Solo D.M.C.

a.k.a. The Lack of Run

I've spent a lot of time concentrating on the chemistry of my current state. I know about the smell of desperation and the how I'm repulsed by women who wear it. I know I've worn it for a minute now, though undetectable by my own olfactory, I must be sportin' it helly.

I prided myself on being the cool dude, unfazed and nonchalant. I was that dude when I was at home, though it was a long time coming. That last cool shit I remember doing happened right before I left. I was checkin' this chick out. We went on a couple of dates, but she had a man. She wanted me to promise if she came back to my apartment I wouldn't fuck her, no matter how much she wanted me to.

"How about we skip the part where we go back to my apartment? I mean, we can NOT fuck sittin' right here."

She sat there for a minute in silence. Stunned silence. "You don't want me to come back to your place?" "I don't want you to call me." More silience. "So that's it?" "Yeah, that's it. Finish your drink."

That cat is dead. He was killed dealing with golddigging liars, pseudo-lesbians, faux sincere, moderately attractive fuckbunnies. Lisa Stansfield said it best, "I don't think he's comin' back..."

Well versed in gettin' SONNED by broads during my early years, I can't come close to that shit now. I've been that dude gettin' played, laughed at, thoroughly dissed. A chick from Detroit will crush your fuckin' ego, Bucko. I may get got for a meal or a concert or something these days, but I ask those women who get a little dough outta me: how's your life? I got nothing but the future to look forward to.

KZ

Have At It

Life is unfair in soooo many facets, you just gotta learn to roll with the punches.

How the fuck do you let a one-eyed man parallel park your car? You see the muthafucka has bad depth perception and yet, you let him parallel park your shit. And then get upset when he hits the cars parked in front and in back of you.

That's how the fuck I feel listening to women complain about some cat. You saw that muthafuckas flaws like you were wearing a jeweler's eyepiece.

But the "limited" never makes way for the "limitless". Never. The limited are always gonna make it bad for the limitless and make one doubt the limitless. The limited is a safe, comfortable choice. So the limited always wins and the limitless is marginalized.

This whole thing (the blog) reads like a broken fuckin' record. Everywhere I look, some cat has stolen some woman's happiness, her ability to see goodness, her ability to recognize the possibility for true fulfillment exists. Her quality meter is shot and she blames the manifestation instead of the shoddy equipment.

So here I sit, curb dweller. Getting subliminals from the sublime. And I wait until the next mistake is made, either the "get-back" or the new mistake. When the next one is still found lacking, I might be here. I'll be here until I'm not here. And I won't be missed, because the limited has become the expected. Who's fault is it when one doesn't expect the unexpected?

This shit makes my fuckin' head hurt.

KZ

Swagger For Sale

I think it's healthy to admit one's addictions. My biggest one (yes, there are more) has got to be gear, fits, clothes. I'm constantly looking for new wears, especially work clothes. This weekend I bought a new suit, a gray pinstiped number. This store is going out of business so their shit was extra cheap. So for a big dude like me (58 long) to find a suit for $125, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

It's really noteable that I can't stop buying suits when most people know that I hate suits. It's the uniform. I really need to make myself confortable in suits so that I can project my authority in the workplace. I could dress like my boss. I could be in a city logoed oxford shirt with khakis daily. But that shit REALLY looks like a uniform. They say you should dress for the job you want not for the job you have, and I take that to heart. I used to dress like a freelance writer. Now I dress like a corporate asshole, even though I'd rather be a writer. I think the gear helps me think in a more linear, systemic fashion as opposed to my willy nilly actual way of thinking.

I'll keep dressing like a corporate tool, while trying to fend off the mindset. It won't be easy, but I'm trying.

Stupid Dream

I dreamt about her last night. We were sitting and talking, just like we were Saturday night. I sat looking into her beautiful brown eyes. And I listened to her talk to me. I can't remember anything she said. I was mesmerized by her eyes. And I woke up. It was a pleasant sleep. It disturbed the fuck outta me!

First of all, what the fuck am I doing being all moony for a chick who I think probably doesn't like me? That's the first rule of dating: "Like who likes you".

Second, this is MY DREAM. Why wasn't I fuckin'? I was talking to a chick I dig in a hotel room fully clothed JUST LIKE REAL LIFE! I didn't even get a fuckin' kiss in my dream!


That's all I got. This is some bullshit!

KZ

A Conundrum

Let's say I suck, which I do, but you weren't sure if I did. And I met you, member of the opposite sex, and I thought you were great. In fact, I thought you were fantastic, extra special and all that good shit. And one day during conversation I let you know I thought you were great, fantastic, extra special, etc.

You, member of the opposite sex, tell me you didn't see what the big deal was about. You're just who you are, you don't see what's supposed to be all that special. Now, here's the conundrum: If you start to give me play, does that mean I'm special or not? Because if I'm special, like I think you are, and like I think I am, this is a good thing. But if you think you're just "whatever" and you give me play, you probably think I'm just "whatever", too, right? I mean, people try to deal at their "level", right?

Just Pondering,
KZ

You Belong To Me

The memory is savage. I remember the shit like it was yesterday everytime I hear that song. It was 1991 and I was breaking up with my girlfriend. The relationship was rocky and I wanted to pursue other interests. She let me know how she felt in no uncertain terms. It was brutal. We parted ways and I started seeing the chick I wanted to see. It was a short little fling. We weren't compatible and I was done. I wanted back with Janet.

I went back to her and she was done. She started fucking my mortal enemy, this dude named Austin. I couldn't believe it. I was arrogant enough to believe I could just walk back into her life unscathed. Janet made sure I knew she was happier with her new dude. I saw her and Austin at this gig on campus and I punched that cat in the face. I got thrown out of the gig. Stewing at home I was digging through my crates just to listen to samples for this demo I was putting together.

I grabbed this Doobie Brothers album and there it was:

Why'd you tell me this
While you look for my reaction
What do you need to know
Don't you know I'll always be the one
You don't have to prove to me you're beautiful to strangers
I've got lovin' eyes of my own
You belong to me

I hear this song today and I have the same gut-wrenching reaction. Funny.

Working On That Top Tier...

with an obvious deficiency on the bottom tier.

Peace,
KZ