meet. At that moment, in that instant it was as if the entire bar stopped in time. Not a person was moving, or speaking or even breathing except me and TED. No time, no space. There was a fly stuck in the air and a drink floating in space about to crash all over some girls purple pear shaped pumps. There was nothing. Just me and Ted and what looked like a third of Bryce's head poking out of the bathroom door. And before I could really grasp hold out what was going on, Ted smiled at me in this weird shit-eating grin and then like someone plugged us back in; Bryce was back at the table with toilet paper stuck on the inside of his nose, the Bust A Move Young MC track was blaring, the people were swilling and spilling their beers all over the place. The douche bags were back in full effect. And Ted the Electric. Nowhere.
And now I really think I know where the blood came from.
Our eyes meet. At that moment, in that instant it was as if the entire bar stopped in time. Not a person was moving, or speaking or even breathing except me and TED. No time, no space. There was a fly stuck in the air and a drink floating in space about to crash all over some girls purple pear shaped pumps. There was nothing. Just me and Ted and what looked like a third of Bryce's head poking out of the bathroom door. And before I could really grasp hold out what was going on, Ted smiled at me in this weird shit-eating grin and then like someone plugged us back in; Bryce was back at the table with toilet paper stuck on the inside of his nose, the Bust A Move Young MC track was blaring, the people were swilling and spilling their beers all over the place. The douche bags were back in full effect. And Ted the Electric. Nowhere.
And now I really think I know where the blood came from.
This is where we go when we die
there is no out in down
it's weird to Frank Lister to see certain things. Sometimes it's weird when I see a person on the bus carrying a trash basket. Even weirder than that is the fact that they are also carrying an IPHONE. Even weirder than that is the fact the trash basket is full of trash and there is no trash bag. I feel bad becasue I blamed the smell of rotting baby poop on the old guy sitting next me's pants (in my head of course. The scene in my head was quite hilarious as I made a huge declaration on the bus that some one has pooped their pants and it must be rooted out. The whole crowd joined in and we all sniffed around like puppies looking for throw-up to eat).
What I saw on Monday night was even weirder than that.
Oh yeah, sorry I've been absent. (Frank)ly I have had nothing more to say to you until now.
Without going into great detail right now (as I can;t because I am at work) but I am not sure but I think I saw Ted....
Gotta go.
What I saw on Monday night was even weirder than that.
Oh yeah, sorry I've been absent. (Frank)ly I have had nothing more to say to you until now.
Without going into great detail right now (as I can;t because I am at work) but I am not sure but I think I saw Ted....
Gotta go.
2.22.2010
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