I’m Back!

That’s all. Just wanted to say, “I’m back!”

Was toying with saying, “I’m back, baby!” but at the last minute pulled the “baby” for safety sake. Oh, nothing likely would have happened, but you can’t be too careful in this space these days. The “baby” flecks someone in the eye, the next thing you know: lawsuits, serious-looking men knocking on your door, dragging away your microwave. Did they have to drag it? Was it that heavy? Ugh.

Nonetheless, I’m baby! I mean, I’m back. Holy shit. I’m rusty. (I thought he was back?) Can’t a guy be two or more things at once. Rusty, back, utterly powerless when it comes to heating up leftovers, etc. The point is: this blog is back in business and I need to go price out a new microwave. Talk soon, baby.

new blog address

www.heymattkirsch.com

bigger.  better.  tumblr.

new duder

phew, so if you’re curious where I’ve been for the last-forever, well, I’ve been dudering diligently and FINALLY the fruit of this dudering has ripened into a weird faux-fruit thing that sort of tastes like a kumquat but smells like grape jelly, um, anyway, here’s the first episode of duder: season 2, Nice Place:

On a sidenote, I totally used to write “whew” instead of “phew” but now realize that “phew” is just way clearer.  God, what was I thinking before, I’m such an idiot!  DAMMIT!

sleep is weird

Yeah, so what? It’s a cliche, “sleep is weird,” but who cares, it’s true and you know it!

Sleep is so trusted, so hard-wired, and rarely questioned. So consider this buck stopping, at least momentarily, to at least introduce the possibility that sleeping is crazy: the act of getting in a bed, closing your eyes, not moving for a bit of time, then having your body slow to a crawl, while you lose consciousness, and begin “seeing” these usually-provocative yet incredibly-fragile strings of thoughts, colors, then you open your eyes many hours later, having lost so-and-so amount of hours. Lost! But we never question, why. Why do we daily commit this unthinking bodily ritual, trading so-and-so years of our life for restfulness, the energy to make the time that we do have more productive, fulfilling. Hmm.

Do you think you’d give up sleep if you had the choice? Like, when you win the lottery, you can either get your winnings paid to you in installments or get it all in one lump sum, a straight shot. Hey, don’t get me wrong, I love sleep, I wouldn’t trade it for the Dickens, but that doesn’t stop me from questioning it, and it doesn’t change the fact that sleep, this zombie-inkling in all of us to power-down daily, is weird! Sleep is weird, weirdo, yes Sleep, I’m talking to you, you’re freaking weird, I love you, but you’re freaking crazy-weird, yawn.

‘Night.

magic pants!

wow, who knew people watched this show…

fireworks backwards!

theresnoplacelikehomeandstuff

“Theresnoplacelikehomeandstuff” is what he said. But he said it—theresnoplacelikehomeandstuff—like it was all one word. And at first I was confused because it sounded like garbled nothing. I thought he was pulling on my chain. “What was that?” I yell after him but he doesn’t turn around. And that’s when it clicks. There’snoplacelikehomeandstuff. It wasn’t gibberish at all. It was seven words, well eight if you count that first contraction. It was the answer. There’s no place like home and stuff. I click my heels together. That was the “theresnoplacelikehome” part. Then I smiled at my cat, my life. That was the “andstuff” part.

hey, check out this new paranoia I just found

So lately I’m extremely wary of throwing away receipts of any kind in public garbage cans because what if someone finds one of my ATM receipts and somehow, you know, deflowers my credit score. I couldn’t handle that so I make sure to throw those away at work, home or some trash receptacle that I can fully trust. Hey, is that too much to ask, a little peace of mind when I throw away my garbage, without having to look over my shoulder every five seconds to make sure no ones mussing about in there, examining my wrappers. In fact, if that low-fat lemon yogurt container I just threw out never gets looked at by another set of human eyes, I’ll die a happy man. Cause, you know what they do in there, those trash-people, don’t you? I used to think they were looking for spare food too but boy was I wrong. No they’re looking for information. That’s right. They’re scraping for DNA, collecting identities to do who knows what with them, sell em on ebay, on the auction block, for crying out loud. Who’re the slaves now? Hey, stop looking at my wrappers! What’s the big idea?

quick music

Neil Young performing Philadelphia.

Eh, I’m still a sucker for this song, I’m not ashamed about it.