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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in beserkerbob's LiveJournal:

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Monday, January 23rd, 2006
2:50 pm
Napping dozens dream
of gardens and streams.
Others still working
lost, on the internet.
Conflict around us,
on television
and film,
leaves us all the same.
The dead buds on bush
trimmed in one motion.
Lazily working
under the sunlight,
padding the earth;
or illegally working
to feed his mom’s children.
The ticker reports
the gains and the losses,
while the old men moan
away the rest of their days.

Current Mood: Supposed to be Working
Monday, December 19th, 2005
12:19 pm
I'm so...
I'm so lazy, but that's okay
'cause I'm at work
They tell me what to do.
I'm so lazy, but that's okay
I've got the net
It's full of stuff.
I'm so lazy, but that's okay
I'm going to Vegas,
in a car.
I'm so lazy, but that's okay
'cause Lomeli's ruling
came with lots of cash.
I'm so lazy, but that's okay
I don't bother to think
of anything creative.
I'll start thinking it's not okay
to sit around
wasting my time.

Okay I'm done with that...
I think I'll read some jerk's screenplay now...or go eat lunch.

Current Mood: content
Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005
10:39 am
Poor Alan's liver...I haven't seen someone drink whiskey like that since I thought I was Lance Armstrong on a water tower/reservoir.
Friday, July 29th, 2005
11:30 am
This is the story of the most amazing device yet dreamed up by man, and, well, women too. If you forget the women, bad things happen. So, let's not forget them. Women have done so much since the creation of our sexes, but this isn't the story of women, but possibly one of their creations. A creation which I do not know was meant to become the most fascinating object in existence.
This tool is the wave of the future. It's one object made of others--or is it the other way around. Think of a bus made of airplanes, or lobsters made of tacos, or tacos made of lobsters. You know what I'm talking about! I'm talking about the...wait, we need more build up. Will this object be remembered for all time, as the start of a new era? Will it lead mankind (oh right, and womankind, but I suppose mankind can be all inclusive) into a new age of enlightenment? It most certainly will!

Where was I? What was I talking about...it's hard to write stuff when I am busy at work.
I'm sure it wasn't important.
The other day, at Tina's place, I had a burrito with a couple of jack cheese sticks and some canned beans in it. It was much, much tastier than one would expect. Mmmm, beans are pretty tasty. Something about their consistency that makes them more appetizing. I wasn't gassy at all afterwards!

Sorry, I forgot, the buildup to the wrench-pedal; or is it the pedal made of wrenches? I don’t really know.

Well, I was riding a bike; let’s call it my bike, even though it has become everyone’s bike...you know, like the village girl. Anyway, my brother, Matt, got into riding the village girl. Matt works at Copland Sports; where he has accumulated all sorts of extra quality parts for the village girl.
Now in case you don’t know, you should avoid bolting two different types of metal together. Needless to say, the threads on the pedals are steel, and the threads on the levers for the bike are aluminum...(aluminum isn't strong.)

Well, the aluminum threads completely tore out after traveling quite a ways into sycamore canyon. You would think that I was stuck. I’d have to turn around and head back. No! Never! Tina had the magical object! A wrench, with a bolt on the end! A bolt! For what use? No one really knows, maybe it was meant to be a pedal. Thus, the wrench became a pedal, or the pedal was a wrench, hoping to one day be a pedal again. And with this wrench-pedal, we continued our journey, over chaparral, and across rivers...until the other pedal fell off...

Current Mood: happy
Sunday, July 24th, 2005
12:04 pm
Rose Marble
Poetry is too easy to write! It makes it hard to write fiction.

The marble feels so strong,
bathed in heavy sunlight,
scorching to the touch.
I wonder how those lines
cut their way through the silica--
pink and flashes of blue.
I’ve tried to make my own way in,
too slow to realize that my bone
and blood
are too weak, and feel the heat
The master craftsman
chipped it away,
intentionally leaving flaws
for character, and shading in sunlight,
or moonlight.
Many attempt to imitate the craftsman,
adding their own curves and notches,
all beautiful, but not the same.
Creations of motionless marble,
with more character, and feeling,
than we--
Rose marble, smooth, strong, and hot.

Current Mood: happy
Friday, July 22nd, 2005
11:17 am
I'm going MAD!
You think this is about you!
It’s not!
Just waiting to fly…
People are so slow.
Who am I kidding?
My dad is slow.
3 hours of crap!
The weather is perfect.
I’m ready to go.
Pain in the ass!
Where’s the wire?
I have no idea!
Where’s the heat gun?
It’s at the airport!
Just a moment.
A moment is 3 hours?
I’m going pretty fast now…
Yeah right…
I just want to fly the damn plane!
I can pay the bill!
I can give you a call!
I can get it done.
Why are you making me wait?
I need to calm down,
Wait a second…
That could send me on a wild killing spree!
…well, maybe not quite that bad.
It’s warm!
Better put it in the freezer.
3 to 1 that I forget about it
It explodes!
What am I waiting for!
Thank god for stream of conscious writing.
Keep my mind off of things.
It’s still warm,
What good is a freezer?
It’s not even frozen.
Where’s Tina?
Where’s Alan?
Where’s Temecula?
Jack-4! AH!
Now I’m just going insane.
Okay, I don’t have A.D.D.
…or do I?
Is this what it feels like?
Poor highschool kids…
I think I understand their violent tendencies.
It’s probably more the hormones
than the inability to go to the airport
and fly a damned plain!
O! O! Muse of Muses
Inspire me to beauty
To create lines of brilliance
To explain my pain
And insanity
Where is my cold soda?
Why is it so warm?
What’s the deal with the weather?
How much more crap can I write?
How much longer can you read this?
Give up now!
I tell thee!
Thee? Damned muses…
Always making people sound like morons!
Okay, calming down a bit.
Uh! Calming up!
Okay, okay, now it’s just nonsense.
Now, I have to stop writing.
I have to do something
Must not kill father.
Must stay sane.
In & Out
Maybe I should eat something…
Did you read all of this?
I apologize.
You’re most certainly stupider for it.
Now my dad's yelling about broken tools...
"What a peice of crap!
Brand new!
I can't even get it to melt solder!"
I'm never going anywhere.

Current Mood: anxious
Monday, July 18th, 2005
10:20 am
Working like a chump.
09:10 AM -- Ten minutes late to work.
09:20 AM -- Costs and correspondences filed.
09:22 AM -- Call voicemail, message from Tina.
09:24 AM -- Coffee.
09:32 AM -- Looking for anything interesting on the Internet.
09:36 AM -- Call Tina, she's basically sleeping.
09:48 AM -- The air conditioning turns on. It feels good.
09:53 AM -- Pleadings filed into the Martinez Case.
10:02 AM -- Call home. Aunt went to the airport.
10:09 AM -- I'm asked to watch the phones.
10:15 AM -- It's starting to get cold back here.
10:16 AM -- Livejournal.
10:18 AM -- NOW.

Quite working, just to work,
Driving and Drinking,
Looking for a friend,
Black and blue, pussless,
Lifting weights,
And running with a dog,
Continuance, imagery allusive,
No ring, no work,
to sit and work,
we wait.
The A/C is on.
I could use a hug,
or attention,
to get going again.
Mindlessly spilling mind,
cleaning crews cleans,
sergeons repair, replace,
Oregon, go ducks!
I gotta go to the bathroom.

Current Mood: good
Wednesday, July 6th, 2005
9:33 pm
Once the sun touched my hands,
cracking and bleeding it filled in the gaps.
I’ve never been able to seal them
and it pooled on the floor,
glowing beautifully.

Current Mood: tired
Tuesday, July 5th, 2005
10:50 pm
I made 12 landings today.
I'm tired.

Current Mood: tired
Sunday, July 3rd, 2005
9:07 pm
More on solo...
Pat didn't tell me he was going to solo me...after flying really well (four good touch and goes and an excellent practice engine failure,) handling the radios and such, he made me solo. In case you didn't know, it's tradition to cut off the back of the student's shirt when he first solos. I have the back of one of my favorite shirts hanging in my room with the following written on it:
First Solo!
Tom Sullivan
CFI Patrick Sullivan
(Plus the picture of a tower with a comment bubble containing the words, "How about making some 180's?")

I was nervous for a second before I fired up the engine and called up ground, but it quickly dissipated. This was my first take-off without someone else in the plane, plus it only had about 18 gallons of fuel in it. It seriously leaped off the runway in about 50 feet and climbed like a rocket.
My first touch and go by myself was sketchy with a nice big bounce. Afterwards the fun started, some guy pronouncing Camarillo with L's inbound on the ILS approach starts causing problems and has issues communicating with the tower.
I make my turn downwind and call up tower for clearance for my next touch and go...no response, tower is too busy with the idiot on the approach. I'm extended downwind; I step on the guy on the approach, and the other traffic building up in the area, asking for clearance. I was a bit confused at first before I realized that the guy on the approach wasn't yet cleared to land, but was doing it anyway. I was at the Camarillo grade before the tower called me up and asked me to make a 180 back to the "Bean Barn" (a landmark used by Camarillo Traffic.) There were four other planes ahead of me inbound for landing. After I make my turn and fly over the bean barn, I'm one again asked to make another 180 into the downwind and was cleared touch and go behind the TBM on a five mile final...of course, I can't see him and I have no idea what a TBM looks like. (I later discovered that it was a very expensive french turboprop.) Anyway, tower let me know when he passed me and I finally turned base, then final. I made a nice flat and rough landing. Luckily, on my last pattern, I made my best landing to date.

Well...since my solo, the clouds have been terrible in Oxnard and I haven't been able to fly...hopefully tomorrow morning will be good.

Current Mood: I wanna fly...
Friday, July 1st, 2005
3:00 pm
I can fly...sorta...
I SOLOed. Supposedly, that makes me a pilot.

Current Mood: good
11:16 am
I'll take aviation for 1000...
Decreasing Rapidly.

What is my bank account?

A 1st class medical cost me $125, and the doctor only had to look at me for 5 minutes (that's not hyperbole!) If you really want to make easy money, do Aviation Medicine!

Current Mood: Poor
Saturday, June 25th, 2005
2:41 pm
No writing!
I haven't written anything creative for a while...but at least I passed my Private Pilot Written Exam with ease.
Tuesday, June 21st, 2005
9:37 am
All Right!
To those who care, of which I'm sure there are very few, I will fly.

I will have little time for writing, how sad.

Current Mood: good
Thursday, March 31st, 2005
8:47 am
Stability results were high which suggests you are very relaxed, calm, secure, and optimistic..

Orderliness results were medium which suggests you are moderately organized, hard working, and reliable while still remaining flexible, efficient, and fun.

Extraversion results were medium which suggests you are moderately talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting.

trait snapshot:

rarely irritated, positive, tough, non phobic, fearless, likes the unknown, self reliant, high self control, confident, trusting, strong instincts, prudent, optimistic, willful, likes parties, prefers a specialized career, takes charge, altruistic, strong, high self concept, adventurous, practical, thoughtful
8:47 am
Advanced Global Personality Test Results
Extraversion |||||||||||| 46%
Stability |||||||||||||||||| 76%
Orderliness |||||||||||| 50%
Empathy |||||||||||||||| 63%
Interdependence |||||||||||||||||| 76%
Intellectual |||||||||||||||||| 76%
Mystical |||||||||| 36%
Artistic |||||||||||||||||||| 83%
Religious |||||||||||||||||||| 83%
Hedonism |||||||||||||||| 63%
Materialism |||| 16%
Narcissism |||||||||||||| 56%
Adventurousness |||||||||||||||||| 76%
Work ethic |||||| 23%
Self absorbed |||| 16%
Conflict seeking |||||||||||||||||| 76%
Need to dominate |||||||||||| 50%
Romantic |||||||||| 36%
Avoidant |||| 16%
Anti-authority |||| 16%
Wealth |||||||||||| 43%
Dependency || 10%
Change averse |||||| 30%
Cautiousness |||||||||||| 50%
Individuality |||||||||| 36%
Sexuality |||||||||||||| 56%
Peter pan complex |||||||||||| 43%
Physical security |||||||||||||||||||| 90%
Food indulgent |||| 16%
Histrionic || 10%
Paranoia |||| 16%
Vanity |||||| 30%
Hypersensitivity || 10%
Female cliche |||||| 30%
Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005
4:30 pm
Thin as sand
and rougher than
the paper made with
well, sand
We can lose are fingers
and toes in it.
Children bury their parents in
It's rushing past me
and at times
more like concrete,
jammed, still.
It takes hammers to get it
going again,
to pick up and leave,
to get the dry, sandy breeze
going once again,
roughing up my cheeks
and wrinkling my skin.
Some desperately cling to the curb,
but it's going to break away
and they'll find themselves
just lying on the street.
Monday, February 21st, 2005
9:27 pm
         I’m so busy; I have little time for writing. I try to write poetry, since it’s easier, less time consuming, and more likely to be accidentally good, but I’m not a good poet. I need to be bored to write poetry. The Muse is an evil thing. Makes us write terrible poetry about emotions, love, happiness, sadness; all that crap that everyone has heard before. The mundane is where it’s at. The stupid things that nobody notices:
         Oh, thumbtack of discerning taste.
...or the stuff no one wants to talk about:
         Oh where, oh where did my foreskin go?
         Apparently that has to be done very carefully. Like I said, I have to be bored and void of emotion to do it well. I suppose there are moments when I write something with the little emotion that I have boiling in me; I have to go back later when I’m bored and robotic to fix it.
Polished marble
wastes with age
and gold
stolen by thieves
         We all know those people, generally ourselves, who are overwhelmed by the Muse and blather about “the way things could have been!” (See my previous post.) It’s possible to do it in a fresh manner (hey, that’s a good pun on wine, see my previous post;) however, it’s best to start with a fresh idea. Wait, scratch that, don’t start with an idea. Ideas lead to crap as well. If we think that “the point will be this,” then it will be crap.
Another rooster crows
but at 1 pm
really though,
the chickens think it’s hot.
         Is it nonsense? Well, yeah, mostly, or is it? I remember a line from a poem that went something like “I balance a pad of butter on my knee.” Seriously though, everyone knows what I’m thinking; well, apart from how tasty butter is. Alright, I don’t even know what I’m thinking, but I remembered the line.
Boiling puddles
blue and gray
ashen scent and
dreary clouds
blind reddened eyes.
Slick touch bases
dissolve away
the skin.
The chemistry
of our mind
still misunderstood.
         Why ask questions when they lead to no answer at all? Even worse, some of us will confidently answer the questions without fail; except, failing to question themselves. Foolish, but so very common, I do it myself, with exuberant pride.
We turn to one another
with hugs and kisses
and things not fit for TV
and never
will know
what we know
         I think our punishment for our arrogance is our inability to be part of the universe. We’re all on the outside; we can’t even understand each other. My dog understands his world better than we do ours. Of course, I use the royal we and currently represent humanity.

Current Mood: tired
Sunday, January 30th, 2005
8:54 pm
One tiny drop,
teeters on the lip,
threatening intoxication.
Notes of fruit and chocolate
drawing on the depths
of the old and mixing
with new.
Men, aged ‘n oaken
with the raw and undeveloped,
talk of the way
could have been—
glass after glass.
We weep and rage
over ifs and loves.
Husbands of the grape
and lovers of yeast,
we touch glasses
with friends and enemies.
Tuesday, January 25th, 2005
10:03 am
Basically Two Character Studies
         I would see him, at least once every day. He would just nod and give me that awful, smug, smile—sort of lopsided, like Harrison Ford. Everyday, his hair was different; combed to one side, brushed back, part down the middle, or to the side, and sometimes it was just all messy. Even his facial hair seemed to change from unshaven into a goatee, then a van dyke, or just a mustache, even that horrible little puff of hair under the lower lip. The hair changed in any random order.
         You would think that I would have learned his name earlier. He lived next door to me in one of those apartment buildings that only single, twenty-somethings with an inane corporate desk job live. I asked around. All of my other neighbors seem to know him well. Morton is a great gay, they would say. He hardly even notices me, the girls would say. You should hang out with us sometime, his friends would say.
         Morton! Who names their kid Morton? What sort of name is that?
         I saw him waiting at the bus stop from my bedroom window; I had to glance at the clock, and, just as I thought, 8 o’clock, at least he could have tried to be a little late. Just watching him stand there got to me. How could a guy with a horrible desk job look so damn smug? --hands in his pockets, chin parallel to the ground, smiling and saying hello to the strangers at the bus stop.
         Man, I need to kick this guy over.
         I was still in my pajamas, but I always spent half the day in pajamas. I cracked the front door of my apartment open, stuck my head out, and looked for any inquisitive human. John, the fat programmer, was walking along the terraced hallway on the other side of the courtyard. He wouldn’t care. So, I left my door on my tiptoes the way I would imagine a mouse leaving his home, after every few steps I looked around for danger.
         I approached Morton’s door. It was no different from my door, except it was marked one number higher than mine.
         Now here’s the strange thing. I tried to turn the doorknob and, well, it actually turned. I wondered where that smug look of his would be now, not only forgetting to lock the door, but letting a stranger tiptoe into his apartment. Just as I expected, it wasn’t clean at all. There were clothes on the floor and dishes in the sink. After a few moments of examining the small apartment, a feeling of security crept back into me and my heels slowly returned to the ground.
         I went that far, so, I figured I should check the refrigerator. His ‘fridge was white, no magnets, notes, anything, completely clean! What is a ‘fridge for, if it’s not used to pin up all sorts of crap? At least a few coupons or notes or bills or something should be hanging from his ‘fridge. I opened it. It didn’t catch like mine, just opened smoothly to reveal it unexciting contents. Completely empty, except for a single can of light beer, a box of cereal, and a half empty gallon of milk. Whole milk! Seriously, whole milk! But an even more pressing issue of the moment was why there was cereal in the ‘fridge.
         Anyway, at least he enjoys good cereal; I took the box and jammed my hand into it bringing a fistful to the contents into my mouth—cold cereal, weird. A few chunks fells to the floor with each fistful.
         Wait, it came to me as I chewed that cereal. The medicine cabinet will be chocked full of horrible secrets! The bathroom was across from the bedroom, exactly like my apartment. The bathroom was almost as filthy as my own, however on top of the toilet laid a matchbook. Come on, he doesn’t think lighting a match really gets rid of the smell, ignorant idiot.
         This was it; I stared at the excited look on my face in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. The same look kids get when they are surprised with a gift on any day other than Christmas or their birthday.
         I pulled on the mirror; I had to pull a little harder, the mirror jolted open with a pop, flakes of rust fell from the hinges, the cabinet flew open revealing the horrible contents. I couldn’t believe it. A white and blue bottle of fluoride mouthwash with an expiration date of August 8th, 1994 clearly written on it, it may not even have been his, and next to the ancient bottle of mouthwash, a can of light beer—half-full and opened. I sniffed the opening a few times, no weird scents wafted from the can. I took swallow; flat, but malty and sweet. I chased the swallow with a fistful of cereal and placed the beer back in the medicine cabinet before closing it.
         I left the bathroom, extremely discouraged. The bedroom door loomed in front of me. I was so discouraged that I almost didn’t notice the door. Of course, with little hesitation, I opened it. The room was nearly a duplicate of my own. The bed and dresser sat in the same place, sheets and clothes strewn about. Only, something was out of place. The bed stand! He placed the bed stand on the wrong side of the bed. There was a digital clock resting on the top of it. That was the secret to his promptness. It looked just as smug as Morton, sitting there with 8:17 on its face. I unplugged the clock, wrapped the cord around it, opened a window, and threw the clock to its three-story deathdrop. I felt so much better.
         But, the bed stand still stood there, in the wrong place. So, I moved it to the right place. After dragging it across the room, I deserved to peak inside, to find out what was clunking around while I moved it. The drawer opened easier than the medicine cabinet. I was even more surprised this time. A bible! Really, who has a bible by their bed? I have a bible too, but I only read it at bible study. On top of the bible, car keys glowed, flashes of sunlight reflected off of them. The symbol on the keys indicated they belonged to an Acura. I quickly grabbed the keys and sunk them in my pocket. Next to the bible, also glittering in the light, a can of light beer waited. After another fistful of cereal, I left the box atop the newly relocated bed stand.
         I went straight to the parking garage. I tested the keys in every silver Acura. I just assumed he owned a silver car. None of them opened, so, I tried the keys in every Acura. It took less than an hour to find the right lock for the keys; however it didn’t make any sense. The keys opened a white, early nineties Acura. It was so plain. I assumed that it must not have been his car. The cloth interior shone with cleanliness. The carpet lacked dust. The car was completely empty, not even a CD case or window shields. I didn’t believe that this could belong to him. I checked the glove compartment. It contained nothing but the yellowing owner’s manual, the registration, and insurance card, all of which had Morton Badger written on them. I threw them all on the ground. Badger? I said out loud. I can’t believe his last name is Badger! A laughed for a few moments.
         I sat in the driver’s seat. I adjusted the mirrors and tried to move the seat forward, but it got caught up on something. Reaching under the seat, I pulled free a can of light beer, which I put back in its proper place.
         Finally, I opened the ashtray to reveal a mine full of pennies with a few glints of silver. I dug trough the pennies, I found nickels and dimes, finally, I found a quarter and stuck it in my pocket.
         I slammed the door shut and returned to my apartment where I just laid down on my bed. I sat for a few moments before I opened the nightstand removed a beer and drank it.

Current Mood: good
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