Um, I already forgot what this one was about; something, I'm sure. in Normal entries

The stuff below the double gray line was one of those desktop orphans, I closed a bunch of windows and there he was twitching in some sort of paroxysm of hunger, grief or something organic. Euthanasia is like a bee sting; just because the first thirty didn’t have an allergic reaction … it’s not the first one that haunts you so much as the last. So fuck it, this little digital orphan gets to live. It has nothing to offer the world and it will never be a productive member of any society anywhere ever, it gets to live because I just don’t feel like killing it no matter how merciful it might be.

Yeah, that’s melodramatic, so what? Polly Anna is in a whole different part of the alphabet than haredawg, you can’t pretend you started off with bad directions.

Are you a lucky little lady in the city of light or just another lost angel? --- The Doors

I currently have 109 pipes in rotation and two coming from Italy. I got a guy, see, Luca DiPiazzio, he runs a little website, last September he bought a store front in Milan off a little cobble stoned street that translates into brick kiln when you shove it at the rude English language. He has pretty reasons for getting a storefront, the sort of pretty that appeals to pipe smokers. I like him anyhow. I think his real reason is because a smoke shop should be brick and mortar, because he thinks it should be, not because I do, or the idiot that is the pipe smoker profile. Yes, I’m denigrating that idiot because he doesn’t exist. Luca does and I do and we both like the idea of a place where people congregate and tell big fish stories and argue about politics and hug one another when the open sign flips inward.

It’s very similar to the idiot profile only less wordy and more heartfelt. I have nothing invested in convincing you, if I had something invested in your opinion of me I wouldn’t be writing about pipes or calling a few paragraphs of nonsense an orphan. The people in this community that I consider friends like me anyhow, this journal, no matter where or when it is or has been, has never encouraged anyone to be impressed with any of the stupid things I do or, and more pointedly, don’t do. The things I say aren’t very flattering to me or you. I don’t expect my opinion of brick and mortar smoke shops to influence your opinion at all. Sorry, all that nonsense means that’s the difference between me and the pipe smoker profile. That and I don’t find it necessary to trot out the ten dollar words to emphasize that singular folksy little notion. I think it’s at least as pretentious as a motherfucker to use big ass five syllable words to talk about how quaint and old timey one likes ones smoke shops. Huh. I guess motherfucker doesn’t really work everywhere. I’ve known a real motherfucker or two, pretentious isn’t really a quality motherfuckers are chocked full of. There is no such thing as motherfuckerer than thou, there is no motherfucker competition that gives one motherfucker the status of motherfucker of the year, for that matter if you’re really trying to keep score the number of mother you can fuck in the literal meaning (which is a good ninety five percent of every other variation of meaning) you can only fuck one biological mother.

The two pipes coming from Italy this time are not Italian pipes. One is an estate pipe, a fairly conservative British made James Upshall (the idiot that is the pipe smoker profile will write a thousand pages on the fine points of buying an estate pipe. No, ten thousand per viewpoint, a thousand on whether estate is a pretentious phrase for used or homage to the previous owner. It’s all bullshit. In a nutshell; have you ever asked your server at a restaurant whether the silverware has been used? No, you haven’t, now you’re just lying.). The other is Russian. Yes, I wanted it in part for the novelty of having a Russian pipe, but they’ve been available in the states for at least two years now that I’m aware of, this one I’m getting because I like the look of it and Luca gives a full profile; all the angles, the inside and a video. It’s unusual without being weird, original and classic. I like it.

The upside to a new pipe is that you know exactly what tobaccos have been smoked in it. Yes, the fork that was used for salmon won’t be fishy after washed and used for steak. However, the wok or teapot that you’ve seasoned for years, you don’t want cleaned, see what I mean? It’s not hard to sterilize something before putting it in your mouth, but it’s impossible to season anything quickly, I mean season the way you want it seasoned. You trust every restaurant to wash your silverware, you return to a place that has the flavors you like.

Awww shit, I lost momentum.

I know I said I didn’t care, I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love y’all. Um, I gotta go in this car with these people, ok?

There is something really horribly wrong with me. I mean mentally, the horrible physical things are same old same old; Hunch back, club foot, leprosy, Dimorphic body image --- I kid. It’s more like a hump back. Mentally there are some serious kinks in my hose, knots in my line, runs in my stockings. I don’t mean emotionally, I mean I don’t think right. Granted I’m possibly more rational than you lot, but c’mon, you’re hardly the standard of even marginally adequate mental well-being.

Well-being, that’s it, I lack mental well-being.

I’ve seen this very introduction repeated ad nauseum (that’s papal for; and now a word from our sponsor!). It’s usually some poor schmuck (for you gentiles that’s sort of like a dude only schmuckier, a sympathetic fellow, a brother if you will upon whom hard times have fallen) who’s only brush with madness was a short lived anxiety attack over whether he should actually ask Sarah Jane (that’s WASP for a girl) to go for coffee or ice cream or realize his darkest most deviant sado-masochistic fantasy and take her to the new Wolverine movie. To be fair it’s is an hour and a half in the dark with butter flavored popcorn and the estrogen wafting over his old factory glans (Oh, I crack me up, and am nuttier than a shithouse rat).

I imply, with some frequency, all the just cause for dog earing pages in the DSM IV and receive due sympathy or the pervasive syllable of understanding and well-being; dude. The period is a composite punctuation. Dude sometimes demands an exclamation point or a question mark or a semi colon. You’re questioning the semi colon. I am me; for that I came --- Gerard Manly Hopkins. Dude; Dude --- someone besides Gerard Manly Hopkins. You could use a full colon, just wait for the second date. I crack me up outside of parenthesis as well as inside them.

Oh, shit, shit house rat, Sarah Jane, where was I? Oh, yeah. No. I’m none too stable even if one puts aside just cause and boy/girl anxiety (which I would find damn quaint in an old dog like me, specifically an old dog who was me). I make associations that just aren’t healthy all the fucking time; I mean that constant chatter one always has in their head? Mine is in three part atonal discordance (that’s be-bop for Cool, in every other language it means something along the lines of Call 911!)