Surbia

The day was slowly falling into night. The lights on the street were starting to come to life and the kids on the street were protesting their mother’s calls. Eventually parental rule triumphed and the street became quiet. There was nothing to think about on those lonely summer nights, except perhaps the existence of this absurdity called life. But there was no time to think anyway, fathers came home, meals were cooked, and children put to bed. TV’s were turned on, drama played from sea to sea, across the entire country. What good was it to think at all, when really, life required very little of it?

The mornings.

The wind ripped and roared as I drove down HWY 1, causing my car to sometimes slide out of my lane. Luckily, I was able to maintain control of the 1984 300 TD Mercedes and I drove off to school. The morning spring sunshine started to warm the day and if you looked to your right you would see the pacific ocean, with waves rolling because of the wind and the pale blue sky kissing the horizon. The oil tankers are the only thing that kills the illusion that the world could just go on forever and ever.

I keep driving down the highway at a steady pace of 70 MPH on he 65. There are a few cars on the road and the most of them are passing me. I keep going up the hills, and down the hills, my view of the ocean rising and falling, like the waves. I see a hawk in the sky, catching the early morning heat and going higher, and higher. The two lane highway continues to go on and on, and I am not ont eh road driving, my body is on autopilot, I have done this millions fo times before.

My mind thinks. The morning poems and songs creep into my head, the newest additions to a vast collection of nothingness. I never write down what goes in my head, I am top busy.

"Ohh, I see what i see/ I know what I know/ I feel the day will go on forever/ I just want a breeze to blow/ and take me away to the heavens above/ to take me to the peacemaker/"

crap really, nothing that matters. But I drive, and drive and eventually the pacific ocean disappears, and I start driving inland, into the city of Santa Barbara. But I do not notice the city at all. There is nothing to notice anymore. Spanish tiles? check. Houses on the hills? check. In and Out Burger? Check.

I drive and drive until I find my Castillo exit and turn right, and right. I go up a small hill and see the pacific ocean again! I drive straight through the light and find the parking lot next to the baseball diamond. Free parking!

I park and without even thinking start my journey up the stairs and through the forest to the campus...

The world is so invisible. The next thing I know I am sitting down in a classroom, forty miles away from my bed. How did I end up here?

The man on the moon looked like he had a clean shave and shone brightly. The stars didn't twinkle and long amber grass could be seen swaying in a far off field. There were cows clustering in the near pasture, eating and walking and shitting and mooing. The crickets were in singing their nightly opera. Across the valley there was the highway, about a mile from where I stood, little trails of light speeding by to civilization at three am. I looked up with my binoculars and could see the moutain ridges indent the edge of the moon, I saw the craters and other details of our celestial neigbhor quite well. I put my lens down and sighed, here I was, alone, on a peice of land that once had been the home of a proud indian tribe, trying to find meaning to my meaningless life. At least the Chumash actually used that land, I thought.

Suddenly I saw a streak of something dive into the the earth and scoop up a gopher. It was an owl that figured the now grazed pasture was a perfect hunting ground. The crickets were silent, resting, ready to sing their third act, the act of conflict, the act about the battle between good and evil and fall of the angels. Soon they would sing their sad song.

I sat down on the bare ground and thought. There must be more to life than this, more to life than crickets, and cows, and death, and life. There has to be more than survival. I looked up to the bare sky, dominated by the white glow of the moon sighed, it really never ends, ever.

Introduction of Bucksnort.

My brain quit and said it would stop thinking five years ago. It said that it wasn’t ready to die, and it decided to still let my lungs breath, and heart beat and kidneys function and liver detoxify, but it wouldn’t think. I have not had an original thought since I was 19. I am now 24, a living zombie. My flesh is shiny and clean, I have the latest toys in the following areas: Masturbators, photography, computers, cooking, and passive entertainment (TV and satellite). I used to have such vivid dreams, where there was color, and life and greatness, now I just close my eyes and wake up at 8:30 every goddamn morning. It doesn’t matter if I close my eyes at 3 am or 11 pm the night before, I still wake up at 8:30 am. I have been very grateful that my penis still works, which means, I can still fuck. Fucking requires no imagination, just insert and thrust. Life has become meaningless, without imagination there is only damnation.
Since I was already damned, I went ahead and made a deal with the Devil. The deal was this: my soul for an imagination. I was very specific, that I didn’t want a lame imagination that had no depth, think Homer from the Simpson’s. Nor, did I want an imagination that was so complex and vast that the weight and frequency of ideas would drive me insane. I didn’t want to end up in an insane asylum. I asked for an imagination that would bring color back in my dreams, and ideas to write cool books and inspire people. I even had the balls to ask for an imagination that would help me find a way to not end up in hell after I die. The devil laughed and laughed at that, saying, “You sir, have balls. I like men with a nice big set of balls, epically if said balls are able to suggest the king of hell to put a loophole in his own contract.” I am not sure if he was serious or not until he showed me the place in hell where he keeps his marketing and branding teams, you know, to soften his image a bit. He said after I die I can work there. At least I wouldn’t have to wallow in a pit of fiery earth, or be anal rammed every day and I can still use that shiny imagination.
After I made my deal with the Prince of Darkness, I set out to write my first novel, “The Fiery One”. Which, I am sure you all know, was an instant hit. Soon after my first novel was published, I pumped out another bestseller, “Nighttime”. So far I have written five bestsellers and I already have two more books in my publisher’s hands, which brings the total to seven books in a four year period. Not bad. I am racking in the dough, meeting and banging hot chicks, living the life of my hero Hank from Californication.
I know, I know many of you are thinking that I am wasting my vast imagination on such childish personal things like wealth acquisition and that my brain was right to quit. But hey, I have given quite a lot to charity; I just haven’t found a cause to champion yet, are writers allowed to do that? I mean Angela Jolie or Madonna can have their projects to better the world, but I am busy writing and banging. You don't see Stephen King tell his readers to help the Sudanese, or end worldwide slavery. Besides, I only have time to cut checks.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy my next book that comes out in November, titled “Naked Death” It’s about this guy who dies naked and how he ended up there. Hope you like it!

I wrote this four years ago, drunk.

There is no tempest that can destroy thy beauty. Nor is there a sun that can singe thy skin, and make it ugly. There is no wind that can uproot thy hair, and bald thee. the only thing that can destroy thee is thy creator. And thy creator is love and thus will not destroy thee. For thy beauty, and wit, and personality, make thee impossible to deny a throne. There is not devil that can temp thee for thy kindness and virtue makes thee incorruptible. There is only thee, and thee is all that can be. For what else would thee want to be? A cow? An ass? Nay, not even a mermaid could be as grand and wonderful as thee. The sun worships thee, and the wind caresses thy face with such tenderness; with such love. There is nothing that is better than thy smile, a thousand warriors would kill thy enemies to see that smile. That smile! Those radiant smiles! That wonderful laugh that angels are jealous of! What wonder! What greatness! Only your divine creator can exceed thy greatness and perfection of thy laugh, and only barely so.

Sickness.

So, last night I wrote my first blog entry around after 11pm and had a cold. I just wasn't tired and didn't feel bad at the time, fast forward to this morning and my nose and sinus is stuffed to the max. Of course I would sleep in any other day, but today I had a paper due, and my professor has two rules: 1. No late papers. and 2. No papers submitted by email. I woke up a tad late for a shower, so got dressed, ate a quick breakfast and brushed my teeth then headed out the door about 20 min later. The 15 min walk took me 20 min, but I left early enough to get there on time. While I turned my paper in my professor was like, "Oh god, are you ok?" and I mumbled something about sleep. It was a bright sunny day outside and I had a coat to act as a pillow and went to sleep on the grass. While I wish that got me over the cold outright, I did feel a lot better. Right now I feel surprisingly good and just have mild congestion.

Luckily my tues-thursdays are pretty lax, my next class wasn't until 2:35 and I was able to recharge for it. I also got a lot of work done :) .

Never underestimate the power of sunshine and sleep

The Purpose

It is 11 :21 pm as I type these words. I know you might be asking, "Who starts a blog at 11:21 pm?" Well, I can't seem to sleep and had an itching to do some writing. I wish I could sleep, I am almost over this cold that I have had for the last two days, and I have an early class tomorrow. But my body isn't tired, so I gotta do something with my time.

So, I get out of bed, start up the computer and start a blog.

With the millions of blogs in existence, why start another one? It's almost like having children, you know the world is overpopulated with humans, and yeah, you know that by having your own screaming pooper you are contributing to a massive problem, but at the same time, you want your own little shiny baby. I don't want children anytime soon, so that might have been a horrible analogy, but the point is made. There are so many blogs, with so many GREAT writers and so many HORRIBLE writers. Some blogs can make you laugh, others can make you cry because the writing is so horrible. I will proably be somewhere in between and will make you both laugh and cry!

The title of my blog pertains to me having a Cochlear Implant. You see I have a machine that hears for me, so that makes me a kind of a cyborg. However, I feel much more like a robot since all I do is slave away to make ends meet, which if Terminator is any indication, cyborgs have no such delusions. In fact Robot is the slavic word for slave. You are proably wondering; arn't cyborgs and Robtos interchangable? No, Cyborgs are beings with both natural systems (flesh, nervous systems, and such) and machinery (Cochelar Implants! Prothestic legs! Eletcric Nodes!). Robots on the other hand are purely mechanical. Androids are robots that look and act like humans, in case you were wondering. If that messed up paragraph makes no sense to you let me put it this way:

Cyborgs kill, Robots chill.

Or how about:

Assimov's books are better than the Terminator movies.

So yes, my title is wrong. Who cares? Would you even know if I didn't point it out? Maybe.

Now that most of the girls have fled for their lives because I have shown that I read Science Fiction, I can make a fool of myself.... it is almost midnight afterall!

The purpose of this blog is to help me be less bored.
Now, with that out of the way, I gotta go find a way to get some sleep... I might blog about it later.