Of the following goals I’ve randomly decided to set for myself today and continue on until I grow tired of them, I’m curious as to which will be the first to utterly fail in its entirety.

• Masturbate only twice per Sunday-Saturday week.
• Have at least one workout sessions consisting of 30 minutes or more every other day.
• Only eat fruit, tuna, lean beef, vegetables and some bread for at least a month.
• Consume less than 90 beers (or the rough equivalent thereof) in a month.
• Not be the center of some bullshit (uselessly) dramatic even for at least 3, 2, 1 month, week. FAIL

Personally, I give myself about 72 hours before I will successfully fail each and every one of these. One, two, three - BEGIN!

A brief gaze into the knowledge that exists within pastries that I’ve collected over the years.

You will attract cultured and artistic people to your home.
Unless I take an extreme liberal interpretation of ‘cultured’ and ‘artistic’ then the first fortune out of the gate is way off the mark.

Luck is on your side today.
I think I got a speeding ticket that day… -_- And possibly kicked in the crotch

You are feeling intense and warm.
Probably from whatever the fuck it was that was in our mystery-meat super spicy special of the day.

You are never given a dream without also being given the power to make it true.
Unless you suffer from sleep paralysis (post to come soon).

Great ambitions make great men.
It certainly worked for Hitler!

You are not illiterate.
Stunning. Simply stunning.

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
Except for cops, politicians, Lords, Ladies, animals that can lick their crotches, people who have assets worth billions… Oh and who am I to forget frigging Jesus.

A good way to keep healthy is to eat more Chinese food.
Not only that, but you should probably add a Baconator or two in the mix just for the hell of it!

A way out of a financial mess is discovered as if by magic!
Hey look over there while I put my hand into your register! Weeeeeeee!

Love mankind, trust the majority, and never owe anyone.
And here I didn’t really believe in reincarnation… But it would appear that Lenin has returned to us in the form of a writer for some third world fortune cookie factory!

Hearty laughter is a good way to jog internally without having to go outdoors.
I’m not sure if this would work for these ladies, but I certainly feel like I’ve run a marathon now.

An acquaintance of the past will affect you in the near future.
Undoubtedly relating to the officer who wrote me said speeding ticket and wondering why I haven’t paid it yet…

This is a night for love and affection.
Surely there must be some available ladies reading this who have a knack for fulfilling prophecies? Eh? Eh… ? ….

Telling someone the truth is a loving act.
Unless of course you’re welcoming them to reality of how very, very much you hate the living fuck out of them.

The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination.
I think I tore some of my retna from the laughter this one caused. It reminds me of a little kid that was at the pool the other day, swimming in the deep end an informing anyone who would listen that his imaginary friend Telsdanam (or some other demonic incarnation of such) foretold there would be rain and tornadoes and the end times were upon us. Some good old fashioned shock therapy should get that train wreck back on course.

Do it because you love it.
9 out of 10 rapists, robbers and chronic masturbators agree.

Whereever you go, whenever you can, try to leave a gift.
For the ultimate in surprising gifts I have but two words: Upper-Decking.

You have inexhaustible wisdom and power.
The two smiley faces on either side of this esteemed message seemed to bely the mocking nature that lurked just beneath the surface. Still, I can’t help but agree.

Wow! A secret message from your teeth!
This one has caused me more than one sleepless night, as I attempt to unveil and thwart whatever the hell devious plot it is that my teeth have in store for me. Are they planning to bite off my tongue? Fall out? Hold a fiesta party with everyone invited!? THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME.

Thank you fortune cookie artists… You provide us all with much joy, confusion and angst at your lovely tidbits of human enlightenment.

I just returned from a canoe/float trip and will probably throw up some pictures later. Also, my ass hurts.

That will be all.

Fucking bonus! You get a shitty poem I scribbled out the other day as well! Enjoy.

A lovely brush, a lock of hair
Sitting around the end.
They scattered and they ran dear love
And to them hell I send.

A smitten look, a dead man’s eye
Now given to the boy.
He shed one tear and looked above;
His first and only toy.

A lonely sigh, a hidden thought
The scourging of my mind.
“Begone foul beast! Do not come back!”
The knot will not unwind.

A final nod, a trust betrayed
None here to know his plight.
“I know my fate, a soul I lack.
I see but have no sight.”

Nothing really meaningful to put up here as of late, so I might as well put up the meaningless crap that’s been gumming up the works in my thought-maker. Brace yourself, you’re going to need some high shit-waders for this one. *(On a side note, I posted this as it came to me and without editing so if there are grammatical/punctual errors… well, shit happens)*

Circular thinking is such an annoying thought process that encircles me. Before I can ever get a thought out, a chain of thoughts follow it, leading back to the first. I think about typing that I don’t know what I want in life. The next thought: I’ve already thought this. The next thought: I know where this is leading, why bother in asking it in the first place. The next thought: So type about the thinking of this thought in the past. The next thought: Maybe I should just type the whole thing, starting with the thought of not knowing what to want. The next thought: Well shit, here we are again. The cycle will now repeat itself virtually unhindered and endlessly.

I enjoy thinking. This sounds quite silly when I think about it (oops, no need for another loop thank you very much). New thoughts and ideas give me a refreshing tingle that lets me know I’m still alive and not just some robot. … Or does it? I suppose I could be pre-programmed with notions of euphoria with predetermined ‘release’ dates for new information from my subconscious to conscious. No sense on dwelling on this bit of intangibility. Next.

It occurs to me on many occasions that my thoughts are something akin to an endless vertically stacked pile of lines. The lines are in various lengths but always overlap at the ends, rarely in the midsection. The ends when overlapping are repeated. Some of these ends repeat endlessly. Then, somewhere in the middle there are new thoughts or ideas which after sometime become new ends. So in my thoughts I have some ideas that will last for long periods of time, that surround other thoughts that are newly born that then die off, intertwining with an entirely new generation of nonsensical shit. I think a tumor was born in there somewhere. The stack doesn’t really please me all that much these days, though I’m not entirely sure if it ever really has. Oh well, the war inside my head is long and on-going, no sense in fucking with the status quo for now.

I would love to learn how to draw and paint. There just never seems to be enough drive within me to accomplish this (seemingly) unattainable goal. It would certainly allow me to express a lot of the ideas that just aren’t suitable for writing (no how matter how grand(ly retarded) my talents might be) that crash around in my head like a cataclysmic asteroid field of doom. There are just all sorts of neat and crazy images that like to appear in my head, like magically summon genies and djinns, except rather than grant me wishes they just tend to laugh at me while violating my brain in XXX-rated ways.

Somewhere along this line of thinking I start wading into the murky waters of my dreams. I think I need to get back into a regular habit of recording my dreams again. I’m highly interested in what they are all about and what’s going on in them. There are those who practice the art of lucid dreaming and therefore controlling their chaos to varying degrees. Maybe just once it would be kind of neat, but after that I think it would suck. Having random shit that I don’t really understand at all flash by me in a whirl of imagery, noise and thought made substantial, blended so magnificently is quickly taking over as the highlight of most of my evenings. I look forward to these states of body paralyzing hallucinogenic periods of time. Looking forward to the dreams… It’s a new experience every time. Even if it’s the same dream, I always find something new to see in it or at the very least remember more of it and the memory is therefore something new and different all unto itself.

Something different, always trying to be something different. It’s the insatiable human goal, for the majority of the monkeys out there anyways; definitely for me. It’s unachievable except for in rare situations and accomplished by very few. Is it really my goal though? The more I ponder it, the more I’m inclined to say that I’m trying to be like everyone else. I’ve always considered myself a mirror, little of myself being really and wholly of me. A whole infinite myriad of literary works have been produced on this very concept of society programming us to dance along to the same tune, but fuck all that and back to me. There are two portions to all of us, that which we show and that which we know. The outer shell that I choose to have others view changes continually to blend into the situation and surroundings (when of enough sober mind to not allow the levies of pandemonium spill over). It is only after individuals have been around me long enough, that they finally begin to see the horribly rusty gears of my inner machinations grinding and twisting, then they usually shake their head and move on. That’s when I normally have to start coming up with even more fantastical situations to deter them from reaching that breaking point of getting too close a glimpse. I transform from something that melds into its environment to an oddity that needs attention. I try to force them to focus on the events rather than the person behind them, cloak and dagger you know. It has proven to be quite a useful tactic and has served me well for a very long time. I don’t have any plans of stopping that little mode of chicanery anytime soon.

Such a block of useless words up there. It almost makes me laugh. In fact, it does make me laugh. I chuckle even as I tippity-tap this into existence. No sooner was the previous thought out of my mind and into the viewing of this document that I then needed to know what sort of reaction it would garner. That is the other half what makes up my delinquent self. This part that shares the mirror is that which loves to see what is reflected in it from the outside. Much like the painter, I portray an image to elicit a response from the viewer. The image is useless to me; a meaningless tangent of garbage that I create only for the purpose of the interaction it could possibly bring with someone else. There is nothing more intoxicating to me then seeing the reaction.

On that note, I’m spent.