The Open Matt Project

Not that I'm the sharpest

Not that I'm the sharpest tack to begin with, but jesus christ drinking makes me stupid sometimes. Or maybe it's my stupidity making me drink? Bah. I don't know. I woke up a few minutes ago on the floor. Again. I should have this sucker cleaned so I don't wake up with Doritos embedded in my face.

My head feels like I soaked it in Drano. I don't know what the hell I did with my knee - but it hurts like hell. My hair looks like I was licking the wallsocket looking for wakey-wakey candy - and found it.

T-minus 2 days to D-day. or I guess B-day.

And so what is love?

And so what is love? Some sort of perverse addiction soaked in self-loathing and desire for redemption and valifdation? A purity of existance wherein you get to see, however skewed, the basis and thrust behind existing? A pulse of emotion, a momentary breakthrough of insight which reveals the plastic tarp that catches our outbursts and levels them on a landscape of mutual undertanding? Blah blah blah. I gear up to spend all that I have on that one thing. That unreachable goal, the apex and nadir of achievement.

For what it's worth, I

For what it's worth, I found an old card in my wallet that had "Big Joe"'s company on it. He was some guy I met in London at Iskandars wedding, and I remember looking for his info. Well, it was bigjoe@liquidsite.com, but that address is dead. The phone number listed, 212-924-6951, shows up in google as having a different address than the one on the card, but it's still listed as Liquidsite... so maybe there is still a business there. The only other reference I found was a new email address on USENET called "bigjoe@cyberdude.com" which is a little scary, but from the sounds of the posts, seems like it could be him too.

It's possible this information might be useful. Who knows. I'm just whiling away the time...

I got drunk tonight. I'm

I got drunk tonight.

I'm a good writer. I can tell because even though I am completely shitfaced and I could hardly carry on a conversation with some random on the street, I can type with near-perfect grammar and spelling. I can sit here and respect the unknown talent I have and despite the resentment and hatred I have for my own abilities, I can express them without pause or reservation.

I write to the internet. I write to the great unknown, even though the unknown is actually the small group of either pathetic or powerful people I know. I write to share the moments I have before my moments are gone. I write to express what little there is hidden under the cowl of personality I flaunt and display with distasteful flagrance nearly every night. The despair. The distaste. The fear and misery that my peers and contemporaries are thankfully free from overly contemplating, or better yet completely devoid of to begin with. I wait patiently for the chickenshits to read what I write, so they can scrape what little self-aggrandizement they need to survive their naturally deceptive lives from what little truth I'm able to pearl-dive for. There is immeasurable effort expended to bring these truths to the surface, only to see them processed and packaged like embarrassments for the terrified and weak.

Yes, I despise you.

The hypocritical pontifications of the safely esconced I weather with arbitrary apathy. What else is there to do? What can I offer those who are so eager to comiserate and surrender themselves? I shamefully turn to humor. The guise of fool shielding me and offering meager shelter from the unyeilding assault of boastful cries of helplessness.

Yes, I despise myself as well.

What can I offer? What help can I give to those who expend their unique talents to furthering and bolstering their fortresses of penultimate defeat? I released paradise to take the divinity I knew and bring it to the blind. I knew their futile grasping would be my best caress. I accepted their shrieks of lost aspirations as an understandable cost to pass from perdition to. I saw the impossible and accepted the flow of the universe to carry me from my equally purposeless spot to a location where the dribblings of divinity could be licked, or scraped, from my body. Never did I dream of the loathsome r

(editors note: at this point apparently I passed out, since I woke up on the floor later that night. Whee. ha ha.)

btw - this is the

btw - this is the site she's talking about - "She's a Spy dot com"

WARNING!!! This site has colors that will make your retinas file Chapter 11. SQUINT WHEN YOU READ IT FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY!!!

Just because I'm unoriginal and

Just because I'm unoriginal and because I don't trust the stupid comment system she uses, here are my comments regarding one of Kat's posts:

First of all, I can't go to any more of the linx to other camgirl's sites. They are all the same to me - some teenage girl half-exposing herself and talking about her idiotic boyfriends. I mean, come on - this girl is freaked out by her PUPPY having a hard-on. *sigh*

And thanks for the plug.(re. trip to Florida) You're always welcome to my money if it will keep you smiling and not hating humanity. Take all you want - we'll make more.

(This has been printed entirely without editing, so if it's not funny, written well, or intellectually stimulating, blame terrorism)