what a strange, sad day it's been

Went to Build-A-Bear Workshop today. My therapist said it’d be good for me, to get me out of...

Tue, 07 May 2013 12:18:23 -0400

Went to Build-A-Bear Workshop today. My therapist said it’d be good for me, to get me out of the rut I’m in, called it an “exercise in creation.” I held the limp carcass of the bear in my hands for what felt like hours. What was I doing? Who was this bear? Why was it here? Not here, not yet, not quite. Did it want to be? What right did I have to thrust this bear into the cacophony of being without first giving it a purpose? I couldn’t move. Then this kid asked what I was talking about, and I realized I’d been soliloquizing in a sea of children.

“I can’t even think of a name,” I said, staring down at the bear I couldn’t bring myself to make, its black, plastic eyes like currants in a semolina loaf that no one ordered but had shown up anyway.

“How old are you?” the kid asked. I looked at his bear. It was bursting at the seams.

“I think I’m having an existential crisis.”

“I’m ten.”

“Okay.”

“You should name it Trojan.” I was stunned. This kid knew Homer? Then he said, “After the condom your dad should have worn.” He took the bear out of my hands and threw it at me, like that had been its purpose all along.

Whoever said kids are wise is a liar. Kids are dumb as shit.

“Chris Fine”by Christopher W. Pine Objectify me...

Sat, 08 Dec 2012 20:34:00 -0500

“Chris Fine”
by Christopher W. Pine

Objectify me once: shame on you
Objectify me twice: shame on you

Objectify me thrice:

payday

It’s a vanity fair, and the air is stale.
My mask doesn’t come off, but recedes
with time
like a ~~hairline~~ shoreline.

Line, line, what’s my line? I’ve forgotten
them like I’ve forgotten
you like I’ve forgotten
my wallet.

It’s on the house.

I wish I was a real boy. Then I’d show them. I’d...

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 20:16:16 -0400

I wish I was a real boy. Then I’d show them.

I’d kill them all.

This life: so many roads, so many POSSIBILITIES. The...

Tue, 20 Dec 2011 11:06:20 -0500

This life: so many roads, so many POSSIBILITIES. The intersection of you and me, like the collar of a crisp, white v-neck. Where does it go from here? The metaphor is flawed, there’s nothing beyond the junction but a hemmed expanse that ends somewhere around your waist. Your waist-length hair is A LIE I SAW YOU BUY, extensions of a kind of abstract truth rooted in PHYSIOLOGY. They meet somewhere, the lie and the truth, hidden in waves of auburn

au - burn
aw - burn
aw, burn

AW, BURN!

But hair goes gray. THE BURN’S ON YOU.

m
Happy birthday to who^ever. I wish you nothing
but the best.

12.21.09

Finally heard back from Mr. Carrabino. That would be Joe Carrabino, Chris's agent. I wrote to him and let him know about your little dog and pony show here. He says it's horse shit, hon. Chris disavows any knowledge of losing a journal or writing any of the tripe you're posting as truth. So tell your lies and enjoy your fifteen minutes. The truth has been disseminated. I'll make sure to blog it, with a screen shot. ;)

Tue, 20 Dec 2011 09:48:10 -0500

TOO ALL ANONS WHO ARE WORRIED ABOUT BREACHING MY PRIVACY- NEVER FEAR, FOR CHRIS PINE IS HERE AND I APPROVE THIS BLOG. JUST PROMISE YOU WON'T SHOW ZACH THE EYEBROWS POEM, THAT HIPSTER MIGHT JUST TAKE OFFENSE.

Fri, 16 Dec 2011 22:19:13 -0500

chris, you used the wrong to/too/two.

go back to berkeley.

Eyebrows Your eyebrows suck. I hope they eat your facelike Zeus...

Fri, 16 Dec 2011 22:06:50 -0500

Eyebrows

Your eyebrows suck. I hope they eat your face
like Zeus devouring his child.
You inspire feelings in me
of nausea.
A last name that means “five,”
and a last name that means “tree.”
If five trees fall in a forest and no one
is around to hear them,
will you still not hear me?

You’re an asshole.

Use capital letters, asshole.

If someone found your journal and posted excerpts from it, how would you feel? Take this page down. I know his fans want to know more about him, but exploiting his personal thoughts is wrong.

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 18:41:00 -0500

yes. good. i will post another soon. happy trails.

He didn't respond yet, but the fact that his privacy has been compromised, which is a very fragile thing for celebrities, I don't think he's going to be happy.

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 18:34:30 -0500

finders keepers.

I just thought I should ask because I told him about it....

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 18:24:47 -0500

what did he think?

Untitled #73 ‘Tis the season, and what a season it is....

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 17:06:18 -0500

Untitled #73

‘Tis the season, and what a season it is. Life moves quickly when you’re sitting down. You live for the little imperfections: the stray coffee ground in your gourmet drink, not at the bottom of the cup, but floating near the top, so you feel it on your tongue and it sticks to the roof of your mouth, dicking you around like the world did before you got lucky, kid. Little acts of carelessness become the best parts of your day, the one barista smiling, oblivous and empty [better word? check thesaurus]. The other one is sad, like a blog no one visits. Can a man outgrow his fear? Can I? Are you checking me out, or counting the wrinkles in my shirt? “You’re so whatever,” and what of that? Tinny holiday music tells us it’s a time for being merry, and that Santa Claus is coming. One you know is a lie, and so naturally you wonder about the other. Lies, lies. Yes, Virginia, you’re a fool. Don’t go in that pool, you’ll drown.

Ho ho ho. Hear how there’s noise in that silent night. All day long I perform for someone. Is it you? Is it me?

Bottled water is a myth.

(consider revising: too Cormac McCarthy? be more like Hemingway)

What is this based on? Did Chris lose his journal or something, or are you just making this up?

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 17:05:59 -0500

my sources are reliable.

The Sad Vegetable Enthusiastby Christopher W. Pine The sad...

Wed, 14 Dec 2011 15:22:12 -0500

The Sad Vegetable Enthusiast
by Christopher W. Pine

The sad vegetable enthusiast
walked from kiosk to kiosk
searching for the perfect organically grown tomato
so red - and ripe
His heart was still as his eyes alighted
on a tomato
its globular shape, entrancing
only to find an imperfection on the other side
A bruise - it smarted
Disappointment bloomed
like when you are talking
to an attractive girl and notice
a faint line
in her spray tan.