Rough Draft of an article

     Fuck.  I am completely out of it.  I want to go have a smoke right now.  Also, I am running low on coffee.  This is not good.  In fact, it is tragic.

     I just wish there was a way to make all this shit work for me.

     Today is the day where I want to figure out some shit.

     Anyway, it is funny because I can't write when I have to use the restroom.  I sit there writing until I say, "Fuck..alright already..I'll fucking go and get it over with."
     They call it a toilet because of the word 'toil'.  Makes perfect sense, huh?  Because, when you think about it, it is a fucking chore.
     I hate going to the bathroom.  It always gets in the way.

     Thank god for this blog, so I can swear as much as I want.
     People in comedy can swear all they want on stage, and it is funny, yet, to do that same material in a blog...well, you will get fucking kicked off of adsense.  This blog I don't have to worry about anymore, adsense doesn't want a goddamn thing to do with this fucking blog, because of my 'adult' material.  Big deal, I put up some pictures of naked women.  Sheez, they make such a commotion about it, or at least I do.

     Anyway, lots of people are here with their laptops today, and other people are outside in their football jerseys on the way to the game or to the bar, who knows and who cares?  Yet, I can not help but notice all the football thugs and goons.
     Anyway, I got my work cut out for me today.
     I have to get all of my blogs working and into the consciousness of the web.  That is not going to be easy.  Basically, there are a lot of people on the web, and I will create my own audience for my work.  It will take me a long time, but who cares?  I'm having the time of my life.
     Can a writer like me have an impact of any kind on anyone?  I don't know.  That isn't important now.  My job is to keep going regardless.
* * *
     N:  Where is your husband?
     A:  He is busy making money.
     N:  Tell him to make some money for me.
     A:  I will.

     The above is from two women talking.  I suppose they take great delight in knowing that their husbands are away at work, slaving their ass off working for some dickhead asshole, while the woman hangs out at the cafe and has a good time.
     It makes you think that men are tools, just being used by women who barely tolerate them.
     All the guy wants is to come home from work and kick back for a bit, get some dinner, and maybe a blow job.
     Not too much to ask.
* * *
     Anyhow...this blog is going well.  Every hit counts, despite having the ability removed to ever make money from it.  I will show that there is an audience for hentai, porn, swearing, sex, vulgarity, profanity, sin, war, art, mayhem, pop culture, and talking about all of the fucked up things in the world.

     When I write on this blog, I really fucking feel like myself, and it feels great.  When I write on my other blogs, it is okay, but it feels restrained.  That is alright for a while, but then I start to go nuts because I can't express myself properly.

     Thank god I took a shit, I feel much better now.  Maybe I will even be able to think more clear.

     Starting a new week recovering from drinking and playing Magic is always funny.  I don't know how I am going to work a normal job with my schedule and life style.  I'm going to have to suck it up pretty damn soon, unless I can become a wildly popular and successful artist pretty damn soon.  There is a chance I can make that happen using all of my resources on the web, but it all takes time.

     I did chat with my brother Matt today while I was playing 'Clone Wars Adventures'.  He is a good kid.  We have a good time talking.
     My oldest brother John, well, that is a different story.  I still don't know what to do about him.  He is kind of a pain, and needs a lot of attention for some reason.  He is 49, for Christ's sakes....sheez.  After all these years, there is still this uneasy feeling for him, and just too much drama all over nothing, just because he feels like he didn't get enough attention growing up.  He is insatiable in that regard.  It will never be enough.  He has to look inside himself, and figure out what the fuck is going on, and no one can do that except him.  He could stand to lose some weight, too.  That would help a lot.  It makes no sense going through life carrying an extra load on you.  It doesn't help at all.
     Meanwhile, he has all his criticisms about me, and I could give a fuck.  I'm too busy for his shit right now.  I got things to do.
     Yet, he loves me.
     Thanks a lot, John.
     A lot of good it is doing me right now.
     Anyway, I don't even want to talk about him right now.

* * *
     Yeah, it is a beautiful and gorgeous day.  I got sunshine.

     Marco and I talked about Monty Python some more.  He mentioned a bit about a house that eats people, and something with a guy playing piano.

     Let me ask you, am I the only one that thinks that there are things out there to make you think that making money is a crime?  There seems to be some kind of guilt I have about it.  I feel that money making processes are evil and fucked up.  Somebody gets ripped off in the process, and it is usually me.
     The only thing I got where I can get paid properly for my work is with my art.  X amount of work and hours = X amount of cold hard cash, if I can get somebody to agree to my terms.  Not easy to pull off.
     Anyway, I need a goddamn cigarette and a break from this shit, so I can figure out what the fuck is going on here.

     I was out there standing there on the sidewalk.  Some bald guy was yakking loud on his phone in some kind of heated discussion.
     There were also two women out there smoking.
     I thought of ...hey a flash just went off...was it that woman behind me that I looked at because she was too interested in my shit on my table....No, it is the glare from the guy in the green shirt...the sun reflected off his portable device and it went right into my eyes.  The woman left, she looked to me like old nosy bag who could be a nice lady for all I know, but the outward beauty of her is long gone.  Happens.
     Anyhow, what the hell does all this shit mean?  I have no fucking idea.

     I've been thinking about doing an epic freewrite just like I would do on paper.
     I am really getting amused by all the stuff I would normally do in my sketchbook, I can now do it in a real public way on my blogs.
     Hey, for me, it is publish, make money, or be prepared to be homeless and die.  I don't want that to happen.

     The Russian photographer chick is here.  She doesn't like it when people take pictures of her, but I can write about her, and she will never know about it.  She would certainly never bother to look up anything I do on the web, because she is into her own stuff.  It is fine with me, she is a little out of it.  She is into black magic, and she sells her strip club girl photographs outside of Specs.

     Anyway, it was a good night last night.

     I would do some napkin art in here, but there is no one here that I want to draw.

     A couple is yapping to the left of me, a little too loudly.  It is hard to write when people are talking shit right near me.  Fuck.  It is hard to think.

     Anyhow...I don't know what it means.

     I was just thinking of the papers I would write in my English class at Los Angeles City College.  Nobody gave a shit about my work.  I failed to get any kind of real reaction from people.  I guess I don't blame them.  They had no reason to give a fuck about me.  It is all about 'the who is doing the writing'.  Bad work by a notable person gets more attention than good work from an unknown, and that is what I am...a complete unknown.

     I had enough Bob Dylan for a couple of days.  The bartender was playing it too loud last night, and it really got into my head.  I can still hear it now.  I was already bombasted by Joe The Piano Player with his mix of bad notes, bitterness, loudness, and songs I've heard 300 times.

     It is already three o'clock.  It takes hours to write anything decent.  The day is already half gone, and I haven't even gotten started.
     To make some art today?  Who has time?  Yet, I could break out the paints right now and go for it.

     I was thinking about The Passion of Writing, where you sit and write so much until you break through into new lands and territories.
     I think of Herman Melville chopping wood to prepare before he would sit down and write.  I think about Henry Miller sitting there in his undershirt, sweating away.  Jack Kerouac emits a similar image, but there is way more booze involved.
     Then there is Charles Bukowski, who could get drunk as all hell and write better than sober people.
     My point is that whatever you do, do it with gusto and with passion.  I guess I am talking about the Lust For Life thing.  Yes, I am back to that.  I have been taking it easy lately, taking time to make my choices, but it might be time to start going for it again.  In other words, I am preparing for war.
     The Earth is a Battlefield.  ( No reference to Scientology intended.  I hate those guys...)

* * *
     I suppose what I am getting at is I am trying to uncover some things I want to get into that are on the edge of my imagination.
     It might be time to jump into the void and try to survive a two mile fall into hell and come back to tell about it.

     Today will be another Babylon 5 day.  I have season 5 waiting for me at home.

     "Cowabunga, dude."
     Thanks, Bart.

* * *
   1.  I might have to make a Slayer War Zone Clone Wars Umbara video.
   2.  I need a job.
   3.  I need to explore all the options Blogger has to offer.
   4.  I am starting to think about photoshop and what I can do with it.
   5.  I have videos to make.
   6.  I was supposed to write a sex dialogue today, but I have not gotten around to it.
   7.  Deviant Art
   8.  Cleaning and Organizing.
   9.  Magic
 10.  Clone Wars
 11.  Hentai and Porn
 12.  Things to write about.
 13.  Often times, writing is about making lists.
 14.  Revise, revise, revise.  There are no short cuts.
 15.  To write something good takes a lot of work.
 16.  I am about done here.
 17.  Fuck.  I just want to get fucked.  I also just like the word.  I like to say it.  There is something satisfying
        about it.
 18.  Wrap-around type
 19.  That girl is still just sitting there with that dopey expression of hers on her face which just tells me that
        listens to strange music in her head.  She is from another planet.
 20.  My brother Mike, and his comic book 'We Go Anywhere'.  I get frustrated just looking at it.  I don't
        get the whole middle of the galaxy thing as that has to be the place where all of the commerce takes
        place, as if his galaxy is a fried egg, and all the action takes place in the yoke.  Why does it have to
        be that way?  I have no fucking idea.
 21.  I just want to watch some videos about art today, and look at paintings.
 22.  It is time to go soon.  I don't know if I have accomplished anything, and that is always an odd feeling.
        It is hard to be a writer, and to go out on a limb.
 23.  There are a lot of fat people in The U.S.A.  It is sick.
 24.  I could give a fuck.
 25.  I just want to go home and make a vodka cran.