This is a personal forum. I can't pretend that it is anything else but that. This is an empty space that I am free to fill with anything that I can fit into it, anything that can be jammed and forced and rammed into it.
The picture above is of me. It is my 8th grade class photo. I am wearing a pastel yellow Gotcha sweatshirt and my hair is spiked in the front and long in the back. The ends of the back of my hair are bleached out from the sun that shined on my back while I played baseball through the summer months. The area where my sideburns should be is shaved way too high because this is before 90210 was popular, and before I had a fucking clue as to what the hell I was doing. The most important thing to me at this time in my life was the release date of the next Sir-Mix-Alot record, and when I might see my girlfriend in a two-piece bathing suit. This is essentially what "Disturbing Memories" is about. The naivety of youth, the discovery of the absolutely brutal realities of life, and times when I really thought I had life by the horns. Like in the picture above. I believed deep down that I had most of life figured out. If you could pan down and see the acid washed pegged Levi's I was wearing, it's a pretty good argument for the contrary.
That being said, the stories that will appear here are mostly true. That means that they are not totally true. Some of this might be dreams that I had, I don't know. It really doesn't matter. I wanted to write and put it somewhere so here it is. Don't read it if you don't want to.
I know what you're thinking. This guy is simply caught up in the hip trend being adopted by so many young writers right now who are delving into their pasts and making ridiculous events in their life appear humorous or important even though they are terribly inconsequential. Well, yeah, that's pretty much it. I've spent the last few months holed up reading Dave Eggers, David Sedaris, and all the McSweeney's Quarterlys I could get my hands on. On top of that, I can't think of anything good to write about. So, what the hell, I figured. Why not roll up my pants and jump into the pool hip deep. So I did.
This page is a part of the Sly Records site, specifically the Weekly Waste portion of that site. I cannot promise that this page will be updated weekly. I will, however, promise that it won't. I don't have that much time.
Anyway, the stories are down here. Read them if you want to.