How often do you really look at a mans shoes?

I got a whole lot of traveling to do. I got a mark to make.

I am a man who is too modest to list a lot of his goals. I rarely act that way when it comes to professing my ability to accomplish them.

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

Abby purchased Squeeze tickets for her and I, they are playing The Bank Of America Pavilion in Boston next month. If I make the trip to attend this show and reacquaint with that gorgeous woman, it will take a small chunk out of my Los Angeles savings (a move which I assume is still a plan). I'm sure by then I will win a large gambling-treasure, but if not I will have to wait a couple more checks before joining Amanda in CA.

As much as I miss the green grass, the east coast women, and Ricky LaCapria... I'll have to make sure my west coast future is secure before dancing to Glenn Tilbrook as he belts out If It's Love in front of thousands of lucky geezers.

I will leave you with another excerpt from Couldn't Call It Unexpected:

Eyes have been augmented with telescopes- two or three to a house hold. The “global killer” has yet to show its face, though I’m willing to guess that it resembles a burning chunk of falling feces. I don’t need a two hundred dollar tube of metal to tell me that. I’d just as soon trust a kaleidoscope to save my life, before I entrust the end of it to a telescope.

The Ron & Fez best-of shows have been incredible this week. The Power Hour is replaying right now- East Side Dave's second attempt, where he successfully downs the 61 shots. We would perform our power hours using this audio as our timekeeper, it brings back a lot of memories (slam-time), including this one:

I remember one night I decided to throw my own, one man power hour while posting Myspace bulletin updates throughout the sixty minutes. I got a lot of feedback that night, the night of October 14th, 2006.

I'm 34 shots into my one-man power hour. There's very few people I'd like to share this moment with, and chances are half of them are dead or named either Elvis Costello or Glenn Tilbrook.

There will definitely be another one of these (hopefully with people) before I head off further west.

7-Up tastes like dick.

Guard Your Celery.



' 7-Up tastes like dick.'

Delivery is everything when it comes to comedy. That is the only explanation I can muster for why a line that is so awfully unfunny can maintain such a strong level of humor between a mother and son over multiple weeks of time. Ron Bennington put it best when he said (something along the lines of...):

"It's all in delivery, I could've killed with these jokes. If Woody Allen had cast Larry Frazier in all of his films, people would've thought they were awful."

Of course he also said:

"I bring up a Woody Allen movie and people look at me like a genius can't fuck their stepdaughter."

And I believe that statement holds just as much truth.
The point being, '7-Up tastes like dick' should not be funny, and to anybody who hasn't heard my nearly-accidental delivery on that faithful drive home- it isn't funny.

Now, this, on the other hand... is hilarious, to everybody:

Two for the money.

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Couldn't Call It Unexpected

 

Couldn’t Call It Unexpected

Kevin Scampoli

A story of untapped potential for the human race
as told through the death of three dreamers.

 

There hasn’t been much emphasis on 'time' in the world without constant reminders on the radio and television. The lack of deadlines and the loss of nearly all cell phone service doesn’t help, either. There is a group going by the name of “I’m Et!” (‘Time’ spelt backwards, pronounced “I’m It!”) that has decided to destroy man’s idea of ‘time’ all together. There were a number of demonstrations across the country at which hundreds of people, dressed in bright yellow jumpsuits, would burn and destroy thousands of analog clocks chanting “HELLO – GOOD BYE – WITHOUT THE CONSENT OF TIME!“ over and over. It makes for a beautiful performance. Their displays and signs were actually made using digital projection clocks, a lot of which stolen from the bedrooms of children. I saw one of the yellow suits once, an older lady, carrying a Batman clock rigged to write “TIME – CRIME – CHRISTMAS TIME” on a piece of poster board. It was one of the oddest and laziest rhymes I’ve ever read. Despite that experience, I look at them as a smart group… I could never turn the red LED light on a digital clock into a blinking “I’M NOT A SLAVE TO TIME” announcement. The other side is attempting to make a good quick buck out of this, gathering and stealing what analog clocks can be salvaged, selling them on the roadside to anybody who will make eye contact. At least capitalism and sincerity aren’t fully lost.

4/12/2007

I was 'asleep' on the bed with her baby, listening to something other than Smile by Brian Wilson (a rarity for that final week). She flashed a light on my eyes to confirm my unconsciousness, then retreated to the porch for a multi-hour conversation with a certain person.

That apt. had thin walls.

Satellite Of Love.

Watching that video, I get the twelve-year-old girl feeling. An image of a big wedding with family, friends, microphones, performances, and most importantly- smiles with starry eyes. No prenuptial agreement thoughts, second guesses, or drive-thrus... just pure devotion. I'm not taking shots at anybody who has done it differently, if you're married and happy then that is beautiful. I just see my marriage on a grand scale, and that statement means a lot considering my former, very vocal views on the subject.

Marriage is a definite risk, and I am not referring to the statistics, my parents, or your parents. I still feel the same as I ever did as pertains to divorce laws and biased courtrooms. I just know myself a little better, and I know that I will meet somebody (maybe a few somebody's) whom I will care more about than my computer, or my dvd collection, or any possession. A person that is worth the risk.

Today, I watch the East Side Dave/Casey Elan wedding production very emotionally. Not so much because I feel as though my engagement should have become a marriage, but because I anticipate meeting the woman that I will share a true engagement with. One I will willingly write vows for, not depressing poems about escape and isolation. It's an inspiring ceremony to watch.

The rest of the show was very well done, Fez was the best he's been in months, Stalker Patti did her Patti Smith bit, and J-Dubs made an appearance.

There is a new Jim & Them video online, for those of you seeking the funny:

Bulletproof Blog Entry

• Kevin Scampoli works the graveyard shift,
  

• The new Elvis Costello iTunes Originals album is wonderful. It contains twenty-four tracks, twelve of which being insightful, spoken word recordings pertaining to the twelve songs selected by E.C. himself for the release. He even re-records a handful of them in the studio, it's great to hear songs like Little Triggers, Kid About It, and Motel Matches revisited. After listening to this I have developed a new found appreciation for Invasion Hit Parade.

• Congratulations to East Side Dave and Casey for their marriage, set to be broadcast on Ron & Fez this morning. I will be listening, sniffling, and enjoying.

• Superbad Rated R Trailer:

• Legendary Scrubs moments:

Hunky Dory

Music: "Blood & Chocolate" - Elvis Costello & The Attractions

Oh! You pretty things! I am officially a survivor of that Wal*Mart remodeling experiment, and I will come out of it with a full time position and raise. This is highlighted by the fact that I will receive another, larger raise in the coming month. The occupational accolades and praise make saving for Los Angeles a much easier task.

Writing has not come easy lately. This entry, up to the point of this sentence, has been two days in the making.

In closing... the new Clark & Michael has been posted. It is Wednesday, after all.

I bet she'd be a good drummer...

Music: "Kooks" - Bowie

I am still accused of being a 'striker', yet I am being summoned daily for a conversation.

Just call me if you want to talk to me. I'm not a hard person to get a hold of, I'm not hiding behind skype.

I find it important that the following facts be documented, as the other journal won't exist on the day I look back on this entry:

The ring wasn't really lost, only its importance.
The 'miscarriage' was really an abortion.

Well, I guess that's it.
Kinda knew those.
The latter had been further urged by her mother- making one family member responsible for death, the other for slander.

For whatever reason, she doesn't understand why I care about the child, explaining that she didn't and doesn't care because it was my child, not her's.

Well, I guess the best explanation I could make for my "caring" is pretty simple- reverse our roles as pertains to your child that I was raising.

You never lied about wanting to be pregnant in April, because all I ever heard was what a burden the child would be. You wanted a daddy for the alive kid, but didn't even want to bear the developing one. I felt exactly the opposite.

The rest of her writing was a pathetic diatribe put on as a 'show' for the reader. I'm the horrific man from Black Snake Moan who makes her wince when anybody shows excitement. I oppressed her views, and denounced them as ignorance.

What I did, was I challenged them. I adored her desire to be different, but became turned off by it when I realized it was just her mother's views diluted by a generation. She spoke of her support in multiple movements of women, feminism- but really used it as an excuse for her laziness, not wanting to wear a bra or to put on deodorant. Simple questions I asked out of curiosity were met with ignorance covered up by frustration and anger.


- "What rights do you have left to fight for?"
- "%^!%&$!"
(Some Yeah Yeah Yeahs song in the background.)


I never wanted to be changed, I never attempted to change her. I wanted to better understand these 'political' movements and views that she didn't even understand.

She has an impressionable mind, one that I never attempted to mold. She's been taken advantage of by her own family, and it continues. There's a new "husband" (a term I've never used more loosely), her fourth in less than as many years, to play the "hero" in her life.

I don't write in here to appease a ringless spouse, mother, or grandmother. I do not write maliciously just to, how you say, "piss (somebody) off". My feelings are true, I don't fake happiness or those other pesky feelings.

I will not change my life over your threats. I have no reason to go into hiding or "keep my life personal"- I know who's reading this, and I'm glad they've become fans. Watch the videos on your way out.

A page in a blog.

steph--spent (9:03:05 AM): you were far away, making it an adventure. i trusted you to some extent, was attracted to you because you were intelligent, but mostly because I didn't know if you were going to be kind to me or an asshole from day to day and that excited me more than anything. you were emotionaly unavaible. I guess I also knew you'd never love me and id just become a line in a poem or a page in a blog.

The following videos are the two funniest things I've seen in a long time, and deserve their very own blog entry.

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Music: Hunky Dory - David Bowie

I am seriously thinking about taking up an offer to live in Los Angeles. It'll give me the chance to get a new library card, and to meet new people. The opportunity arrives from somebody I've been e-buddies with for years through Livejournal and Myspace, each conversation consisted of me, without shame, confessing my internet love for her.

The idea came up when her current roommate (who, ironically, is from Boston) was going to move back East. There is now a chance that he will be staying, but if he does they want to move into a new place with three bedrooms. I fit in the equation regardless, and I can't see myself passing it up.

At my age, during this period of my life, it is the best change I can make. I will be able to take classes out in CA, just the same as I would if I were to stay where I am now. I'll also be able to say I've lived in Boston, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. The only logical progression from there would be to London.

The desert life is burnt out for me. I've had my cds stolen by an asian lover, I've had sex in a stolen car, I've been engaged, I've played daddy, I've been court tried.

There's no telling if the change will be permanent, but I can't see any place I live being permanent right now. I do know that if I start school out there, it'll mean that I plan on staying for a long while. There's no telling who I'll meet, or what'll happen from there.

I can see that there is an incredible group of people awaiting me in LA. Looking back at my first entry in this blog, it seems as though the last couple months have been building up to this.

Literary Phoney.

Literary Slumber gives me a forum to flex my grammatical muscles drunkenly for a very small audience that consists of either family members or ex lovers whom are putting me through the corrupt American legal system. The only rule I impose and attempt to enforce is "Dont let this become a livejournal." With the recent and upcoming drama, we're going to tip-toe that LJ line very frequently this Summer.

For those following the ongoing L.S. story lines, I have returned to eating in a big big way. I am a man who loves food. Silly trials like life-altering depression can only avert my pizza gaze for so long. That is how my body keeps itself in check. Every few months it'll decide to starve itself for any number of hours, allowing the previous weeks of satisfaction to appropriately cleanse themselves. It's the numbing stomach pains I'd like to avoid- those are a little rarer, every eight months or so, yet still too frequent. Luckily I've never suffered one of those while in the company of a lover- it typically begins, middles, and ends with me near-tears in a running bath-tub like Turk after a nightful of steak.

What an odd paragraph.

I want to major in English when I go back to school. I want to pursue the whole writing gimmick, and I want to master this language. Yet, I find myself censoring a large portion of the literary universe out of my mind.

These names are on the black list:

Sylvia Plath
Ted Hughes
Charles Bukowski
Anais Nin

and others.

There's a collection of Ferlinghetti books I will be ordering this weekend that I nearly stopped myself from even researching.

When any of the above names come up, or whenever I dive too deep into the world that English majors delve into, I feel like I need to share it with Sara. As if I'm intruding on her turf.

Well, not so much intruding, more like she would know or want to know about these books.

I won't allow myself to read a Plath or a Bukowski, because I know I'll be treading ground that is familiar for her. That part is completely understandable to me, as I am still not over the entire situation that has happened and continues to progress.

What isn't understandable for me is how I limit myself from reading new works of poets or authors I've already enjoyed, just because there is an off chance she might like it as well, or because I feel like I'm supposed to share it with her.

She didn't even like my writing, and to this day doesn't buy me as a reader or writer.

Get Happy!!

I know what everybody thinks when they click on that ever-important "Literary Slumber" bookmark, when they take that deep, oceanic breath as they select the one blog on this world wide intranet worth the time to sit next to, pet, and share a coffee with- what's with the sad bitchy shit? What's with this kid telling us about his dead baby and failed engagement all the time? Why is this kid always bringing us down?

My answer, as the primary spokesman for the Literary Slumber franchise, is given in the form of a TOP X LIST (pronounced 'TOP SOMETHING LIST'). This list doesn't have numbers, it doesn't have topics, it doesn't limit your thinking and reading to the number 5, or any particular category. I'm not going to site here and type up movie titles for you people (I love Manhattan, check it out), or album titles (King Of America could be the greatest record ever), or conjure up images of foods (cheesecake) using my words of color.

I'm going to sit back, sip on my stolen Icee, think real hard... and list things I like.

And you...

Well, you're going to navigate the links provided, and share the joy of things that are good with your fellow Literary Slumber fans. The countless readers (fuck off Google Analytics, you can't judge the excitement of the page views and visitors) and numerous nodders have been waiting for this, and I have finally given you all the list you desire.

Enjoy.

Please.



x . ) Boone's Farm
(see 'x . ) Steel Reserve 211')

x . ) Jim & Them (http://www.jimandthem.com)
Some people are just funnier than the remainders. There are human beings who can bounce off one another with the wit and humor that the rest of those on this Earth experiment just can't replicate, and sometimes can't understand. These people are Jim, Jake, and Brandon. Finally African Americans have somebody to look up to, and try to assassinate. Try it.

x . ) Elvis Costello (http://www.elviscostello.info)
He isn't human, at least his brain and voice aren't. Lets all sit here on the world universe web and pretend that anybody else could've even dreamed of releasing an album on par with Brutal Youth, then we can make believe that This Year's Model, Armed Forces, King Of America, and The Delivery Man don't make E.C. better than whatever name we came up with. Second place for the opposition every time. I'm requesting a band besides Squeeze release an album better than Elvis's worst.

x . ) Arrested Development
Michael Bluthe is the father I will strive to mimic. Sure, he doesn't listen- but he loves that damn kid. I am finally doing the 'Season Three Laydown', watching it all the way through in the position of a 180 degree single guy, and I'm enjoying every lonely moment. I give it five x list (something list) stars.

x . ) Clark & Michael (http://www.clarkandmichael.com)

x . ) The Beatles.
Talk about underrated. Have you really listened to Let It Be? Didn't think so. Do you dig a pony? Do you have a feeling? Do you one after 909? I don't care if your answer is 'Yes' or 'No', my responce is: Then listen to the naked version of this album.

x . ) Steel Reserve 211
Drink a tall can, then write your own paragraph.

x . ) Starvation.
Just lose weight.

x . ) This video.

I have no explanation or reason for digging this montrosity. It makes me laugh. I even commented on the damn thing. Speed alteration is the new HIV for we comedic needle sharers.


Keep in mind, this is a tentative list. I might not even like these things in a few hours- I may even post an anti-x (anti-something) list in the morning (I work overnights, my morning is your night). But right now, at this important second- the only moment that will carry this very second- these are the things that you and I adore. I love you for sharing this with me, and I hope that we can live long time together.


-Kevin
Literary Slumber.

All you need is love.

Word on the street is
that is one forgettable face.

When a woman is on the cusp of life (she could be any one of those tender ages) and she is artistic and well-learned in the literary arts. When she craves romantic spontaneity, the experience of a sudden marriage because it makes for an incredible, heart wrenching story. When she feels any amount of self-loathing for her lifestyle, her living beyond her years, her 'lost' youth, her body and figure which survive as a result and reminder of how she is 'supposed' to act or live. When she is all of these things, desires all of these things, and is afraid of all of these things-

Why would she catalyze the aging process because somebody shares a record collection?

Why knock another ten years off, eliminate those experiences and that romance, to shut everything off and live as a house-wife with extremely limited cooking skills?

Most of all...

Why fake love, and fake live?
You got spontaneity for a day, now it's scripted.

l

When I was cruel.

In the passed two months, I haven't been able to listen to the final three minutes of Ron & Fez due to the fact that they end every show with Satellite Of Love, which, ironically, is how I got into Lou Reed. I try to time my XM listening sessions around the '48-52 minute-after-every-third-hour' mark. When I get lazy, or accidentally turn the show on towards the end, I either throw on a random Winamp track or immediately bring up my Myspace to allow another source of music to drown out what used to be my favorite Lou Reed song. I have held my cell phone in my hand at 9:00am, ready to call Ron & Fez to explain that their close-out song now kills me due to the good chance that I may have conceived my dead baby to it.

Speaking of which- babiesrus.com, make it possible to delete a goddamned baby registry, will you? I will not call, I refuse to do more than click. My inability to think about the topic for over thirty seconds handicaps me from making a phone call and destroying the main online reminder.

The whole 'ups and downs' gimmick actually exists. Who would've believed that? I've run out of Scrubs (my balancing medication) to watch, now the room takes over. In reality this ceiling has pretty much witnessed everything. I wish it would keep its mouth shut.

Growing up, I never understood somebody being upset or sad over a relationship that ended. My logic had been "You got to live it, be happy"- the whole "Better to have loved and lost" only simplified to a fifteen year old's mind (or made more complicated). Looking back, I can say that the experiences I've had give a twenty one year old me better ground to stand on for this topic- I just have less desire to talk or type about it right now, despite my constant thinking about it.

I had a great catch-up conversation with Anhvu today. Anhvu is an asian friend I've been associated with online for at least six years. He and I have heard all of each other's stories as pertains to our lives with females, although we sort of drifted during his Virginia Tech years. We're the future of poetry, thus the future of literature. Just think of those lucky saps who get to know us now.

Pounders, Night of 6/8/07

Me: "I wonder why this girl is buying me drinks..."

Jim: "Yeah..."

Drunk Guy: "WHO WANTS THIS DRINK?!!!!!!"

Me: "I wonder why this guy is buying me drinks..."

Howard Hughes.

I am in complete seclusion.
I still sleep next to baby proofed light sockets.

4/28/2007

Music: "Life'll Kill Ya" - Warren Zevon (Album)

The desert was determined to swallow my Chevy. I was miles away from home, off-roading through the Apex, in a car that was obviously not built for the task. It was dark, I just kept my eyes on the sky ahead thinking "Follow the smoke." I did get stuck, but trudged through the mud- it was my best friend's birthday.

I caught a glimpse of a bon fire, breathing my third sigh of relief- the blaring Bob Marley proved that this one wasn't full of false hope.

Engine Off.
Parked.

Here's the hard part... where the fuck is Sid? The scattered groups had no apparent configuration, except that they grew larger as you got closer to the keg. The first familiar face I saw was Suzzy, who greeted me with a cup as if I were her father- surprising, considering she is my arch nemesis. Within' moments it was the fire, the sand, and one group. Myself, Reuben. Jorge, Suzzy, ___ (I leave a line, because Sid has a lot of friends that will not matter in this story) and the man of the night- Sid Vicious.

The Apex portion of the night ends as every get together- a cry of "the cops are coming, the cops are coming". Between my arrival, and the train of vehicles skidding through a swamp-textured desert... I did manage to hustle a listen of "I'll Never Fall In Love Again" - Elvis Costello & Burt Bacharach on notch 11 for everyone to hear. It was only party music to Sid and I.
"Oh great, Kevin" - Suzzy, without hesitation, or a need to confirm my location.

We sped down the highway as if we were chasing a tornado, racing one another with no fear of the alcohol in our blood.

We arrived collectively to a house belonging to all woman. A woman house. Lesbians I heard. I actually recognized it as the home I had been kicked out of a month earlier for arguing over their rule to put the seat down. Thankfully they forgot my face. They wouldn't after this night.

I snuck in my Graham Parker cd to counter-act the radio, and it went over really well. I made as many bathroom trips as possible, hoping somebody would notice the seat up and I would be able to reenact my Ron Bennington-inspired tirade. No such luck. That wouldn't stop Reuben and I from referencing it, reminiscing, and giggling every few seconds. People were in too good a mood.

All but one, a tall, big boned black man. Well, his skin color was whiter than me, but everything else about him would convince a radio audience otherwise. Dressed in camo shorts, and a "Somebody in Compton <3s Me" tee shirt- he wasn't a fan of my suit jacket.

"Why do you have a heart buttoned to your jacket, are you gay or sum'thin?"

The real story behind the heart- which looked great- I joked with Sid about smoothly removing it and handing it off slyly to a lovely woman. But to answer the soldier's question-

"Yeah it does. I'm gay. Is that a problem?"

We went on as such for ten minutes or so. I don't remember any of the dialogue, except that he couldn't keep up after a round or two and became frustrated. Sid had a stoic expression, which is very common for him after he consumes a lot of alcohol.

As the thug got serious, Suzzy removed her belt (which could best be described as Jon Rambo's gatling gun ammo) and stood between us. I was honored, as I'm sure she could handle herself better in an altercation, considering my 1-1 all time record in fighting.

I wanted to get hurt on this night. Feeling a lot like I do now, I wanted to feel it physically as well. I wasn't afraid of being broken, and this was a man capable of breaking.

The situation died down, minutes passed- Sid decided to leave. We made it as far as the living room.

The black Caucasian and a sidekick met us by the television. There was no 'Suzzy's belt' in this room- for all I knew she was in the bathroom with the seat up. He did the "towering over" gimmick,

Staring up, I did the smart thing...

I knocked his hat off.

The rest is hazy, we ended up in a bedroom with Sid on his back gouging his eyes.

What a friend.

We stormed out like Elvis Costello in '79, as I continued to foolishly antagonize his sidekick.

A few days later I was in jail over the reasons explained on the Jim & Them radio show.
I had the privelage of being arrested, fingerprinted, and mugshotted with a bruised eye.

"A buddy and I were throwing a football."

"Why being really lonely is sometimes super awesome..."

The past couple nights have been spent in a cloud- a polluted, musky, pirate ship coloured cloud. Sid stopped by the workplace last night, which added a slight skip to my step. He commented on my rapid weight loss, a subject I've sarcastically responded to with "I haven't been able to eat in three days". Not sarcastically because it's untrue, just because people seem to laugh about it as opposed to responding with horror when I add those inflections to my speech.

I have taken on the life of a fifteen year old girl. Loss of hunger, in her bedroom, waiting for a call.

I have always been a person who desires closure. Yet looking back, I can't recall a time that I have taken advantage of a closure opportunity. I insist on continuing things, through whatever muck we've rained ourselves into (thanks to the head I've been blessed with- I rain more, and for a longer period of time). This time I will not make the same mistakes- but this time I apparently will not have the opportunity to.

I have never been able to write while in pain, either. It's very odd, and would explain why a lot of my writings may have come off as phoney to Sara in the past. I will not be able to write anything of significance about this situation until I have completely moved on and committed sexual acts in a moving car with somebody else. Being a poet, I've still tried- some attempts can be found on that dreaded myspace blog of mine.

I know I've been Scrubs-happy (I knew I could muster a positive word) lately, only because it is hands down my most reliable collection of DVDs. Rory doesn't understand- she's a girl!

In that clip, not only does JD get it- but Cox with his baby jealousy, and Turk because of the engagement. It hits on all ends, what a success rate.