Tooth Skinner

Been Awhile, Again

2012-01-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

Here's an update:
waiting for spring semester to start.
failed to celebrate Christmas or New Years.
going to sleep at 3am and waking up at 10 am everyday.
still smoking, swilling coffee, depressed, heart problems (IDK whats up with that).

My new prediction for December 21, 2012: Aliens will return all the Mayans to earth. It was a long flight my Indian friends.

Well, life is uber boring at the moment so, off to do some mind numbing online gaming or something useless like that. I should try and get something useful done... nah.

-Nosmo

That Ain’t Working

2011-12-02T10:19:00.000-08:00

I could be doing any number of other things right now. I could make an honest attempt at a medical degree with which I could help heal the sick. I could get a high paying job, squirrel money away, buy a sail boat and become a full-time blue water sailor. I could sell dope or get high or make an effort toward increasing my resume of Face Book friends. I could run for congress or run a marathon or open a brothel. I could be just another Nobody from Nowhereville. One in 7 billion.

But I’m not doing that. Instead, I’m writing.

Writing isn’t hard work. It isn’t hard work like ditch digging is hard work. It isn’t mentally taxing like rocket science. In fact, if I could actually make a living just writing I would feel as if I had played the system, that I was crafty enough to pay my dues without trying too hard. “The world owes me a living”, that would be my song.

Speaking of songs, do you remember a song by the Dire Straights called “Money for Nothing” where the narrator of the song regrets not having learned to ‘play the guitar, play the drums, that ain’t working, that’s the way you do it, your money for nothing and your chicks for free’? Sometimes I think that way about writers who make a living writing; minus the free chicks.

I’m not saying writing is a walk in the park. There is a lot of effort that goes into research, editing, rewriting, Etc. There is a lot of stress that is often hinged upon fear of Writer’s Block, not to mention the stress of not having a steady, reliable income. But at the end of the day, when that royalty checks roll in, I think I would feel a bit guilty. My aches and pains wouldn’t come from suffering for the greater good; wrenching heavy machinery all day, or hauling logs, or even a ten hour shift waiting on tables. Instead my back would ache from being hunched over the computer, my fingers would be sore from punching keys, the tips would smart from paper cuts. No wonder Hemingway drank so much!

Maybe it’s just the idea that only a fortunate few can make a living creating and being creative, and maybe I don’t think that I deserve that or that ‘chances are’ I would not be so fortunate. Despite the lack of suffering for the greater good (at least in a way that is widely accepted as proper suffering) there is a place –NO- a need for artists and poets and even… novelists. Someone has to do it. Why not me?

-G. A. Daniels (I decided to pull out my old pen name)

Timmy and the Coin

2011-11-02T14:05:00.000-07:00

Timmy and the Coin
Heads I win; tails you lose. That was Timmy’s down fall. He was stupid.

There is this part of me that believes all stupid people are faking it to get attention. I guess it was hard for me to fathom that anyone could be that stupid so they had to be pulling my leg. Timmy was faking it. I have no proof but I can feel it in my gut. As they say, ‘bad publicity is better than no publicity’.

And so Timmy played stupid so that at least he would be one of the gang; the stupid guy who fell for all of the stupid tricks and riddles, who never understood any of the jokes and insisted that you continue to repeat them which drained any humor the joke might have had to begin with. Timmy.

During our ‘half-baked’ fantasy games after church, Timmy always played the villain. He was loose with the fists and didn’t fear to let them fly in our direction. We, my best friend Danny and I, were not fighters. We were scholars and adventurers. So, when dumdum Timmy went into a rage and knuckles sandwiches were on the menu, Danny and I would take flight and giggle and laugh as we fled the rancorous behemoth that we had provoked.

The escape! The escape, as we saw it, was far more fulfilling and electrifying than the fight or even the initial taunt. Timmy gave us that. Timmy bestowed on us the chance to live out that epic chase where we could flaunt our running skills, our deft feet leaping over chairs and down flights of stairs. Thank you Timmy. You made my childhood complete.

-Nosmo

Island of Matrimony

2011-10-21T11:21:00.000-07:00

Island of Matrimony
“I never want to see you again,” she shouted.
“It’s a pretty small island. I think that might be difficult to pull off,” he replied.
“Fine, you stay on that half of the island and I will stay on this half.” She dragged her foot in a line across the sand until she reached the palm tree.
“How are you planning to divide up the palm tree,” he asked.
“Well, I suppose when the coconuts fall, whichever side they land on, they belong to the owner of that side.”
“You’re incredible,” he shouted. “A freaking genius!”
“You’re mother thought so. My parents, on the other hand, said marrying you was the worst mistake I could have made. I should have listened to them. I guess I’m not that smart after all.”
“Sharon, you do realize we are going to die out here. We’ve got no drinkable water, no shade and how long do you think these coconuts are going to last us?”
“What, you want me to just forgive you, to run into your arms and die there? What you did…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a pig. I know. Whatever! I just…” He sunk his head down into his hands.
“When the tour guide finds out we’re missing he will come looking for us, Mark,” Sharon replied, her voice growing softer.

Mark didn’t answer. He just wiped his sleeve across his wet nose and stared off into the endless blue ocean.
Sharon slumped down next to the palm and began rummaging through her purse. She found the lip stick she was looking for a smeared it on. “You know I would have been willing to forgive you if you had been honest with me up front.”
“Honest? I stopped trying to be honest with you years ago. It only makes things worse.”
“What does that mean? Are you saying I’m some stuck up bitch, Mark? Are you saying that I don’t understand that you have needs? I have needs to you know. You just seemed to forget that.”
“Needs? Three hours of foreplay and romance? Kind of hard to pull that off when I don’t get home from work until eight O clock at night, Sharon. You’re problem, the problem with women in general, is you want it all; the hard working husband, the money and the hours of cuddling. I may be able to do a lot of things, Sharon, but extending the hours of the day past twenty four is a little out of my reach.”
“I think I have the right to be a little unrealistic once in a while.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You have the right to be unrealistic? Who says crap like that?”
“I do.”
“Yeah, you do,” he sneered.
There was a long pause.
“Was she better than me?”
“Oh god! Are you serious? How am I supposed to answer that? If I say ‘no’ you won’t believe me and if I say ‘yes’ you’ll just get all bent out of shape.”
“No. No I won’t. I am serious. Why her? Why, out of all the women in the world, did you pick my sister? Tell me.”
“Half-sister,” Mark replied.
“Fine! My half-sister. As if that makes it better.”
“I slept with her because she was there; she understood what I was going through. And I have no clue if she was better than you because I couldn’t finish.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I broke down and started crying. I felt guilty. I felt frustrated. So, I laid there in bed and cried while your half-sister comforted me. It’s all pretty pitiful. I should be pitied not scolded.”
“Oh, trust me I do pity you!”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“Whatever.”
Long pause.
“Look, Sharon. Life is complicated, you know? Sometimes things get screwed up and you make choices and regret them later. It’s human nature to screw up.”
“Human nature? ‘Man’ nature, you mean. Men are pigs. Everyone knows that. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”
“Alright. Yeah. We’re all pigs. So, what now?”
Sharon dug her foot into the sand. “I suppose we pick up the pieces and move on.”
“You’re not talking about the ‘D’ word, are you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Wait a minute. What are you talking about? What are we talking about? We’re on a freaking deserted island.” Mark picked up a coconut. “Excuse me Mr. Coconut. My wife and I would like to file for divorce. We have all the applicable paper work with us here.”
“Mark! Mark, quit being an asshole. The boat is coming back and when we get home we’ll talk about this. Alright? I’m not saying I want a divorce I’m just saying that something needs to change.”
“What about the kids? How are we going to split them up?”
“Why do we need to? I said I didn’t want a divorce.”
Mark chucked the coconut out into the ocean. “Who said you get to decide? What if I want a divorce? What if I want to run off and get married to your half-sister?”
“You’re a dick! Fine. When we get back…”
“’If’ we get back.”
“’When’ we get back you can file for divorce. But you’re not getting the house.”
“I built that house,” Mark replied.
“I’m pretty sure your brother built it, Mark. All I remember you doing is complaining about your blisters and your fear of insulation.”
“That stuff will give you lung cancer, Sharon. They put the Pink Panther on it so you think it’s safe. It’s not safe.”
“Mark, what’s that on the horizon?”
Mark turned and gazed out the direction Sharon was pointing. “A seagull?”
“It’s not a seagull, Mark. It’s the tour boat looking for us. We need to start a signal fire.”
“With what?”
Sharon was rummaging through her purse again. “I have a lighter. We can start the palm tree on fire.”
“Why do you have a lighter? The last time you had a lighter… Sharon did you start smoking again?”
“No.”
“You’re lying to me. I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I needed to relieve some stress after I caught you cheating, alright. Now, shut up about it and help me start this tree on fire.”
As the two were bent over trying to light a fire a seagull gracefully landed on the top of the palm tree. It burrowed its beak in its side, digging out a louse. It defecated on the man below and then took off again, flying eastward.
“You’re a freaking genius, Sharon. Give that stupid lighter. I’ll do it.”
“Oh, I see; only men know how to light fires, is that it? You’re such a pig!”
“We’re getting a divorce when we get back. I swear.”
FIN

What I Got Out of Classical Studies Class

2011-10-15T00:43:00.000-07:00

So, I wrote this one act play after finishing the Iliad for my Classical Studies class. I hope you enjoy it.

Greek Orthodox

Hera: Well, now what?
Zeus: Meh. Start over again, I guess. What do you think about Greece?

Hera: For cooking?

Zeus: No, no. As a name for a country.

Hera: Whatever. But promise me no more one eyed giants and harpies and that kind of junk. Ok?

Zeus: Ah. Let me have my fun! We’re running out of time anyway.

Hera: What in Cronos’ name are you talking about, ‘running out of time’?

Zeus: You ever heard of the Jews? Taking over management soon. We’re going to be obsolete.

Hera: What?

Zeus: Yeah. They said something about this Jesus guy. I don’t know. He sounded like a real downer to me. ‘For all have sinned, love ONE god with all your heart.’ One god. You believe that? I mean, I’m cool with it except that the one god isn’t me.

Hera: Who is it?

Zeus: Some dude. I don’t know. Yahweh or something like that.

Hera: Sounds like a tool.

Zeus: I know, right? He’s a god. He gets to pick his own name and that’s the one he picks?

Hera: So, what you’re trying to say is you’re going to be unemployed soon?

Zeus: Umm. Yup.

Hera: Great.

Zeus: I’m still getting 1% royalties off of that Homer guy. And do you know how much gods get for unemployment?

Hera: No, how much?

Zeus: Well… I’m not sure. But I bet it’s a lot.

Hera: We could take out a second mortgage on Olympus. And I could work at Aphrodite’s beauty salon. We’ll make ends meet.

Zeus: Cool. You know, I hope this Yahweh doesn’t do the whole lightning bolt thing. Remember that Thor guy? God, was he annoying.

Hera: Yeah. I remember him.

Zeus: I remember I says to him one day, ‘Thor, dude, that’s my thing, man.' You know what he said to me?

Hera: No. What?

Zeus: I’m going to be a famous comic book character one day. La de da! Comic books? Are you shitting me? Hey Sven, you ever heard of the Iliad? I’m all over that bitch! Comic books. Whatever.

Hera: He sounds like a tool.

Zeus: I know, right?

-Nosmo

Just for Shits and Giggles

2011-10-12T10:51:00.000-07:00

Just a silly little super short story.

Jesus looked around the alleyway. When he saw the coast was clear, he ripped a big fart.
‘Jesus Christ,’ shouted the homeless man who had been hiding behind a pile of rubbish.
‘Yes,’ Jesus asked.
‘Oh, never mind,’ said the homeless man.

-Nosmo King

Thoughts in Writing

2011-10-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

"The choice word, the correct phrase, are instruments that may reach the heart, and awake the soul if they fall upon ear in melodious cadence; but if the utterance be harsh and discordant they fail to interest, fall upon deaf ears, and are as barren as seed sown on fallow ground." -Frank H. Vizetelly, 1000 Useful Phrases

Practice Copy: Two Short Pieces

2011-10-05T17:02:00.000-07:00

Tiling the Ocean Floor
I have here a thousand tiles of various colors. The majority of them are white yet there are many other hues: blues, reds, greens, etc. First, I must determine the length and width of the room I want to tile, then calculate the number of tiles for each the length and the width of the room to include any odd corners, pookas, shower stalls and water closets. I must then calculate the area and the number of tiles needed to fill that area.

With all this ‘math and measurement’ rigmarole taken care of I can then determine a pattern. I would like to stay as symmetrical as possible because my wife fancies herself to be very conservative and I want to make her happy. Yet, I also would like some contrast and interest. I don’t want a ‘show floor’ perfect tile job. If I did, I would just pay someone else to do it for me.

There is a balance between math and art. Neither can exist without the other. There is also a balance between engineering and know-how or ‘tribal knowledge’. Tribal knowledge, in its purest form, is magic, old wives tales, mythology or, perhaps, voodoo. How utterly poetic is it to associate this concept with the maintenance and operation of a nuclear powered submarine in the U. S. Navy?

The same ignorant mind smacks the T.V. to get it to work or kicks the jukebox, snaps his fingers and smiles like the Fonz and his favorite ‘cool guy’ record starts spinning. I felt like I was putting my life in the hands of modern day barbarians; one hundred and fifty Henry Winklers dressed in Navy blue. “Ehhh, no problem, it’s just a nuclear reactor. No sweat.”

A motor generator is used is several applications yet in this particular instance it was used to convert AC power to DC power (I think it also translates Chinese to English but I can’t be certain or perhaps it’s Top Secret, in which case, I am unable to divulge such information to you). Said generator is controlled by a circuit card. The exact purpose of the card is unknown to me as I spent my Naval career banging pipes and cleaning shitters yet I do know that they’re important enough to delay an ‘underway’.

I know this because we were preparing to get ‘underway’ when the thing started smoking and burning. “Light smoke in the engine room, light smoke from the port motor generator!” I swear the worse part of any casualty aboard a U.S. Navy vessel is the annoying alarms. I think I would rather burn to death then hear that hideous, heart stopping sound again.

The card gets replaced and the generator tested again. More smoke.

I have owned, in my life, five different computers. I have put them all through the worst hell computers can go through and yet, after all these years, I have never seen a mother board catch fire or even smoke. That’s what you get using nineteen eighties technology in the 21st century. Slick back your hair, flip up your collar and kick start the submarine, Fonzy.

Thank the gods no one sounds the alarm this time but the word of the faulty equipment spreads quickly throughout the crew. Everyone loves a good story that ends in “The underway has been delayed for another day.” This means I get to sleep in a king size bed as opposed to a submarine rack which accommodates only half my body.

There is a myth ‘third time’s the charm’. It seems to work as the third card plays fair and stays cool.
It’s in my nature to challenge anything that forsakes logic so it wasn’t long before the question broached my lips: if card A fried replaced by card B that fried replaced by card C that worked and no one can explain why; and if the loss of the generator was important enough to keep the boat tied to the pier, why shouldn’t we (by ‘we’ I mean someone else) determine why cards A and B failed and why card C didn’t fail and what keeps card C from failing when we’re ‘ass’ deep under the pacific ocean somewhere?

PFM, petty officer, PFM. Pure fucking magic. “Prepare to dive!”

Meanwhile, the tiles end up arranged in a hideously mundane pattern, a border of baby blue and four baby blue tiles in the center. I could sleep on this floor, not because it’s comfortable but because the pattern puts me to sleep just looking at it. Maybe I should tile the bed room.

Moderately Crisp Copy
I gave up my career in music because of a weak heart. I mean this in the literal sense of a ‘weak heart’.

I remember seeing pictures of my seven year old self in PJs, wearing a cape/towel and a pair of Huey Lewis and the News style sunglasses singing into a hair brush/ microphone. I sang at church, in the car, in the woods, to a large crowd in eastern Russia. I wooed girls with renditions the Beach Boys ‘Little Surfer Girl’ over the phone, I learned to play the guitar at the age of seventeen and started a silly little Christian band with a three song repertoire and a tweed covered Harmony amp we found in the church’s attic. There was no one more bound and determined to be a rock star then I was.

Why did I fail?

Chocolate cake is good. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting is better. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and bits of chocolate ribbons and chocolate sprinkles washed down with a glass of chocolate milk… prepare for chocolate vomit.

There have been a few times in my life when I was able to juggle three titles; artist, musician and writer. Creativity and artistic expression are wonderful, but, then again, so is chocolate… in moderation.

Instead of tackling them all at once I took each in turn, in phases, starting nearly from scratch each time the mood hit me to paint or write or sing. Slowly, I was becoming the most useless thing in the world; a jack of all trades and master of none.

I struggled to narrow it down, to concentrate on one form. Yet I was harassed by my own skewed logic. I want to be a rock star to rock the world, to get the girls. I want to write because I love it yet also because the ‘writer’s lifestyle’ seemed to fit my lifestyle. I want to be an artist but I have no patience for it. I want to sing because I’m a natural; I want to write because I’m a natural; I want to draw because…

I can, from my vantage point, see an easel with a horrible painting (it looks like cow dung smeared on a white fence); I quit two hours into it. I can see a guitar case lightly layered in dust and a computer screen with this short story on it; smokes and a fan, tangled cables and my sleeping dog, unfinished homework and boxes that should have been stored in a closet months ago. It’s here in this messy hole that I think about what was and what will be, what could happen and what will never happen. There is a life waiting for me that I can’t have because I am unwilling to give up the one I have now.

Everything that was, is and will be in my life, all balances on a single thought that was planted into my head so many years ago: ‘You are very talented and it would be a shame if you did not use that talent for some greater purpose.’ I’m paraphrasing here but either way it’s a lot of pressure to put on a young boy. My life, as a consequence, has ranged from the sweetest heaven to the most bitter hell. I have been gorging on a smorgasbord of chocolate delights… wearing my chocolate vomit like a badge of honor.

But I just want to take a break from it all because my heart hurts.

Raise Your Hand If You Want to Punch Me

2011-10-02T18:29:00.000-07:00

Notes for Transcyberphilia

• Femininity is a gift from the ancient aliens who produced us (genetically) through Neanderthal DNA and their own DNA.

• Masculinity is a trait given to us by our Neanderthal ancestors, a trait that allowed us to survive in our pre-modern world. Coupled with the intellectual edge of our feminine DNA, we were able to not only survive nature, but conquer it, as well.

• In a matter of speaking, feminine DNA is really the dominant DNA. It was inevitable for our race to create the technology that we see today as we are slowly becoming less Neanderthal and more Alien.

• You may notice a rise in homosexuality in our modern age. This is not unheard of. Yet, looking back in history, it seems that the societies that embraced or indulged in such practices were modern for their time. More importantly they lived in urban societies. This shows, in my opinion, that it is possible for DNA codes to lie dormant in human populations and are only triggered based on social changes. What purpose would homosexuality serve (scientifically)? Obviously, population control. The more men having sex with men the less men impregnating women.

• This is only a step towards Alienism. The second step is a move towards the transsexual. In essence, men desiring to become woman and therefore they are not fulfilling their (Neanderthalic) responsibilities of procreation.

• Even if you don’t agree with the Alien Ancestor concept, it’s hard to deny the theory of population control through homosexual and transsexual culture. It beats the alternative: war, famine and pestilence.

• One may argue that the world is not over populated and I might agree with you. However, natural function is blind. The issue here really isn’t the overall population but the ever increasing number of urban dwellers. Just as the chameleon changes its color without thought or a frog changes its gender without the approval of frog committees, so to does human society lapse into homosexual and transsexual behaviors to control its population.

I don't want to make excuses for what I write. Sorry.
-Nosmo

www.helpmepaymybillsplease.com

2011-09-26T14:16:00.000-07:00

How do I feel this morning? Like I'm making deals with demons to keep the Devil off my back.

My Internet was down all weekend. I thought my modem was broken. I tried swapping out cables, modem, resetting my Internet settings on my computer. I was so pissed! I just wanted to surf the Internet. But instead, I had to spend all day yesterday reading and writing and other things I used to do before the Internet came along.

I called my Internet provider this morning in an attempt to trouble shoot the problem with someone a bit more tech savvy than me. "Please note that your Internet has been temporarily suspended due to late payments. Your current balance is 301 dollars. Would you like to make a payment now?" Aggggggg.

When I got to school I was a bit short with the lady at the financial aid office who told me she was processing all the Stafford loans as quickly as possible and that it was likely she would get to mine in the middle of the week or perhaps the next week. Whaaa. I filed that paper work on the 6th of September, it's the 26th now! Whatever.

I got all these financial problems but looking back I must admit that I have played the system well. By that I mean: I was discharge from the military in January. I have not been employed since, yet I have successfully paid for a two bedroom apartment at 1950 a month, a 400 dollar a month car payments, 90 dollar phone bill, 90 dollar cable/Internet bill, utility bill that runs between 350 and 400 each month, put food on the table and supported mine and my wife's nicotine/ caffeine habits. All of this on the sunny isle of Oahu, Hawaii.

I don't want to be homeless but if I become so, I can't really complain too much, can I? Maybe. Squeeky wheels always get the grease.

-Nosmo

Don't Read if You're Allergic to Crap!

2011-09-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

Just a few ramblings I scrawled down in my note book over the past few weeks:

- Blogger just got my digits. I wonder if he'll call?
- Sometimes I think I'm too enlightened, too open minded for my own good. I need a nice dose of bigotry to put me back into my place.
- When I die it will be 'naked' on a public toilet. (There will be twenty guys in line waiting to take a shit. Eventually, they will figure out I'm not coming out of that stall on my own two feet.)
- Let's just get this over with!
- Does the term 'irish vagina' mean anything to you?
- This world will not change, not for you. You must change to face it or suffer. The choice is yours.
- Art is perspective. There are many starving perspectives.

I love dogs!!! I just hate their owners.

-Nosmo

I am 16 going on 21, lallalalala!

2011-08-25T15:31:00.000-07:00

I was coming back from grocery shopping this morning. I have to go in the morning because my car's registration has expired (as well as my driver's license) and 'that' is the time of day when people get pulled over less. That's my theory. The darkness also shrouds my out of date registration sticker from prying cop eyes.

I was thinking about young drivers. In America, a person as young as 16 years old, can get their driver's license. But at 16 you cannot do the following: vote, have sex with an adult, look at pornography, watch rated 'R' movies, join the military or drink alcohol. You can, however, get behind the wheel of a car, without supervision, and drive into traffic, risking the lives of other drivers, as well as, pedestrians. I can honestly say at 35 I am not emotionally stable enough to drive! 'Move faster! Quit tail-gating me!'

Lately, I have been arguing (to myself because I'm weird like that and I have a lot of time to myself) all the issues concerning age restriction. Most of the arguments went like this: 'There are those that are young that are mentally and emotionally mature enough to do the things that the government will not allow them to do based on their age. There are those who are not mentally or emotionally mature enough to do those things and yet they are old enough. And since the government can't rely on a person's judgement regarding whether they are ready, nor can they rely on a parents judgement to determine if their child is ready, they have to 'draw a line in the sand' concerning age limits.

I understand this but what I don't get is how they come up with these numbers. At 16 I can drive a car but I can't shoot a gun or fight a war. At 18 I can shoot a gun and fight a war but I can't drink alcohol. A 15 year old can have sex with a 15 year old but a 21 year old cannot have sex with a 15 year old, because that 15 year old is not mature enough to make the decision that they should or should not have sex. Unless they make that decision with another 15 year old. What!?! Who comes up with this crap?

-Nosmo King

Doors of Perceptive Reading

2011-08-24T00:16:00.000-07:00

It's looking to be a dreadfully boring week so I can't say much about my life. I am just waiting around for my unemployment check and trying to stretch my pennies to keep the nicotine flowing so that my wife and I don't end up killing each other.

I thought I would share with you some clipping from a 'book' I read recently. I 'quoted' book because it's only 24 pages long so I suppose that 'book' really isn't the correct definition. Maybe essay would be better?

The 'essay' in question is called 'The Doors of Perception' by Aldous Huxley. Here's a Wikipedia link for Aldous Huxley if you want to read about the man. Aldous Huxley

OK. Enough of the jabbering. Here are some of the highlights from this read:

"The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain."

"The function of the brain and nervous system is to protect us from being overwhelmed and confused by this mass of largely useless and irrelevant knowledge-"

And other wonderful phrases such as ' victim of linguistic tradition' or 'the sea flows in our veins ... and the stars are our jewels.'

Poetry.

-Nosmo King

Bunch of Blah

2011-08-22T10:53:00.000-07:00

My Current Internals: My stomach feels sour. My head is warm and I can feel a slight pressure building up on my temples, threatening another light-cluster headache. My chest is heavy with phlegm and tar and my nerves on the edge of 'jitteryness' from the day old coffee on an empty stomach, which in turns adds to the whole sour stomach issue. In short, I am either ready to die or ready to write something profound. Let's hope for YOUR sake it's the latter.

A Negative Mind: A negative mind is like a castle with high walls upon which an excessive number of guards stand and gaze out onto a peaceful countryside. The draw bridge is drawn. The moat is populated with nasty things that bite and devour. Meanwhile, the residents of the castle starve to death and the lord of the castle broods, oblivious to the cries of his people.

Money is the root of all evil, as everyone knows. How I yearn for the 'root of all evil' to show up in my mail box. Stupid unemployment checks!

I started reading a book about 'astral projection' (i.e. Out of Body Experiences).

Astral Dynamics: The Complete Book of Out-of-Body Experiences

All I can say is 'zzzzzzzzz'. Unfortunately, during these 'zzzzzzzz's I was unable to project. Oh well, back to practicing my Lucid Dreaming.

-Nosmo King

Back in the Saddle Again...

2011-08-18T11:41:00.000-07:00

I've decided to take my class scheduling into my own hands. You might think, well duh! You weren't doing that before? Not exactly. My first semester was scheduled by an advisor as was my second. All the classes were good except, perhaps, my 'World Regional Geography' class which annoyed me to no end.

The summer semester was about survival. I needed money to pay my rent and, with no job, my only option was college. Summer semesters could be describe as 'sparse' in relation to the number and variety of classes available. Beggars can't be choosers!

Now, the fall semester is rearing its beautiful, sexy head. I have changed classes and reorganized by schedule in a way that I am very excited about.

First is 'art' class, 'Intro to Visual Arts'. If I don't like the class that's alright since the teacher, I'm told, is easy on the eyes.

Second is 'Intro to Literature'. Imma geek out in that class. Love me some literature talk.

Third, 'Great Books, East and West'. Same, same. Book talk.

And finally history from 1500 to the present. I'm not holding my breath for this one.

I wish I could have taken some ancient history or Europe in The Middle Ages. Oh well. I guess I will finally figure out what this HOLOCAUST thing is all about.

So, I am getting a degree in Humanities and, hopefully, a minor in English. Some classes I would like to take: Fiction Writing workshop, The Sacred and Erotic in Lyric Poetry, Fantasy Literature, and much, much more. Humanities, if you are unaware, is the studies of everything 'liberally artish', so: Arts, History, Philosophy, English, Religion.

I might even learn how to write a good blog post! Doubtful. I am looking forward to writing erotic poetry for my classmates whilst earning a grade towards my degree. It seems like stealing, really. I'll survive.

-Nosmo

Knowing

2011-08-12T20:48:00.000-07:00

And another thing I should not fail to mention
I have touched him with a cosmic reach
Fingers pause upon his face
A blind man sees through finger tips and sound
His voice is like the roaring waterfalls
Muted with the absence of terror
Crowned with the call of the morning birds
But that face!
Under probing fingers, like a child in the warm dark of sacred night
Finding comfort in the heat of father's embrace

And another thing I should not fail to mention
He spoke but I do not know the words
A thousand choirs of angels
Sound like din and clamor compared
He spoke words that brought a sense of understanding
Yet an understanding out of reach
Mortal minds could not fathom
Man's words, they are like salt on a wound
Man's wisdom is folly compared

Close your eyes and touch, hush and you will hear
The lark and swallow, the bark of his sentries
Guarding green lawns and white fences- in his name
The wind, oh yes, the whispers of the Alpha, Omega
Hear him call to you, caressing your skin
See him in the innocence of the innocent
The beauty unlooked for, the inspired stroke of key or brush
The work of hard days

And another thing...

To whom it may concern

2011-08-10T16:34:00.000-07:00

To whom it may concern,

The world could have gone two different ways. It could have concerned itself more with honor and courage, righteousness and faith or it could have developed a sickening infrastructure based on lust and greed. Unfortunately, it chose the latter.

If I have learned anything in this great big world it’s that good guys do finish last and that hard work and determination can always be beaten with cunning, ruthlessness and a bold pursuit of the fast and easy buck. Ah, capitalism! It’s a shame, I cannot deny it. I find myself falling into the web of this dark society if only out of the need to survive.

In short, the world is a cruel place with room only for those cruel enough to match it.

I think I have known this for a long time. I think I was aware, even in my early childhood that the world I was born into was one I was unable to accept. I was drawn to fantasy, escape, a denial that the facts were the facts and one day I would have to face them.

The facts turned out to be true; cold reality. And my inability to deal with them was spot on; it was made worse, in fact, due to my years of forced ignorance!

Even today as I face poverty or worse, I still find comfort in my escapes. I convince myself that I am living out my dreams and that one day I will be able to make a livelihood sharing my fancies with like-minded fools. What else do I have to offer?

Each day I come closer and closer to the truth that, fantasy fiction, telling stories and bringing imaginary worlds to life is not only a hobby, not only a passion, but is the only facet that makes me worthwhile. And so, every day I add more and more to my arsenal; more knowledge, more practice, more courage.

To what end, I can’t say. I would like to think that my words might change the world, however small that change may be, yet change it for the better. Think ‘honor, courage, righteousness and faith’. An old tale, I agree, but still so vital.

-Nosmo King

Fair Weather

2011-07-29T17:47:00.000-07:00

For so long I thought I was a good guy. I thought that, if I should ever be in need, if I ever found myself with my back against a wall, all the friends I have made in my life would come flying out of the wood works to rescue me.

How wrong I was. And so here I sit with no options, no pay check, no money, bills stacking up, car on the fritz, living on top ramen and tap water and where are my friends? Fair weathering around somewhere I guess.

I spent a life time stacking up karma, being that guy who you can count on for good advice or a shoulder to cry on, the guy that spends his money showing you a good time when you're broke or lending you money with no expectation of getting it back. Mr. Empathy. Mr. Nice Guy. Every body's friend. Good riddance to all that, dear readers (if there are any of you left).

Meet Mr. money grubbing asshole. Meet Mr. me first and if I have time I might help you out, maybe, if your lucky. Every man for himself in this failing economy. I will take what's mine and shit on everything I can't carry so no one else will want it!

Oh, me oh my. Unfortunately, that's impossible. Its not in my nature to be that guy. I wish I could be. Oh well.

-Nosmo

Rickin rackin frakin!

2011-05-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

Time off is not a good thing. Not for me, at any rate. When this period of time begins I have all these 'best intentions'. I think of all the things I can get done: writing, getting in shape, getting all the 'fix it' stuff fixed around the house. But it never seems to work out that way. This blog post is one of the few things I have written in weeks, my stove is still broken, my lawn still looks like crap, there are still bags of trash piling up in my closet, if I have lost weight it's due to the fact that I haven't eaten much cause I don't want to spend money on food I enjoy eating, I haven't walked my dog in forever. I think I am sad but with all this Zoloft coursing through my veins I can't be certain. Good 'ol fake happiness.

So, blah, blah. Same old same old for Nosmo, right.

I would like to say 'sorry' for those that got their hopes up about the rapture. Jesus is supposed to return like a 'thief in the night', people. I would guess that some old man making headlines about MAY 21st, 2011 kinda blew Christ's cover. So he had to delay his second coming and the rapture and all that. Thanks bud, screwing it up for all them good guys who were ready to go.

Peace, love and hair grease.
-Nosmo

Title That Makes You Want To Read This!

2011-05-12T12:07:00.000-07:00

Well, the semester is almost over. I have one class left to worry about and that's my writing class. I have to finish this 10 page research paper by tomorrow. I'm not certain what my grades are yet in my other classes but I am pretty sure I passed them with 'B's or higher. My best guess on my writing class grade (if I ever get this paper done) is a 'C'. It's not that I am a bad writer, I'm just not good at following directions and meeting deadlines. That seems to be what lower level classes are all about, not how smart or talented or interested you are in the subject. It's about being professional and doing what you are told.

When my grades get posted on the 19th I can apply to be a degree seeking student at HPU and start the summer semester in June! One step at a time, though. Still, it's good to have goals. I decided to stick with college, get my degree and, if I play my cards right, get a masters in English/ Literature. Maybe I'll teach or maybe by then I will be making a living writing books. Who knows.

I'm back on the Zoloft so things are looking a bit brighter. I am not happy with the side effects of the drug but it's better than sliding into the pit of despair that I just recently crawled out of. At least I don't have to worry about birth defects. One may argue that there are some dangers in taking this drug (I don't know) but from a perspective of a guy who drinks too much, chain smokes, lives on Ramen and coffee and spends 90% of his waking hours sitting in a chair, I think that the bad side effects to any drug I start now are a joke compared to side effects of my bad habits. 'What's gonna kill me first?'

Either way I have a job to do. I have to accomplish something in my life. I am still seeking immortality in text. Maybe I could start some weird literary cult that will live on after I'm gone. Dianetics by L. Ron Hubbord! I read somewhere that he was challenged by one of his fellow writers to create his own religion. So he wrote Dianetics.
I'm not certain but isn't that what started Scientology?

Anyhow, we'll see. I don't have kids so I guess I just want to leave some foot print on this earth before I am gone. Something that says Nosmo was here! I will probably just die in some gutter, alone, afraid and forgotten. Ahhh, silly life.

-Nosmo

A Few Good Women

2011-05-08T11:07:00.000-07:00

I was born at one in the morning. Sorry mom. No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Luckily, you've had 30+ years to catch up on the sleep you lost that night. I, obviously, don't remember the whole affair and the time between then and now is a bit fuzzy as well. The life of an adult is full of busy days. Full of work and bills and traffic. Mowing lawns, fixing flats, stressing about the future while trying to stay sane in the present. How easy it is to forget about the person that made life possible. Luckily we have Mother's Day, a day to remember, to honor, to praise. It's like the credits of a PBS show: my life was made possible by the mother foundation and viewers like you.

Jokes aside: happy Mother's Day.

-Nosmo

Falling in Love? Bad Timing.

2011-05-06T22:24:00.000-07:00

I had a spark. But just one spark.

There is this girl in one of my classes. She is in her late twenties, nice face, great body. She's gothy, punky, emo...y?. Which I admit I have a weakness for. Yah! Girls with tattoos and lots of piercings! Yah, yah. Anyhow, she is prior Navy as well and so we had some common ground to make conversation. She seemed pretty cold and serious most of the time. A bad girl with an intelligent, salt of the earth side.

We would often walk out of class together, smoke a cigarette and shoot the shit but, again, she always seemed cold. Today, however, whilst we *'talked story', she seemed different, kind of girlish and bubbly. It's odd seeing a goth girl turn into an antsy, little girlie-girl. Does she have a crush on me? I would be the last to know, I'm sure.

So, I'm staring at her, after all mom always taught me to look someone in the eye when they are talking to you, and all of a sudden this feeling came over me... I wanted to grab hold of her and plant a big one right on those pierced gothy girl lips. And I hate kissing!

I did not act on this feeling because 1) I'm a chicken and 2) I was so shocked to feel like this. I have been in love before and I can honestly say I still am. And with those girls I felt that same feeling; my wonderful ex, my wife, a little stuff 'lamb chop' doll I had as a kid. But it's been a while since I stared someone in the eyes and 'BAM!!!'

Don't get me wrong, I had thought about this girl before but in a way that most guys think about most girls that they are acquainted with. Yet this wasn't lust, it wasn't unchecked hormones, it was something else. I couldn't think straight the rest of the day (which isn't good this close to finals). It's not like I don't have enough problems!

Unfortunately, Monday is my last day in that class and, if I leave school to get a job, there is a chance I'll never see her again. I wonder if I should give her my phone number or something? Or maybe I should just pull my head out of my ass and get back to work.

-Nosmo (Happy Mother's Day soon!)

* talk story (pigin)- talking about whatever, chit-chat. "Shoots cuz, you wan talk story?"

Money and Finals

2011-05-05T20:45:00.000-07:00

One phrase: Rapidly decreasing bank account and finals.

The stress! Yeah, it's nearly finals week. Am I prepared? No sir. Then again, I'm sure everything will be all right. It always is. But I'm prone to blow things out of proportion; it's my thing.

Just like my savings account. Shrinking!

I can't get unemployment in the state of Hawaii while going to school full time and I just found out the other day that I failed to finish the application for becoming a degree seeking student at Hawaii Pacific University. So, I have to miss the first summer term and take later classes which means I won't get my housing allowance from my GI Bill which then means I have to pay the rent with money from savings. That money was going to pay other bills as well as put food on the table. I guess it's time to get a real job.

I spent most of my life just trying to get by and I did a good job of it. Now, now I care and I want to make something of my life, become a production (degree having) member of society but it seems like someone is throwing up brick walls to block my path. Maybe this is how it all works. A test, perhaps. You don't deserve to be successful if you can't get over these hurdles. Who knows.

-Nosmo

TODAY is Wed Nes Day

2011-04-27T12:10:00.000-07:00

Today could be a good day.
Today could be a bad day.
I'm not sure if today could be just any day, at least not for me.

I wrote a six page short story for my English class over the weekend. Monday, when I went to class I told the teacher that I could do the presentation of the story at any time. I guess I'm the only one that had finished it thus far. Towards the end of the class she tells me to email her the story and that she would email it to the other 8 people in the class so they could all read it and comment on it Wednesday (today).

The last time my fiction has been read out loud or read by people (other than on the internet) was when I was in 9th grade. I wrote a short story then about a guy exploring an old pirate ship (I was a big Goonies fan back then). And while I got a good response I have never had the chance (except online) to share my fiction with a group of people since then.

Am I nervous? Never. Someone told me once that writers had to be biased about their work; they had to consider it the greatest work since the days of Homer. That bravado, regardless of how misplaced it might be, is essential to getting published. While writing, regardless of the topic or genre, the author bares his/ her very soul, even if you don't think you are. Without that ability you can never get published; without that bull-headed pompous attitude toward the superiority of your work you will never be read. So no, I am not nervous, I will walk in there (2 1/2 hours from now) with my head held high knowing that I created a great piece of literature and if (which I doubt there will be) there is harsh critique then fuck them, and if there is constructive critique, then lesson learned.

Anyhow, I have bored you enough with this drivel so I shall conclude. However, if you are interested in reading said fiction I am going to post it in a new tab at the top of the page entitled 'The Black Tree'. I am going to because it is the greatest story written since the days of Homer! Maybe.

-Nosmo

Understanding The Starry Night

2011-04-17T11:40:00.000-07:00

I am currently taking an English class called 'Ways of Reading'. And while, I already know how to read, I must admit that there are so many different levels to reading and understanding text.

The class has covered; plays, poetry, fiction, movie scripts, even music and architecture. All of this is viewed through a lens of deeper understanding: Level 1 covers plot, over-all story structure, characters, setting, etc. Level 2 digs in deeper as we analyze the relationship between characters, the literary devices the author uses and why, subplots and alternative meanings. And the last level, Level 3: deals with extreme sub-text, understanding the author's background and motivation for writing the piece, re translating the theme and values of the text in light of what we know of the author.

My biggest issue with this class is that I have three other classes and so I can't spend the time I want to really dig deeper into this subject. I have been developing a liking (that borders on love and possible obsession) with the act of literary analysis. Every time I open a book I can't help but think, 'what is the author really trying to say?', as if all text had some hidden meaning nestled inside of it, ready to be pried out, riddles ready to be solved.

The class has also opened up a lot of literary works for me that I would not have paid too much attention to. Poetry that I did not know existed. Such as the following:

The Starry Night by: Anne Sexton

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into a hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry night! This is how
I want to die.
It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in it's orange irons
to push children, like a god, from it's eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
O starry night! This is how
I want to die:
Into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.