Dead

I returned a bag of groceries
Accidentally taken off the shelf
Before the expiration date
I came back as a bag of groceries
Accidentally taken off the shelf
Before the date stamped on myself

Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

I will never say the word
"Procrastinate" again
I'll never see myself in the mirror with my eyes closed
I didn't apologize for
When I was eight and I made my younger brother
Have to be my personal slave

Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket
And was everybody dancing on the casket?

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

(So) So I won't
(Sit) sit at home
(And) anymore
(And) and you won't
(And) see my head in
(And) the window
(And) and I won't
(And) be around
(And) ever anymore
(And) and I'll be up there on the wall at the store

I returned a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the expiration date
I came back as a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the date stamped on myself

Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

-TMBG

Yesterday was too strange to even explain to you people. But it was fantastic, and I think I'm finally sobering up. This is about all I have to say...

I Want Your (Hands on Me)

I want your
I want your hands on me
What I want, give me
You know I wanna please you
What I wanna do to you

You don't waste no time, do you?
You know I'm looking through you
Why you wanna tease me
I want you to come and please me

I like you, I know you can tell
And you like me, just as well
You wanna make love
Well I want you to touch me
But first of all, baby don't don't rush me
Take it slow and do it easily
Not just to please you but also please me

Put them on, put them on, put them on me
Put them on, put them on, put them on me

When we first met, yes we were attracted
Like bees to a house
Steel to a magnet
You said 'hello' and 'hello how do you do'
You gave a little wink,
I guess you knew that I could hypnotize
cause that's what I did,
I had to do it like a baby a baby without a bib

I really wanna
hands on me
What I want, give me
You know that I wanna please you
What I wanna do to you

You don't waste no time, do you?
You know I'm looking through you
Why you wanna tease me
I want you to come and please me

Situations like this there's only one thing to do
You listen to me and I listen to you
It may be to early in the game to tell
But for sure you are qualified to ring my bell
Isn't it real yet sort of like a dream
That I can be a player with you on my team
Winning individually but yet together
Some problems come easy, difficult never

Say hello my name is.......
How my name is Lyte, lyte, lyte, lyte, lyte
Look I'm in the mood for love
Look I'm in the mood for love
Simply because you're near me
Simply because you're near me

I really wanna feel you

I'm not the type of girl to put on a show
'Cause when I say no, yo I mean no
But when it comes to you
I just can't refuse
I've been around the bush
Give you all types of boot
I love the way you make me feel
I never fight it
And when you are near I get so excited
I want you to love me and just touch me
Oh put your hands, put your hands on me

You know that I can thrill you
I want you to call me to you
I wanna move, will you?
I really wanna feel you
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put your hands on me
Put your hands on me
Put your hands on me
Put your hands on me
Put your hands on me
Put your hands on me
Put your hands on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Hands, gimme love
Hands, gimme loads
Hands, gimme love
Hands, gimme loads
I want your
Feelings
Gimme, yes
Aaahhhh
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Put'em on, put'em on, put'em on me
Hands, gimme love
Hands, gimme loads
Hands, gimme love
Hands, gimme loads
I want your
Feelings
Gimme, yes

sinead o'connor & mc lyte

but you know, I'm not gonna get your hands on me. guess you can't have everything.

a kiss may not be the truth, but it is what we wish were true.

honolulu, paris, athens, jerusalem, manhattan, chicago, ellohenndeeohenn, miami, seoul, edinburgh, split, san francisco, tokyo

So I'm sitting in a top secret lair in Silverlake right now, wondering what to do with myself. I have no car, and feel kind of like I should email he of the bus blog and ask him tips on travelling around the metropolis sans auto.
Not to give away my location, but I can walk to a little neighborhood coffee place and a damn fine bookstore. I'll be hiding out in this mountain headquarters all week, looking for a place to live and finalizing my application to grad school.
Oh, and doing cool la things with cool la people.
It's odd, but as much as I hated living here before, it feels comfortable now.
Where it seemed relentless before it seems almost acquiescing now.
I have clearer goals. I don't want to be a worldbeater any more.
I am content to carve out an odd little niche opposed to the main function of this city.
This should be interesting.

I want my site to feel like the first minute of I am trying to break your heart

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

You might want to sit down for this one.

Today is a momentus day.

Two of my favorite women in the world were born today.

First, my friend Libby who is really, really smartcoolfunnyniceperfect. She's put up with my semi-sane self for over ten years.

Secondly, Miss Katherine Hall, the rock'n'rolla-remote controlla, most kick ass girl I've ever met. I pretty much strong-armed her into being my friend over IM, and finally got to meet her when I was in LA a couple months ago. If you've read her blog, let me tell you this: She's infintely cooler in person. How can this be, you ask? I don't know. Don't think about it too much. Your head might immmmmmplode trying to figure it out. But she is. Happy brrrrthday grrrrlie.

That's her on the left. And some joker on the right.

In the mood for some film discussion. Look alive, people!

Has anybody out there seen in the Mood for Love?
This is an utterly beautiful film. I just watched it again the other day. This film is visually astounding, with a palette of colors so rich and the attention to detail is amazing. The plot is also a brilliant sort-of-love-story. See it.

I'm just rambling here really, but I'd like to hear your favorite films, kiddies.

Let's discuss some cinema, and next up, the Spigot Book Club.

oh how I long for Leon, The Big Blue, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, or Blue

Have Juliette Binoche and Jean Reno really sunk this far?

Tell me this is a joke.
Please.

ok, I guess, it is chrome plated, but really...

Um, why is this in the 'kitchen' department?

that is all.

I'm going back to listening to the genius that is mr. joe frank.

something i wrote in a paper in 1995

"Like the Paris of the Immoralist, LA seems to be a place one should stay 'only long enough for the indespensable shopping.'"

you know, when you get a picture of your friend's baby in your inbox about 2 minutes after you make a big "poor ol' me" post, you feel like kind of schmuck

Congrats Davy-boy.

Maybe I should give up on my plans of becoming a monk.
Maybe I should find some nice girl who doesn't question her existence, shows no depressive tendencies, doesn't read books that make you think, and settle down and have some little spigots.
I could get a job at the plant, stop worrying about the existence of a higher power, stop thinking about metaphysics, and just be plain and happy.

Nah.

Fate pts. I & II

Last night, I went over to my friend Kurte's place to get my paycheck that he had picked up for me from the catering company.
I stayed for a Jack&Coke, and we watched I'm with Busey (let me just say this about I'm with Busey... "I have a love in my life and it makes me stronger than anything you can imagine.") and the Daily Show, and then the 13th Warrior, and several more Jack&Cokes later, I had this brilliant idea for a two part post to be entitled "Fate pt. I" and "Fate pt. II". It was incredible. It was epic. And when I woke up this morning, I remembered about 5% of the idea.

Which is fine, it was probably all drunken ramblings anyway. But this is my sober expansion on the ghost-images of drunken ideas.

I
Imagine a child, born in California, and then almost immediately swept up and transported to Hawaii. This child, a little boy, is blessed with beach boy looks, striking blue eyes and blond wavy hair which his parents kept long in a type of shag cut that made him even cuter. This little blond white boy goes to an exclusive private school, is one of the smartest kids in a class of smart kids, reads endlessly, has a vocabulary greater than most adults, annd gets to grow up in paradise. He travels the world, going to seven countries before he even turned seven. This child is rarely denied anything, although, after he grows out of toddler tantrums, he rarely asks for much besides books and Star Wars toys.

His family expects great things of him. There is no reason that this child couldn't grow up to be a great scientist, an astronaut, an archaeologist, a banker, a titan. The child has to move to Oklahoma, which shocks him, but only a bit. He again goes to schools full of smart kids, and again he is among the very smartest. He excells at everything he attempts academically. People look at this child and tell him that the world can be his. The child becomes a young man, graduates from high school, and decides to go to an exclusive school on the west coast, choosing it over a couple of ivys, and other sundry top notch institutions.

Somewhere along the line, the young man loses it. No one is quite sure where. He begins to flunk classes left and right, drink too much, dabble in narcotics, and is generally apathetic and depressed. No one is sure why. The man pulls some of himself back together, limps out of college with a degree in a completely useless field, and wanders aimlessly for several years.

He's haunted by the teachers, classmates, parent's friends, everyone who knew him. That moment when they ask him what he's doing now, and he tells them and they look shocked. Or when they ask him why he dropped out of the exclusive program he was in. Or when he tells them he's going back to grad school and they say "good, good, maybe then you can get a real job."

Everyone loves to see the golden boy fail.

II
Listen, I know I haven't emailed you in a while.
The reason is two-fold.
One, I don't have an ending to my story that I like yet.
I would send you all the bad endings and let you choose one, but I hate giving anyone anything to read that is not perfect. Especially you. I like to impress you.
Which sort of brings me to two.
I don't know what to say. I love discussing the emotional architecture of our past relationship with you. It is beautiful and painful and enlightening and perfect. It was as if we were always meant to excavate this together, years later. But.
But let's be frank and honest (I'll be Frank, you can be Honest).
I, too, feel like I am teetering on the brink of something.
I feel like my presence in your life is a chaotic one.
I don't want to fuck around with your life.
Sorry this isn't an email, but it's such an incomplete though, it would be wasted as an email.
And last night in my haze, it dove-tailed nicely with fate part one, it involved some things that I deem ok to think about concerning you when I'm drunk or in those moments of super-sub-consciousness right before or after sleep.
Pretty simple stuff actually, but highly inappropriate.
And I'd hate to contribute to your occasional traitorous dream.
Who knows, you probably don't even read this anymore.
I wonder what it'd be like if you hadn't ever found your way to the spigot.
A great deal less interesting, that's for sure.

Oh, and this is for you.

I like reality, it tastes of bread.

more later...

but this is just too funny not to link.

Actually...

I think I'll just lie on the floor and listen to Nick Drake.
That sounds less painful.

I will sing, sing a new song

Well.
Spelunking around the blogosphere as I take breaks from writing endings to my story which I am progressively less happy with, I keep finding things like this and the fiction/non-fiction princess-on-the-lam blog I linked a couple days ago, and I feel like I should be doing something more significant with my blog.

But, the very concept of the mental spigot is to be the sound and the fury of my thoughts which someone (possibly me, possibly not) will hopefully see a thread of meaning and something of intrinsic worth. Hence the stolen Wilco lyric, "the unified theory of everything." That's what this blog is. The theory of Steve Spigot.

I'm just so fucking unhappy with the endings for my story.

you have now reached intermission!!!!!!!!!

ENJOY THE NON SEQUITUR
Sarah B. had a kick-ass coed-drunken-slumber-party-birthday-party last night, although, I think she was lying about having french toast bagels in the box this morning, because I didn't see any. I got to play spin the bottle, though.

Now, back to the post...

So, I think what I'm trying to say, is I'm starting a new blog.
Something more...
Focused.

I'm going to go pound my head into a wall for a few hours instead of trying to write this stupid fucking story.

I should just be a bartender the rest of my days, because if I can't write one FUCKING STORY HOW IN THE FUCKING HELL DO I FUCKING EXPECT TO BE A WRITER?

FUCK
FUCKITY
FUCKITYFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

I almost forgot...

Happy birthday Choppa!

Hope it's loads of fun, and I'm sorry my unorganized ass didn't actually send you a prezzie.

Have a great day!

First off, I'm not addicted to donuts.

In fact I could take 'em or leave 'em.
It's beer and italian food and mexican food and indian food.

Secondly, I'm certain everybody on the web already knows about this, but be it distorted fact, or fairly well researched fiction, it's a pretty damn good read.

I've decided I look like Renton, if he had been addicted to donuts instead of heroin.

heroin:









donuts:

Apples? Yummmmmm.

MST, Steve Burns, and Steve Spigot (notice the presence of hair on steve spigot's face and head)

if there's anything you want...

liz


more liz (fuck and run)


lips (cool hand fight test)


they don't believe me


it was just amazing

hair today...

ok, i just shaved my head.
all my hair is gone and my loverly head zits and surgery scar are now visible for all to see.

but let me tell you this, internet, it feels sooooo gooood.

Graffito I saw somewhere and wrote down on a scrap of paper...

Life is a sexually transmitted disease.

Summer Cleaning

I had totally forgotten that my pseudonym for certain articles in my high school newspaper was...

Jimmy Olsen

i want all the stupid old shit like letters and sodas

Besides, um, being rather aesthetically pleasing, the commercials for the Victoria's Secret Semi-annual sale make me wish I had someone to go buy stuff for.
And in turn, someone who would then wear said items around me.
And also leave said items on the floor...

Man.

Girls, what can't they do?

I blame them for everything.

I'd become a monk if I could stop thinking about them for 5 seconds.

Mr. Prima, Mr. Roth, would you two care to take it away?

Just a gigalo (I ain't got nobody)

I'm Just a gigolo
everywhere I go
people know the part
I'm playing

"Paid for every dance,
selling each romance"
Oh what they're saying

There will come a day
And youth will pass away
What will they say about me

When the end comes I know
they'll say "just a gigolo"
Life goes on without me

I'm just a gigolo, everywhere I go
people know the part I'm playing
"paid for every dance,
starting each romance"
oh what they're saying

And there will come a day
And youth will pass away
What will they say about me

And in the end I know
I'm just a gigalo
Life goes on without me

Cause I ain't got nobody
oh and there's nobody cares for me
there's nobody cares for me

I'm so sad and lonely
sad and lonely
sad and lonely
Won't some sweet mamma
come and take a chance with me
'cause I ain't so bad

And I'll sing out, sweet love songs
All of the time
She will only be, only be
Bip bozadee bodzee bop le bop

I ain't got nobody
oh and there's nobody cares for me
there's nobody cares for me

Hummala bebhuhla zeebuhla boobuhla
hummala bebhuhla zeebuhla bop

I ain't got nobody, nobody,
nobody cares for me
Nobody,
there's nobody cares for me
I'm so sad and lonely,
oh lonely,
oh lonely,
lonely lonely

Won't some sweet mama come and rescue me
cause I ain't so bad

And I'll sing out
sweet love songs
all of the time
she will only be, only, only, only only be
baby, sugar darling

I ain't got nobody baby
And there's nobody, there's nobody
there's nobody
there's nobody
there's no one, there's no one
nobody, nobody, nobody
nobody cares for me

eyes like sparks

just stay where you are
baby stay away from me
with your eyes like sparks
and my heart like gasoline

stay where you are
baby stay away from me
with your eyes like sparks
and my heart like gasoline

stay where you are
baby stay away from me
with your eyes like sparks
(heart like gasoline)

stay where you are
baby stay away from me
with your eyes like sparks
my heart like gasoline

your eyes like sparks
my heart like gasoline

your eyes like sparks
my heart like gasoline

your eyes like sparks
my heart like gasoline

with your eyes like sparks
my heart like gasoline

-Paul I ever wanted

"We are the Cheat."

The show last night was amazing.

I met Steve Burns, too, and he was pretty cool.

Pictures and video of liz and the lips shortly.

Reasons why I haven't been making too many entries lately

10. Left laptop in living room for like 3 days.
9. Writing. Really writing. And then struggling and gnashing and fighting with the ending to my sample that's due in 21 days.
8. Feeling dumb. Like developmentally challenged dumb.
7. Haven't been drinking as much.
6. Oh, I don't know, maybe cause I have a FUCKING BROKEN TOE?
5. Been driving all over the tri-state area. For work and mastering and shows.
4. Growing a wooly beard for the impending summer frost.
3. Writing longer and longer emails to someone who keeps responding with increasingly brief ones.
2. Thinking about seeing the Starlight Mints and the Flaming Lips and LIZ PHAIR.
1. Listening to pulseprogramming's 'Blooms Eventually' over and over and over and over and over.

the dreams I dream you dream...

there's this one where we live in this beautifully modern house with clean lines, not very big, in fact quite tiny, but it's on this fantastic beach, and the whole beachward wall of the house is glass, and when the storms come (and they come often), you and I sit in the small living room and watch them roll in from the infinite sea, marvelling at their magnificence, or we lie in bed with our heads down at the foot of the bed so as to be closer to the glass, and watch the lightning and listen to the rain beat against the panes, and then slowly, slowly...

All I need is a red Blog, three words, and the truth

Matt, Miss K, you know that ending I sent you to my story?

Fuck it. Tear it up. It sucks. I was trying to squeeze out a conclusion when I didn't know what really had to happen.

I DO NOW.

Expect it soon.

Everybody else, you ever have one of those moments driving on the highway at 4am still miles away from home when everything, all your dilemmas, just *click* and you see the solutions, and you realize that they're not even solutions, that there is only one way, there is only one series of events which could bring you to this exact point, and only one series of events which will eminate from this point. It is the way, and it is neither bad nor good, it just is. And normally you would feel depressed by this, you would feel the need to rage against the realization that you have no choice, or rather you have but one choice you will make, but you see the path you see the journey of all things, all matter, and you feel at the same time, completely calm and yet about to burst with ideas and words.

And no, I wasn't stoned. I did have a couple shots of Jager and some Denny's coffee though.

I'll talk but you won't listen to me

Stolen from an email I wrote to Miss K, cause I'm too something to blog:

I watched the Umbrellas of Cherbourg last night, and I must say, it is the saddest musical I have ever seen. It was good, but not at all what I expected.

AND, the Sessions at West 54th St. DVD that I checked out has a big fucking scratch in it right at the climax of Sinead O'Connor's performance, which is the performance I checked it out for (yeah, it's got Richard Thompson doing a song I like and Ben Folds doing Smoke and some other cool people, but really, besides Sinead doing Last Day of Our Aquaintence, what else is there? That's right, nothing. That moment where the drums and guitar kick in, and the song goes from heavy and heartbreaking to angry, broken and slightly defiant is total zen.)

To Sinead, who has a voice that must surely be the closest thing to divinity that has ever existed on this earth.

The Last Day of Our Acquaintance

This is the last day of our acquaintance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk but you won't listen to me
I know what your answer will be

I know you don't love me anymore
You used to hold my hand when the plane took off
Two years ago there just seemed so much more
And I don't know what happened to our love

Today's the day
Our friendship has been stale
And we will meet later to finalise the details
Two years ago the seed was planted
And since then you have taken me for granted

But this is the last day of our acquaintance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk but you won't listen to me
I know your answer already

But this is the last day of our acquaintance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk but you won't listen to me
I know your answer already
I know your answer already
I know your answer already

oh, and...

happy six month anniversary to the spig.
we've come a long way, baby.
I love you, spigot, you've done so much for me, and if I weren't about 20 minutes late for work, I'd have one of those clip show moments and talk about that time that Ross' monkey blah blah blah, and when Monica was fat, and back 4 months ago, when Chandler's transsexual Dad showed up, and how young we all were when this started, and how Rachel blahed the blah blah blee blu blah...

I miss you like a monster truck

I'm supposed to be on the island of Antiparos by now.
I'm not supposed to have to go work the local urban radio station's pool party.
I'm supposed to spend the next 6 weeks in near paradise conditions, drinking too much at night, working too hard during the day, and generally squeezing every single drop out of life.
Instead, I'm in Tulsa, a town which for all intents and purposes is dead. Tulsa is like a patient with cancer that has given up. Tulsa doesn't care that it has slipped from a second tier city to a lower third tier city in just ten short years. The populace is content, and some are even pleased, that we are becoming the land of chain resturants and AF2 teams. But fuck that. I just wish I was in Greece with 5 of the best group of 12 people I have ever known in my life. I guess I feel a bit better that not everyone is going back, so it's not like I'm the one breaking up the band. Delroy and Scotty won't be there, so I was going to have to go all Lord of the Flies on the deserted island for a week on my own, but I still would have.

I miss those people and that experience so much.
But there is a greater good here.
I want to be a writer.
Fuck it, I am a writer.
And the reason I'm not in Greece this summer gaining more life-experience and the all important material is so I can hopefully, get into grad school and become a better writer.
So that's why I'm in exile in Oklahoma, and it's not as bad as it sounds, but Tulsa's just no the town to be in right now. There are creative, innovative, awesome people here, but the policy makers and the people with money have given up. So those people are leaving in droves. I've always resisted, always said that if enough people stay, people will begin to come back and this city can achieve all the potential that it holds, but if I believed in God, I'd be praying that I got into Grad School just so I can get the hell out of Tulsa.

I don't know where this was going.

Despotiko Dozen, I miss you.