Welcome to my journal. I update this shit every so often. It's not like I get paid to do this so I pretty much do it whenever I want... Like Ron Gabori used to tell me on his answering machine back in the day, "have a nice day". I miss that guy... To all my friends, past, present, future: "to thine own self be true". In literary criticism, stream of consciousness is a narrative mode that seeks to portray an individual's point of view by giving the written equivalent of the character's thought processes, either in a loose interior monologue, or in connection to his or her actions. Stream-of-consciousness writing is usually regarded as a special form of interior monologue and is characterized by associative leaps in syntax and punctuation that can make the prose difficult to follow. the new book: a tugboat for the gimp parade
To your right is the cover of my new book titled: "a tugboat for the gimp parade". The contents are my journal entries from 2007 and some short stories. I've also included a myriad of letters from people who bought my first book "Everything About You Was Cute Until You Wouldn't Fuck Me Anymore" and their repsonses to the contents within that book. Overall, the book is vast and somewhat a continuation of my first book but it goes deeper and the short stories show a new and more mature style in my writing. I'm not one to tell you how awesome I am or try to sell you my book. It is what it is. I'm real and that comes out in my words. Very real in fact. And I'm a recovering drug addict with over ten years clean & sober. My views are skewed. I'm somewhat sick in my mind. I don't think like the average person. This is my angle. Stream of consciousness is my style. The people around me are the subjects. Untreated alcoholism is where the bitterness comes from and that petulance makes my words stick inside you like a sharp object on a prison yard... This book will be available summer 2010. |
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Here are some selected Journal Entries from various times in my life. Some of these clips are in my book which you can buy from the shop page. Other entries are from now and back then. I really started to find my voice when I was living in New York in 2005. There are some entries from that time period right on up to the present day. Enjoy. Sincerely, Joel Bull
///// Featured Poem ///////// A poem by Abelardo “Lalo” Delgado stupid america, see that chicano
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April 12th, 2010//Costa Mesa, CA. 937PM: +++ Maybe someday we will burn in the streets at night and large red fire trucks will scream by neighborhoods with American Flags blowing in the wind while children point and look and don’t understand what the tragic reel of life spools out to its people… +++ in passing moments i really wish i could turn time back and crawl into the way things used to be, and if only you could come back and spend just one day with us it would remove this pain in all of our hearts... pleading with nonexistence is fucked! July 14th, 2010 – 10 years and 3 months sober. 1:49am: Wish I could write like you, be like you, feel your hand again and hear your voice to give me hope for my future and all those lonely tomorrows I have to go alone… tears form like grey clouds above and I know your down by law because I am… years of life gone in a flash so unexpectedly… I fucking hate it most of the time and my girl helps me live on with the best of memories in you and she knows what you mean to me… present tense… materials… work… fun and being loose… it all means nothing to me anymore, but then again you would dig a fucking hole until your hands bled and tell me, “this is what American was built on”. I would just wonder why and watch and ask to borrow money because I was unwilling to dig a hole in the ground and always let you do the work and I would take a back seat but I wanted so much to just be close… a phone call away… the long days… the years pass by… without you… its fucking brutal… I got to see the mother of your children yesterday and wish your oldest daughter happy birthday today… and you’re somewhere watching… you haven’t visited me in a while now… never again in reality and why are there such words that really don’t mean shit unless you were here to touch them with all of us… its painful without you… I wish I still knew you… I love you… April//2010: I need to get a fuckin job. It just seems like I’m a real loser and my self-esteem is in the fucking toilette. I’m broke and my outlook is really starting to look like shit. I need a job and I need one now. It just seems like there is no security in anything. Sure, I have a job with The Rev and I do really well with that job. But I’m broke a lot of the time while I’m in between work and I’m to the point where I can’t afford that anymore. I’ve been to that point so many times in my life. I don’t know… I’m sad and sidetracked. April 9, 2010//Costa Mesa, CA. 230am: Here I sit at typer hoping for something to come to me like the stars in the overcast night that hide from us all leaving our imaginations to work overtime in this west coast fog town Costa Mesa… The cold has been good lately with the days being very warm from the Santa Ana Winds coming from the east blowing right onto the Pacific Ocean… The windows open at night under covers of down feathers keeping the heat in with heating blanket on three and I’m like a moth or a bird incubating well into the afternoon remembering some dreams and forgetting most… What is important anymore? April 4, 2010//Costa Mesa, CA. 118AM: I went to go see Wulf Bane tonight at Tiki Bar and got shutdown because they wanted $7 to get in and I’m not paying to see the band I manage. Pretty brutal to be honest. But how were they to know I was going to see them play. And don’t fucking post shit on Facebook telling people the gig is free when it is not. I sometimes wonder why I even try; why I make an attempt at something not knowing the slightest as to where it’s going to end up. I get myself involved in all sorts of bullshit and then I have to fight my way out of it like I’m in a gang. I get pissed when shit doesn’t go my way. I feel like I should be way further along than where I’m at in my recovery. I know I’m right where I’m supposed to be but I need to make some changes with my existence in the way of work and getting something more consistent. I’ve always been like this: lazy and looking for a handout. I’m not going to lie and tell you something that isn’t true. There is no denial for me. But then again there is because if that’s how I’m going to operate then I better re-evaluate my life and make the needed changes in order to make a living and pay my own way. I can’t do this shit anymore because it’s not just about me now. I have a girlfriend and rent and bills; the former is new, the latter has always been here. I just seem to get myself into situation that I have a hard time getting out of. Borrowing money from people that work hard for their dough just seems shitty. But I have to remember that I do have a job, it’s just not as consistent as I need for it to be and the fact that I get 1099'd, well, that’s just another headache I have to deal with. I barely get by and right now I’m really at the end of my money so I’m trying to hustle and make shit happen. I wonder when the delusional part of my farcical ways will subside? I’ve been in this corner so many times before. My entire life has been made up of a series of let downs due to yours truly trying to do as little as possible to make ends meet in a haphazard way. However, things are starting to change for me. I’m not lazy. I work hard when I work. I’m great at what I do. I hustle and make shit happen. I’ve made really good money at points in my life. But I’ve made way less over the majority of my life. I really hope things change soon. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. I know I will go on but I need to be fired up on life. I can’t believe how large my threshold for being let down is. I get right back up and start plugging away again and again and again. I think it’s insane at moments. I don’t like going to bed broke and hungry... tuesday, july 26, 2005 ny-11: dear city beats and total dysfunction, i put on counting crows and listened for awhile... raining in baltimore.... it felt good to think about you... and im really glad we never played music together when we hung out... all this stuff is passing and a friendship is developing... i always seem to get things backwards.... especially relationships with the opposite sex... male friends are easy in comparison. so i hung out in the city this weekend. it was neet! i got lost in the bronx... haha. that wasnt to funny though. ice cream trucks and lots of culture... and the train... spray paint everywhere.... 180th street... and hot! real hot... like cancun hot! like mexico city hot! like lisbon hot! really like lisboa... melting flip-flops on rooftops... like burning hot coals inside the fire pit at tower 14 in HB back in 1981 when i was cool. so i was on the train and the buildings were passing me by.... and the train glass was smeared with hand prints and the people outside looked blurry and cartoonish with News Day Papers waiting for the next train... i only looked slightly at them bending my neck around to glimpse all that is Bronx, New York! a bronx tale... a story about a boy... about a girl.... about a relationship.... about a fight... about how i thought about others... about all this life that sucks you up into the tornado we call boredom... we twist it into fragments that suit us and discard the rest with a smile... i like this life even if we are friends.... i laugh at that... because i know its more then that... and the city is so big... and i get lost... i get even more lost in thoughts of you... it wont change either... when you realise who put there hand out and when you touched it it felt warm... moving forward i still listen to whats inside... but in my ears i hear sullivan street by counting crows.... and im not going home today.... and maybe not for a long time... maybe never.... just maybe we will be together again... this rest in my flowetry was only to become stronger than the tornado.... NY-12 - Friday, July 29, 2005: the sky was twisting as the boat headed into the night.... lobster dinner and thoughts of you... its always thoughts of someone.... and they subsided with the twisting stars as the boat turned in the atlantic ocean.... the motor stopped and i lied down and stared upward.... when we once again started moving the reflection from the lights in the bay onto the water was something out of a movie... my life story.... sparkling...... radiant.... amazing and soothing..... glowing.... and the white water from the engine and speed of the boat coming out the sides and back..... and there i was in NY..... i felt at peace with myself.... for a little while as i looked up nothing mattered....... i was so in the moment.... so in love with where i was at...... those twisting stars and scattered white clouds.....and the even sound of the engine..... purring like you once purred.... but my thoughts were not on you or her or anyone..... just the night and me.... and if there is a god he was there too..... how can something be so beautiful... how can a feeling be so right... and i was not denied for being completely me..... the sky welcomed me and embraced me with all its might.... then later on i fell asleep and had a dream i was the millionth customer at starbucks and i got a gift certificate for $5000 dollars to nieman marcus.... what a fucked dream that was.... i woke up to my reality from all of this alone in a room on long island wondering....... Thursday, September 08, 2005 // OC ninth entry dear time, we are so one with each other and so distant all in the same breath... reading today and that was about all. passwords and thoughts strewn together in a pattern so unconventional. inspired by thee and uninspired as well. how does that happen? how can you be so inspired by someone and then ruined by that person as well? its suiting. such is life. and no access to my mail... the eyelids start to close and i didn’t want to say what i said but i said it anyway. maybe there was a bigger part of me that wanted to say what i said. this person does not rule my life! things became blurry. i loved more. one usually does. and that one suffers too. limited to no one... a part of someone... distant from everyone... its interesting how i feel just as alone where i grew up as i do in new york... you have what i need. I have what i need. do i have what i want? what i want isn’t healthy for me in the sense of wanting someone that is so unavailable. its nice to realize how much i care. and to know that i will be able to share that with someone, some day, makes me feel good... and it makes me feel like a fool too... but what is life without a risk? nothing! i cant short-change myself any longer... open up to me... the new ones... the great ones! Saturday, September 10, 2005 // OC twelfth entry dear ocean mist, the fire pits burned on the beach. little glowing specs as i passed by on pacific coast highway. the aroma reminded me of when i was a kid peddling my bike down the boardwalk. the clouds were grey and hovered above the horizon of the ocean. the mist coming in my windows as the sun made its way to the international date line. i took a right on brookhurst street in huntington beach and headed toward banning street. once i was at Hamilton street memories again appeared. sea spray, villa pacific... the places i ran away to when i was 14 years old. never a dull moment. getting chased by cops through parks and long sidewalks. carving in the benches outside gisler middle school. those times so far away... the things i see today in my jaded olderness. trying to put something together and living in fear most of the time. ideas come and go and the good ones leave quickly. the room begins to smell of cigarette smoke. the keys take me on a mission; a journey called life. taking advantage of the time alone. before i know it i will be up-rooted and living back at café’s all day long. thinking about being a writer while i listen to songs of freedom. i feel pretty good. almost too good. It’s a bit scary. but i should feel good. my head twirls like an umbrella in a play. hold me close honey. Tell me that you will always be here for me. don’t let go. kiss me on the neck and let me know. my back begins to arch slowly. im distant again. making something from nothing is easy for me. i lie. We run in the night to places that are beautiful. the sky turns green. then black. we run faster. together. ending up in a little place that’s south of no north. and the drinks ensue. Sitting at the bar with the open doors to the street. a mexican dive. we’re together. and nothing else matters. the garden of eden. the music plays on a broken speaker and im dancing with a french girl in the darkness of night. she is close. And very dark. petite. holding me. she knows no English. we end up at the hotel. it’s a speechless night. the sounds of traffic outside the balcony. busses go by. voices appear and fade. i awake and you’re gone. I rub my eyes with my knuckles as i sit up. there’s a lamp between me and the other bed with a blanket over it. the room is still dark. i head to the tube and make it to the louvre. im looking at the mona lisa and its so small. too many people. i walk for what seems to be miles. i need a cigarette. it’s been a few hours inside this giant maze. i stop for an espresso at a small deserted cafe. the sky is grey. its damp on the sidewalks. i viewed my first picasso in a museum in san sebastian, spain. im thinking of that. and the cab rides in Japan. This is a clip of my life... +++++ +++++++++ Procrastinating Reality // November 6, 2009 This is not happening But those who wish to believe And it was all written down inside a green military diary… While Miles Davis sketched his sketches of Spain Staggered streets Through hollowed out eyes Life’s turned into Thought things would be normal again I think and I think Tucked away behind a gated project community Waiting for some substance Returning is our man… So many nights +++++ +++++++++ Friday//May 29, 2009//9:23pm: Time puts things to rest. The memories fade away and the summer develops new vines around new hearts and some of the former ties twist their roots into the ground and fade away beneath the soil... I dig my hands into the ground from time to time and cultivate the old memories... the deep seeded feelings and thoughts of lovers come and gone... it’s like yesterday over and over again... being away from everyone I know makes me cherish each one of you that much more... the memories and laughter and intimacy shared between two people, or the first moments alone like blooming flowers reaching for the sun... shadows and movements in the darkness caressing howling hearts beating fast with mouths open inhaling moments so thick with blissful memories and shallow make-believe intimacy hidden beneath the folds of a skirt bursting with chemistry… the newness it can bring… and the madness created by wanting more… we strive to get back to the beginning and start over again… it never seems to happen the way we would like for it to happen, but on occasion it does, and we slip back into the rich soil where the earth is moist with our treasure... |
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IN LOVING MEMORY OF MIKE CONLEY 1959-2008 ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// |
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