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Monday, September 2, 2002
I'm on the tail-end of an adveture concerning an attempt to romantisize a perfectly normal human woman complete with a thurst for television, latenight parties and the obligitory thurst for that which she is told would bring her to become more like others and therefore have more friends and/or that she should drink of for she deserves it=wonderous advertising.

This may seem harsh, indeed it is, but you just wait till I get to the part about that which I hate most...spelling(sp). Ahhh, a classic tale of man against society.



None the less, this afore mentioned quest of romantic valor is something of it's own entirely for upon this quest I neither employed the writen word nor did I trap with the subtle prose and least not did I ever -ever- let this woman see my intention, thought or heart be it spellchecked or not.

Sad...lonely, but is that not the very recipe for love or is it _insert axiom here_ alright you lazy cur here are a couple to chew on= the grass is always greener; a contented man can never know of want; 69; I wont be party to a party that would have me as it's member; ad estra for all the products of the parents.

But, now back to the girl at question as I'm sure if you are still reading it could be for no other reason at this point what with all my stabbing, snobbish, general and sweeping, earlier, provacative remarks. Eh, what? Then I shall at this point foward - and indeed, evermore - be known to you as a magician, carney or sunday babtist because that story will have to wait for another time.

Soon, though, I promise it will be yours -and mine.


Monday, March 5, 2001
In less than one cycle of the moon I have managed to realign my life to some degree. I have a new place to live and a new job... sort of and I didn't have to move back to stinky old Indiana to do it.

I am resilient!
I am a sweaty little atom who refuses to be smashed!

While moving I came across a poem that I wrote back in November. I hope you all like it.



ALONG IN A MINUTE
I am waiting here, braced against the chilled breezes and slowly being lulled by the pitter patter of fallen leaves, for my self-respect to return from it's sudden and unexpected departure.

I am told that it will be along in a minute.

No lord to provide absolution, no court restitution, my sins ferment in a clay bowl at the center of town where children play at target practice by tossing stones.

I would like to say that I had my reasons for placing my soul in such peril, but my lips revolt with sympathy for those that I have wronged.

By will alone am I able to type this note of apology:
Forgive me for my relentless passes.
forgive me for my competitive glances.
Forgive me for believing in the deception that I alone manufacture.
Forgive me for my misplaced chivalry
and forgive me...
Forgive me for I am a pathetic mule who craves the lashes that stampede him onward.

And so, like the crow's black caw, this apology will undoubtedly bring only ill to my fortune as the karmic wheel comes to rest squarely upon my shoulders having turned it's full revolution.

I am told that it will be along in a minute.



Monday, February 5, 2001
This city of roses, twisting in the wind, is lifting it's thorns to me in a timeless gesture of hostility.

My time here has not been wasted.

My corn field home of Indiana is calling me to it's bosom.

In the last two weeks I have lost my job and my apartment and been kicked out of a bar for being "alone and weird". I can't help thinking that this city is trying to tell me something; something like "I think I hear your mother calling".

I don't feel it necessary to go into detail at this point; however, I will go as far as to say that I have been shafted, tricked and now it would seem... run out of town.

Goodbye cruel Oregon, mistress of the Cascades, soggy puddle of metropolitan mirth, cautious den of monkey girls... you were my home for the better part of three years now and I shall not forget you.

On the bright side, I have an excellent chance of becoming a Private Investigator when/if/when I get my butt back home to Indiana.

When I next write you here it will be from 1500 miles away from where I now sit.


Saturday, January 20, 2001
The low level stress that has been building up like coins in a fountain is pushing the water of my sanity slowly over the edge. I fear the cobblestone below.

There is a woman I've been betraying myself for and a job that's not a job and that threatens to become an internship real quick if I don't watch my back; a decaying social group and of course the most certain of all forms of low level stress... the student loan.

This is not a cry for help!

The days that are the remainder of my current assignment are slipping through my fingers with a deafening chime that leaves me feeling like the Cuckoo.

If you want to see a no-budget digital video tragic comedy that I star in then click here ifilm.com.They were kind enough to put this cyber couchsurfing, homemade tragedy up for a while. If you are feeling trollish and would rather patronize a more "underground" venue + get to read my sisters comments on the subject then click here undergroundfilm.com

I hope to be updating this more often. I am sorry.

I got an email from a guy who found this blog via GOOGLEwhile searching for information on MUZAK. This causes much warmth to amass in my heart. I feel like sending GOOGLE a nice little fruit basket or something; however, I only mention MUZAK one time and this leaves me feeling like I tricked the guy into visiting my site. Bittersweet.


Tuesday, October 31, 2000
I curse my inability, reprimand my lack of motivation to better my self and damn the stench that I create with every futile gasp. I am a joke played out with complete lack of foresight or meditation. I am showing daily at the comedy club that is the streets where you walk. Look for me when you cringe for I am more easily seen through squinted lids and watery eyes.


My goddess, you look lovely today. You make me want to lie down in fields of soap flakes stirred gently by southern breezes. You cause joy by virtue of your grace and destroy worlds with the flick of lips. I am coming home to you.


Sunday, October 15, 2000
I am traveling through October’s cool breath on a mission to gawk childishly at the traffic jam of migrating fowl occurring at the intersection of the mighty Columbia and Willamette rivers. I will watch the swarm circling above waiting for one of their own to finally remember just exactly what direction it was that they were headed. The process reminds me of my reoccurring shy, food court dilemma; I circle the galleria with my tray in hand until inspiration strikes or the familiar eye is met.

A pantomime of migration.

I am wintering in retail. I am making a nest in my shell. It’s fall and I am seeking warmth in the melancholy radiance of torch songs. It’s entirely possible in this season to unknowingly attach romantic notions to chenille throws and other comforts exhumed from the black caves of closets lost.

Summer is a car in the right hand lane of highway 30, past Forest Park, heading out of town. Our silence is punctuated by sipping coffee and exhaled plumes of tobacco smoke. Memories of fallscapes past circling silently in each of our minds and waiting for one of us to remember just which direction it was they were headed before being born as conversation. I know of no better way to celebrate the arrival of autumn.


Friday, September 22, 2000
A cold, north wind bumbled through the city today upsetting coffee cups, stealing ball caps and ripping leaves prematurely from unsuspecting trees. I shouldered my way through its invisible mass, shielding my fragile human skin from the icy teeth of the violent first breath of fall and made my way; grumbling all the while, to work.

There are minutes left. Infantile minutes that plead for attention and rattle the fabric of avoided Day Planners. "Do this before you go", they say. "And don't for get to do this also." Where, oh where has my selective hearing gone? Why won’t this day simply end? With out parades would we still need children?

I have thrust myself into the past. Back. Back some 8 months. Back when I was actively accruing department store credit card debt. Back to when I was the best-dressed person I knew in my salary range. Back to when I had that nagging pain in my rib cage that I instinctively attributed to stress and poorly designed office furniture, but which might have well been a symptom of poor diet and lack of exercise. Back to a time before my exodus from the jaws of May. Back to where I swore I'd never return and back, back to the constant barrage of subtle Muzak piped effortlessly over loudspeakers hidden suspiciously behind cracked, off white, lowered ceiling panels.


Thursday, September 21, 2000
I revel in the fact that tomorrow is my last day as a cog in the faceless, global, monolithic, Business Machine.
br>Gladly, I cast myself adrift in the sea of unemployment.

Sincerely, I dream of freedom.

Gravely, I count the days I've spent in this chair, this stubborn, tweed that has left it's last waffle mark upon my rear.

I haven't seen Franklin Bruno perform in several years. Tonight; however, I will see the man and hear the words of one of one the greatest songwriters in our day. I also get to see the Monkey band, Ape Has Killed Ape!

In preparation for the pending re-release of the 1973 masterpiece, The Exorcist, I was doing a bit of research today on the subject. I happened across this site which ironically states that one of the ways to tell a person who is Possessed by the Devil from a person who is Schizophrenic is to judge their reaction to Christianity. Apparently if you have an "Aversion" to Christianity then you are Possessed by the devil, but if you have "Devout Acceptance" of Christianity then you are Schizophrenic...(see the yellow table in the middle of the page ).

My Seester has finally dropped by and signed the ol' gBook. Please, please disregard her feeble attempt to set me up. I know it's done out of love...but, how embarrassed do I really need to be here? I am not ready to date anyway. I'm still trying to figure out how to stick my heart back together from last terrible fall. Sometimes I think it's been broken since Grade School.


Wednesday, September 20, 2000
A drab gray blanket tip-toed in on kitty cat paws to cover the city while I lay sleeping in celebration of the sun.

End of logic = if I want a coke all I need to do is go get a coke (see yesterday's entry)

I think I like living in this often rainy town of Portland because the rain makes people stay inside and read. Portland is a literate town. It's also home to many interesting people. There is a man, who must live near me because I see him at least once a week that looks like a live action version of Baby Huey. Imagine a 40-year-old man with boyish looks and a bald head perpetually wearing black shorts with socks pulled up way too high walking around carrying a large dirty stuffed animal. To his credit he doesn't speak to people as is sometimes the fashion of crazy misplaced souls such as the mean, pocked marked, large, beast of a woman who frequently yells at people, "help... help me". When they go over to "help" her she says, "give me some money." She lives near me too.

Last Friday, while out for a drink with my friends Dem and Andy, a decidedly normal looking guy came up to me with a dead, bloody, Black Bird wrapped in a plastic bag. "Do you know how to revive a dead bird" he asked in a stressed and serious tone. Now I ask you, what kind of question is that? Did he think that he would happen to run into Jesus on 21st Street in Portland Oregon? Did he think I was Jesus? Is there way to revive a dead bird? At a complete loss of words I splattered out in a kooky, drunken, quip, "That... is a terrible way to get a date." I know that was of no help to the poor guy (what he needed was psychiatric assistance), but I was using sass as a defense mechanism - a shield of sass. Of course there are others I could describe, lost souls running the same maze as myself. Maybe I just live in the crazy part of town, maybe I just attract the crazy part of people or maybe, just maybe I'm being afforded a rare glimpse into my rapidly approaching future.


Tuesday, September 19, 2000
I finally got someone that I don't know to sign my gBook. I found that the "secret" to doing so merely involves signing their gBook or sending them an eMail saying you like their site. Is it that easy? Has the recognition that I so desire been "there" all along? How far can I carry this logic?

Is the way to get asked out on a date simply asking someone out on a date? If I offer someone a job will I then in turn be offered one?

I watched part of a Football game last night, which is something I don't usually do. I don't even know all the rules to the game, that and my lack of admiration for big dumb brutes tend to make it hard to get into the sport. I agreed to watch the game based on who was playing even though I know nothing about the athletes that were involved. The reason I broke down and watched the game (this surely will upset any sports fan-atics who happen across this log) is because it was being played by the Cowboys and the Redskins and I was able to entertain myself enough to keep from loosing total interest by visualizing actual Cowboys and Indians. The down side is that I actually enjoyed it. All my life I have defined myself as being someone who rejects team sports and their undue influence on society. Now I am faced with the sucking revelation that a "ball" game can actually be entertaining... even if you have to pretend that the people playing it are in reality part of a Hollywood Western.


Monday, September 18, 2000
I woke up sometime early this morning unable to move, scared stiff as a board and trying desperately to call out for help. When my screams for help did finally come out they were not screams at all, but rather slight moans at the volume you would expect to use when talking to your self. At the foot of my bed was a tall white figure who's somewhat translucent form resembled that of a member of the KKK in that it appeared to have an inverted conical shaped head . If I were black I'd probably have wet myself. If this were a simple dream / false waking scenario then one could expect that at least a fraction of the dream plot or history would have been remembered; however, I could recall none.

I don't dare state that I understand why this happened. There was nothing unusual about my evening routine before I went to sleep. I ate no exotic foods that evening and I was under no intoxicating substances and was under no new stress.

I've told some of you about my experiments regarding Astral Travel, and to you I can only say that it surely wasn't me who was traveling this time. I conclude this due to the absence of my "sign" which is an ear splitting, metallic ripping, vibrating screech which has so far always been a prelude to my attempts (successes?) at Traveling. It should also be mentioned in regard to my experiments that they were just that "experiments" and this means that they required some large amount of effort and will power. This experience last night required neither. The whole ordeal lasted maybe 2 minutes with most of this time spend with me being frozen in bed and unable to move or speak.

If anyone reading this has any relevant information or would like to share a similar experience, please leave a message in my guest-book. I will be sure to respond.


Friday, September 15, 2000
I finally received a concrete "last day" date from the operators of the Business Machine. As of September 22nd I will no longer be sitting at this sterile desk condemned to hide my loafing by pretending to work while secretly building this site. Who knows if they will have a cake or some such going away gig for me. I haven't done the best of jobs fitting in here. I did get to meet Ephraim (Turtle King) for which I am thankful. E is not only a kindred spirit in this swamp of disorganization, but he is also a genuinely compassionate individual who happens to live a very interesting life.

We have a morning coffee ritual that involves using the USA Today paper box on the sidewalk in front of the building as a cafe table. E usually eats a bagel and I smoke and talk big about one day finding a job that is actually challenging and rewarding.

By the way, what do you think of my cool new site, "http://thom_rich.pitas.com"? I feel a little proud of the way it turned out; however, I have some low level fear regarding the fact that I had to create several "dummy" Pitas pages in order to make it work. Will the Pita Gods smile on me, or smite me for my trickery?

Here is a cool site if you're into the planets of our solar system , and this one has animations of Galileo's trip to Jupiter.

My friend Pat who is a High School teacher might get Dishwasher Pete to speak to his class. I am so excited! I am seriously going to try and figure out how I can observe this as Pete is, in my opinion, the reason God made Hobart Indiana. If you haven't read his Zine Dishwasher then you should be very ashamed of yourself. Pfeh... and you call your self enlightened? I can honestly say that it is a far better use for that pesky Dollar bill in your pocket than some stinky phone call.


Monday, August 28, 2000
Saturday was the last day of shooting for my big, juicy, movie debut. Andy Burns [director/producer/photographer/sugardaddy] is one of those quiet unassuming people who you would definitely overlook if you did not have the trained eye of the hunter. It has been my experience that the Andy Burns of the world should be exalted, feared and memorialized [in that order].

I honestly can't foresee anyone reading this who doesn't already know this, but just incase:

The movie is about 20 minutes long and is a story about a passive man who's live-in girlfriend dumps him, leaving him to care for her cat who he doesn't like and who's presence is forbidden by the apartment complex in which the man lives [I can't tell you anymore without giving away the entire plot].
If you are very good and eat all of your veggies then maybe one day you will get to see it.


Friday, August 25, 2000
What kind of mood altering substance can make a decidedly average looking and usually bashful, goof ball seek employment at a Modeling Agency? I blame it on the superman -like shock of hair that coils itself high on my forehead... oh, who am I kidding?

The truth is that even the most modest of us can become a slave devoted to his/her ego. The consequence is just more dynamic if the effect is achieved accidentally by trying to bolster your willowy self esteem leaving "Oh My God, what have I done?" ringing in your ears the morning after like a hangover from a one night stand.

In other news:   I get to participate in a Market Survey / Focus Group tonight which promises to pay out to the tune of 50quid! This has all the watermarks of being a very interesting evening (I'm so lonely).


Wednesday, August 23, 2000
I managed to make a girl do a spit-take last night.

I must admit that I do feel a sense of pride for causing such a reaction from one of my all to typically absurd attempts at conversations.

Here is how it happened:  Thom approaches terrifyingly beautiful girl fresh from Alaska and her two friends and begins to make silly overtures such as, "oh you haven't been there before.. well we'll have to go there on our first date". The Girl giggles and touches Thom's knee. Thom tells girl she is beautiful. Girl gets up to use the restroom and kisses one of the "friends" like a lover. Thom finally puts the pieces together and when the girl returns from the restroom says, "I'm sorry.. god - I had no idea that guy was your boyfriend. Thank you for letting me believe that someone as beautiful as you would go out with me as long as you did". Girl does spit-take and Thom takes it as a complement.

North by Northwest is coming soon. I have Ty to thank for getting my wrist band pass thing for me... Thanks Ty. I'm very excited about seeing the band Ape has Killed Ape! I have a feeling that this band will alone be worth the entire ticket price.


Tuesday, August 22, 2000
A shallow bowl of Black Bean Chili and two mugs of coffee for lunch. I sat in the park near where I work in Downtown Portland and ate by myself in the salty rays of the NW Sun.

Today after work I'm going to play Disc Golf at McIver Park with my friends Ty and Pat. The last time I played there I quit keeping score about the time I reached 25 over par. To say I need to work on my Drive is an understatement. To those of you who haven't played Disc Golf I have few words of preparation, however the link provided above should help you quickly pass my skill level.

If I suck so badly why do I play? Hmmm... sounds like a theme for the next log entry.


Monday, August 21, 2000
I managed to make it to work on time two days in a row. That seems like no great feat for most, however, I am afflicted with a WD (Waking Disorder). I believe this disorder to be a symptom of my lack of enthusiasm regarding my current job. Basically it manifests in the following manner: Alarm goes off; I open my crusty eyes; I hit "snooze"; alarm goes off; I open my crusty eyes; I hit "snooze"; etc.

I understand that most people wrestle with this scene every morning and still manage to make it into work on time. I also understand that the cure for this affliction can be as easy as "getting up" and that my lack of ability to do something so simple as getting out of bed most definitely reflects poorly on the prowess of my Will and quite possibly is representative of an emotional or chemical imbalance in my brain resulting in improper distribution of Serotonin.

I prefer to completely disregard these theories and place the blame squarely on the shoulders of my current job placement and dissatisfaction with the duties assigned to me.

My job is boring therefore I lack the motivation necessary to get out of bed. All this is a very long way of saying that I was late to work this morning (again)which is not a recommended way to start the day and could also be seen as a poor omen for the week (today being Monday). On the bright side my continued failure in arriving on time has had the effect of desensitizing my coworkers and bosses. Instead of being chewed out which is to be expected, and indeed I do expect it each and every time, I am greeted by a clamoring chorus of laughter.

As this is a recurring theme I will spare the reader of this log from repeated references to my "disorder" until the time comes that I have some break through in this area. Thom















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