Everything is drained and it looks clean. It looks to be a round scar. I am seriously considering getting a navel tattoo, just have to wait a year and see how the scar behaves. My favorite tattoo artist has some really cool ones: David Bollt.

Been watching DVD's. I saw Reservoir Dogs again. My Significant Obsession told me once that he was Mr. Blonde. Nah, to me he is Mr. Orange....

Last night I went to the doctor. He smiled evilly and said: "Now is the right time." Next thing I know, I am lying down and when I sneaked a peek I saw two belly buttons. Nasty. I go in again tomorrow to drain and make sure everything is cleaned out. OUCH!

Last week Heavy Metal Santa Claus brought a record by some band called Tenacious D. I saw him cackling away like a maniac at work. He just mentioned that one of the guys is actor Jack Black. Now if you know Jack Black, you know that guy has lots of loose screws. I just didn't know how many until I saw this video for Fuck Her Gently. Heavy Metal Santa Claus worries me sometimes. In a total synchronicity wave, Poppy has said lately that she really likes Tenacious D. Everybody is going mad, I tell ya.

Spent Sunday to Monday at the local community clinic with an IV drip full of antibiotics. They didn't even take two glances at the sty in my belly. They just pumped me full of that shit for 12 hours and didn't bother telling me it was going to take that long. I didn't have any books with me. I wasn't sleepy and thought it was going to be over soon.

Three shifts went by (My "bed" was in front of the nurses' punch clock) and all they did was ask me what was wrong with me and what did the previous doctor say. The last one I told: One more dose and then let me go home. So they did, I wonder if I would still be there. They were doing the exact same thing I could be doing at home: taking antibiotics and stay in bed. Only I don't have a yellow, orange, lime green and turqouise striped curtain around my bed. That was almost driving me crazy.

No work yesterday or today, I have an appointment with the doctor to see if they will finally get rid of the pimple with hubris.

Not feeling too good. Apparently there is an alien growing in my abdomen, in an amniotic bag of pus. Went to the doctor who told me to take some pills. If these pills don't work by Friday he will open me up. The good pill is Cipro, it is so huge I choked on it three times before I could swallow it and then left some bitter aftertaste on my tongue. The bad pill is Toradol, a very small pill that hits your stomach like a bomb, nausea and diaphragm aching and burning for hours after. All for nothing if they slit me open. Joy, joy...

It has been a long time (1996-Marilyn Manson's "Smells Like Children" to be precise) since a band has made me laugh so hard.
Check out Electric Six video for Danger! High Voltage. They sound like something from the 80's: a campy After the Fire "Der Komissar" or something like that. There is this spoof of Blair and Bush that also uses one of their songs: Gaybar. If you prefer cuter spoofs then check out this other version of Gaybar. Rip your tonsils out...

Guitar classes are going good. The teacher is a little lazy with the time but the rest is fine.

I wrote a second story and posted it on a literary critique workshop. It has been read eleven times by five different people and reviewed only once. The review was not as bad as for the first story I posted there. The critic was uncomfortable with an acid trip sequence in the story. Apparently she was OK with a vagina dentata but not with other aspects of magic realism. A major influence in me is Salvador Dali. I almost worship the man. Everytime I have been barely proud of anything creative I do, there is some sort of surrealism. So there are things in this story that are not going to change. Also, a life lesson or "A POINT" is somewhat out of the scope of the particular piece I wrote.

Poppy Z. Brite was talking the other day about how she despised plot driving devices. Stories whose sole purpose was moving characters around doing things that get them to "THE POINT". I didn't understand her until I was asked what was the point of my story. My point: to scare you or revolt you. Better yet: both...

70 days to Horrorfind.

Started guitar classes. This is going to be every bit as hard as I suspected.

Found out I am a Theravada Buddha. Though I have no interest in practicing Buddhism.

Over and out...