06/05/2007 --

"Epic."

I really look up to the 2007, blog-version of me. I would love to turn Literary Slumber back into what it was before. The clips and paragraphs from the original months of entries are still very powerful for me.

At this point, writing about the same thing would come off as monotonous. Especially when I, the writer, have no clear intention in droning on about it. Atleast then it was all still fresh, the prison-time was still feared, and the villains were more easily identifed. Today, the bad guy might just be the asshole who won't shut the fuck up about it.

It's so weird how "fluffy" things ended up going in January. It was some big meeting with dier consequences... but we never really talked about what had happened.

Until I find something new to consume my life, I mine as well just repost old videos and reminisce about old pain.

TONIGHT, I will be hosting a listening party for We Hit & Run's 2008 In Review Part 2 here and on Comedypipe/Ustream/Stickam/etc. Join us.

 

The Victory Show.

http://wehitandrun.info

We Hit And Run - 09/26/2008 - Victory.

• The Victory Show: It has been over a year in the making, and it is finally here. Kevin has survived probation, and is providing the We Hit & Run listeners and three new syndicates the only-censored-once tell-all. It's as close as we're gonna get to closure on the Storm Chronicles.

• Anthony Saunders: The Dean Dawg makes his first on-air appearance in weeks.

• Joe Lowers: Stand-up, prop comic/hack Joe Lowers showed his drawing power this past week... on the stage that he stole from Real Kid Radio. Hear the Joe Lowers story here!

Jim of Jim And Them!, Hardkore Jeff!, Jake of Jim And Them!, Comedypipe.com!, Weezy Blog!, Joe Lowers!, Victory!, Fatface!, Michael Jackson!, Baby Heroes!, Baby Villains!, Burn After Reading!, Choke!, Probation!, Court!

Listen to We Hit & Run LIVE every Friday Night after Jim And Them on Real Kid Radio! call-in: (866) RKR SHIT

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"This is the light of the mind."

As I was going through trinkets and things to include in my package for Sharon, I stumbled upon my first hardcover "journal", a book from the end of 2006 that I thought was gone to me. I honestly forgot this thing existed, all I remembered were some of the more important drawings and of course the re-written works inked inside. There's Polaroids of her, the baby, and a lot of little ramblings that appear to have been written by a different person (even the ones by me).

I think I'll include some of the more pathetic parts at the bottom of this entry.

I've lost 12 pounds in the last 11 or so days- this time not through phoney depression or a form of starvation. I'm actually eating right and exercising. Though I can't see this being a permanent lifestyle change. I eat well for a while so that I can eat shitty for a longer while. I guess it's self-preservation, me and my Whoppers.

Sharon is coming to Vegas in October, I am really excited about it. She's very different than any of the girls I typically go for. She isn't a sad-ass.

"41327" (code for 04/13/2007 I assume)
And just like that I am back
at the house. Things are over with
an overwhelming exclamation point.
I do not miss her as of this word,
but I fear what time is going to
do to me. I'll forget how awful our
relationship was and the disdain with
which she treated me. I'l remember
"the beginning" and use her pregnancy
as an excuse for our recent
troubles (which actually add up to more
than half of our actual relationship).
I know this will happen, yet I
cannot avoid it.
Should I fight for my baby?
Will she swallow lysol?
Some questions read oddly while written.
I should save money & prepare for Rosemary.
Or atleast for "the battle of Rosemary."

- (signature)

I get excited at the thought of a new lover.

(shitty face drawing)

This stuff is silly to relive. But the line about "forgetting how awful everything was" has been in my head since I wrote that. Stuff like this is interesting to me, I probably wrote all of this shit knowing that it'd end up public. Without my handwriting, it's a little less embarrassing.

On the next page I have quotes from Chels, a checklist (Fix Bank Acct, Buy New Shoes, etc), and thoughts on my new (at the time) overnight shift.

I cleaned the entire room "yesterday" and set up the
bassinet pack n' play. Everything looks great.

That thing sat in the room for a while. There's some really pathetic quotes that will never see the light of day. I really had no idea of the true situation during that first month. I had no idea of any new relationships/engagements, the fact that I'd be in jail within' three weeks, or any of it. Considering all of this, it's even more interesting to see the information for obtaining my G.E.D outlined on the next page, and less interesting- a list of "careers".

"I can't touch this anymore."

I think that's the last thing I wrote. Earlier in the book is a "SAHD" page (Stay At Home Dad). It should just say "lazy prick". There's some phone numbers I might use for the show, an original Heroes drinking game, and a lot of letters to eachother.

Dear Kevin - you have just drawn on my postcard, very unartistically. Didnt your mother teach you not to draw on valuables, such as walls? I am supposing you make me laugh more than any other person, so I cant blame you for being so strange. You are drawing a photograph of (fatface) which is a horrible likeness to (some guy) sitting next to me. Lastnight you were so cute in your exhaustion. I want to see you like that everynight. Let us see, let us see. Love, your wife.

There's another entire page from 02/12/2007 called "Falserhood" which is very telling. Though I'll probably just save that, and post the sonnet that came of it.

Sonnet I.
How do I become a hat wearing man?
Can I buy an after market male head?
I've been dressed in a hood by a woman-
Now I help those in need to be spoonfed.
Trust and fun traded for daughter and son?
Happily! Even w/ hood over eyes.
For trust and fun will naturally come
as her and I grow- even growing blond.
Me comparing clowns to some old hat
is like comparing clowns to their balloons.
Though they all turn hair stand, standing, and stood
Only one can stay retired 'til noon.
We all know earthquakes do not create homes
Unless they have ten fingers and ten toes.

I still dig that, the iambic pentameter made that shit take a week.

Anyway, I figured I'd document this unexpected discovery. It still gives me a bit of a queasy feeling, but that's based on the legal garbage. That stuff always makes me nervous to think about.

All You Need Is Love, 3.

KLAV instructed our producer to insert a live disclaimer before Real Kid Radio's debut show, stating that 'the views expressed in the following program do not represent those of KLAV'. Jim, Jake, Anthony, Casey, Brian and I immediately broke out in laughter, and I think it eased everyone's tensions before the start of the broadcast. The show itself was a decent kick-off. Jim & Them took the helm and did a great job. My voice made it's first live appearance!

Real Kid Radio's first KLAV broadcast.

The broadcast took place during the First Hour of First Friday, so the audience had to of been tiny. There were still a few calls, we'll have to see if there is a difference in the amount of interaction when CB Radio does their show this Friday night.

I received my first bit of good news in a while this morning (well, as pertains to the probation front), and besides that it hasn't been a good week. Little, almost meaningless events seem to have crudded up upon one another to create the lowest morale in Kevin Scampoli's head's recent memory. Whether it be doing the taxes (remembrances of certain dependents that I cannot claim), the result of the taxes, New England blowing the Super Bowl, the weekly class, work, money, even the show.

My head grades on scale. If work isn't going well, then the show suffers. Conversely, a great run of shows or having an extra bit of money can effect any other aspect of my life.

I always feel silly complaining in a blog about anything. It's the old story that somebody always has it worse. Even in the old entries, I wouldn't call any of those writings complaints. Just a chronicling of the bullshit.

As pertains to work- the job I cannot legally lose, I am on my last chance. If my name comes up in anything- a tardy, absence, argument- I'm gone. They know this, and they know how important the job is to me, and they have changed my days-off without notifying me. Everything from the radio show to my probation class is based upon having my old days off. I guess I'll just have to be a little tireder, if that's possible.

Also on the work front is a woman I am highly interested in. The woman is a Goddess I tell you. I actually talked about her on the show waaaay back in the first month or so. She's the only woman I could actually trust at this point without having to put another five months into the conversation. On top of that, she is adamant about taking any possible relationship slow, which is very new for me, and it's a damn good idea.

She's known the Rosemary story since my sentencing.

The end of this legal hell, though still far away, is visible. I'm in the middle of the hardest part of it right now. By the time this chapter is over, the restitution will be 90% paid, and I'll have nothing left to do but obtain my G.E.D.

In closing: The Giant Show is unbelievable. It has been my Scrubs, my Flight Of The Conchords, my Hideout, my Ron & Fez, whatever the fuck.

All You Need Is Love, 2.

I am thinking of bringing Literary Slumber back. A curious comment on the Apple-Mantini Challenge video acted as the intra-web muse for me to play Google Analytics Sleuth. Somebody visited this website on January 2nd for twenty six minutes, and took a special interest in the posts marked with the tag "Rosemary". This one'll be the first one in a long while.

I am very proud of myself, reading those old Rosemary Posts. For one, they are beautifully written. A majority of the words were created in response to some harsh shit*, and to create such coherent responses out of mental disarray is extraordinary. There are excerpts that still jump out at me, about wanting to go back to school and the desire to be a writer. Funny how it goes.

One post in particular may have had a particularly awful impact on my life- the one entitled "All You Need Is Love." I remember that entry being taken the wrong way, thus sparking a slew of slanderous responses and the halt to any civil communication. It was written during a time when negotiations may have still been possible. There is the possibility, I suppose, that it wasn't taken the wrong way, and the truth of the situation became unbearable for the reader- though I highly doubt that scenario.

See, during the time that I wrote that I was going through a lot of pain. That doesn't make the entry any more malicious or any less genuine. I did not write it to hurt anybody, and I still stand by every word. The point is, though, that during those Summer months I was the one feeling the paralyzing effects of the spotless-less mind, she wasn't... yet (*remember the 'harsh shit' reference?). She was still experiencing the honeymoon phase of her recent honeymoon, and something as feeble as what we went through hadn't hit... yet. A few months later that changed. It was too late, of course.

I tried to explain how I felt during the older conversations, and she tried to explain how she felt during the later conversations. They were the exact same pains and emotions for each of us, just on a delay for one of us. There were promises of trust made

Then I'm informed by an officer that a call was made claiming that an earlier call had been made- and any amount of remaining trust was left in the eternal sunshine.

There are still days (nights to you people) when the thoughts ache, though they're much rarer. I can say that this is being written during one of them, though it's the first of the month thus far- that I can recall, anyway.

There is a lot for me to be happy about, so that helps what was essentially a constant search for distractions. I think the happiness has won. I can look at everything as a means to what's to come. Sometimes I catch myself hating Las Vegas, wishing I had never moved out here. Then I remind myself that under those circumstances there would be no We Hit & Run, and I wouldn't know the people that I'll always remember as the best friends I've ever had.

To steal a phrase I would have never of otherwise used if not for moving out here:

I believe in We Hit & Run; Real Kid Radio.

Everything I've ever thought of doing- from singing to writing to even the retail shit I'm doing now- I've never believed I could accomplish anything from it. I believe I can accomplish this.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"What fucking Ian guy?"

There has been a subject that I've intentionally avoided on this blog.

As of a month and a half ago, I was to be wed to a woman who was pregnant with my child.

As of just under one month ago, she was wed to an older private investigator.

I don't know what's more shocking- the fact that they had their honeymoon in less than 30 days after her and I had broken up, or that it took me this long to hear the news.

When she and I got together, she was obsessed with marrying me within' a week. Given my stance on marriage (elaborated upon a few entries ago)- it was delayed, but still a plan. I got her a $700 dollar wedding ring- yes, I know I can't afford that, that's why my phone rings every five minutes from Quebec- a ring that is either still lost, pawned, or the new guy's for all I know.

After all of the speeches, all of the bullshit- it is recycled and regurgitated onto a new sap's lap. I heard it all from this one... and believed it.

Now I have no doubts about the cheating, and most importantly I have no doubts about the woman.

There is a good chance I will have the next seven years of my life tarnished over said woman as well, due to nonsensical charges and a female's court room.

I can't even be satisfied by her inevitable divorce- because I know she'll just be given money as the marriage prize.

And to think one of the more painful things for me was hearing her thoughts that we moved too fast.

For all that's going on in my head... I got nothing to type. I'm not going to let this situation turn me into Dr. Cox.

Unlike the others involved, my life will be put back together. My child will be a love child. My spouse will not be a rebound. I will graduate, and I will begin my climb of this wonderful system we call capitalism.

I wish you all nothing but happiness.