Monday Morning Commute: Summer Reaches Zero History, Goes Special K.

It’s Labor Day! Put away that uh, Appropriate For One Season clothing! That’s right! Ya’ll out of season. Make your way to the garment districts and indulge in satisfying their hungry cash registers, as you don hues appropriate for This Season Duh, okay? Like I said, it’s Labor Day!

Fall is here, and it smells like sizzling leaf death.

How was your summer? Did it live up to everything you hoped for? Tell me. Hit the comment box. I dare you.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me what you’re diggin’ on to get through the drudgery.


Playing / Assassin’s Creed II
I polished off Bioshock 2 in something resembling five days. The quickest I’ve beaten a game in eons. And though I hear the shrill of the Achievement Sirens beckoning to me, making me aware I haven’t done every arbitrary and insipid thing, I won’t be returning. Naw.

Bioshock 2?


Delving into Assassin’s Creed II. That’s right! Actually swinging a machete at the gaming backlog. Can’t believe I may actually make my way out of this trench. Never thought I’d see the light of gaming day again!

Oh, about the game? I don’t know? It’s enjoyable. I guess? I enjoy walking through the city streets and scaling the heights far more than I do any of the combat, or the missions. Maybe that’s just me.


Takes far too long to get back to your mansion, to empty out your chest of cheddar bling-bling. What a time sink.


My summer? Formless. Much like Bioshock 2, this summer was formless derivation of something else I had experienced before. Hot sun. Bright days. Pit stains. Been there, done all that, too. It hasn’t been a bad summer, far from it. Though I have to admit I fear that someday “it wasn’t bad” will be perfectly acceptable to me. Maybe it already is, who knows?

There’s always next summer. And next summer. And next summer. I’ll just keep telling myself that.

Formless derivation. My summers need a new development team.


Reading / Zero History by William Gibson
Willy Gibson is one of my favorite authors. Dude gave me Neuromancer. Could have stopped at that, and he would have sculpted an inordinate amount of my psyche. But he has continued, for what, twenty-something years at this point. Tomorrow drops his newest book, Zero History. To say I am excited is to say the Sun is sort of bright.

This pig is the final book in his latest trilogy, and the first one that takes place in “modern times.” Quotations employed because Gibson views the world through progressive spectacles I can only wish I possessed. Sensing patterns and emerging technologies and methods that just sort of stop me in my tracks.

I’m honored to clench tightly onto his coat tails, as he shows me the future which isn’t just emerging, but is already here, unknownst to us.


Formless, like Bioshock 2. Stuck between my summer class ending and my fall semester approaching, I filled the Warmest Season with glucose-based bullshit. Applying for tutoring jobs — none responding. Playing too many video games — I’ll get to reading and writing later.

School starts this week. Classes and my assistantship. I must confess that I’ve missed the classroom. If I was Kal-El, my sun would be the college campus. It’s one of my favorite places to habitat, and one of the few places I feel content. I’m sure that reeks as sad or pathetic or unrelatable to a lot of people, but I only feed you what I can regurgitate out of my mouth.

I love school. Sry, yo. Apologies to all involved. Someone remind me of this when I’m in the middle of a paper this semester, and I’m ripping out my pubes in an ultra-anxious frenzy. Dear god, such sentiment as I’m spitting right now will arise the greatest of blunt-hammer scorn by Futuro-Ian, mired in the latest book he has to be reading, the latest paper he has to be writing.

The grass. It’s greener in other places.


Eating / Special K Fruit & Yogurt
I am a bit of a half-awake eater. I muster something resembling willpower during my waking hours. I can abstain from consuming more than like, nineteen-thousand calories while I’m not approaching the world of Morpheus. But once I’m hanging out in the Land of the Slumbering?

I eat like wut, I eat like woah.

Nothing is more gratifying to me as I take a piss in the middle of night as hammering a ludicrous amount of calories down my throat as quickly as possible.

Nothing is more gratifying to my girlfriend than waking up, and these days, finding a trail of Special K running from the kitchen to the bathroom.

Sorry babe! I tots love you. No lying.

I’m just a slob.

A good cereal needs to have a therapeutic crunch underneath your enamel-coated mashers. Special K comes correct with that shit, and sprinkles in some yogurt and fruit, too. I love it. Let me tell you, as I’m emptying a day’s worth of Diet Mountain Dews into the porcelain Shit and Piss catcher, there’s nothing I enjoy more these days than eating some Special K.

So I may get some crumbs (everywhere).

Man’s gotta eat. Half-asleep.


What are you chaps up to? How was your summer? Hopes? Dreams? Aspirations? Fantasies?