()
                     ||
                     ||
                     ||
           __________||
          |___________|\          Need a pimp?  Don't hesitate to call.
          |1800MARQUIS| |
          |___________| |
          | 1   2   3 | |         
          | 4   5   6 | |         
          | 7   8   9 | |
          | *   0   # | |
          |           | |         
          | JEFF-NET  | |
          |___________|_/
          /           /
         /  .  .  .  /
        /  .  .  .  /             
       /  .  .  .  /
      /___________/

November 30, 2005 - Wednesday
__________________

What is the meaning of life?

I believe that I can answer this question—while trying to get away from any "near-death" (or near-life?) junk. You know how I once took a certain privilege in google: near-death but I've long abandoned that groovy thinking. I once read a couple articles out there and it's spiritually de facto God is love. Yeah. I don't get understand it either but I somehow know it as truth. I am "in tune" with goodness and as example: I'm not really a racist, I can't take pleasure in making a lover cringe, I'm much more charitable and I'm willing to back most any good cause. I'm a good boy. *angels sing* A God boy. I am highly spiritual not taking my time for granted. I get the feeling that we are a part of something much bigger. Much bigger , something psychedelic like that we can't even imagine.

Why are we here?

I believe we're—this sounds so fucking gay—here to learn to love; here to learn to love. I'm trying to get away from any discussion of the quote-unquote near-death I've experienced, but that's really the one thing that anything lives for. Past, future, whenever, wherever; love is what makes existence special. It begins life. Understandably you're thinking that I've gone off the deep end with a desire to pleasure Jesus, but you're wrong. I don't care anything about the Bible, I don't see how John 3:16 helps me in the least *gasp*, and if anything I'm LESS religious—only because of the spirituality vs. religion debate. I don't believe Christianity. I don't see any importance in the Bible—except for the message of being "good" to each other. I don't think it makes me a bad person.

I hope that I'll now lead a fine life for having picked up this goodness verve and it's exactly why I'm working to make a difference in the world, ex: writing not watching television. I'd like to think that I've stirred some—I have many people reading this—positive thought within you, something to think about when you possibly Save the Children, etc.

Having gayed up on you already I should let you know of the ultimate importance: we're here. We're here. We're able to participate in the human experience—whether we're in college or working a minimum wage jobs—we're able to experience everything that is meant to be. . . George W. Bush can imaginably piss upon a K-Mart worker, but they're on a perfectly equal ground spiritually. Again I assure you we are a part of something much larger—and I hope you will not misconstrue me as one of those people.

I don't think of myself as religious. I don't go to church. I don't read the Bible. I'm not religious.

I am very spiritual.

November 29, 2005 - Tuesday

__________________

I hear that all of you—"my peeps"—enjoy reading what I have to say. And continuing this hobby of mine I will see that my dot-com lives a full life. Perhaps I shall embark this quest with my thoughts on "aardvark," trudge onward with amusing photographs, and fade into obscurity with this website becoming passé—droning with the standard "masturbation" references and short stories becoming lackluster.

Although . . . you enjoy reading what I have to say. You do. I always hear compliments, and I'd be a fool to discontinue the beautiful hobby of sharing myself. I enjoy wow'ing you with the assortment of images I have on my computer. However you must prepare for a drastic change of operations; perhaps graphical sparkle and pizzazz. I'd like to give my website a cosmetic brush up and a content purging. Everything you see now will be gone, leaving room for a new beginning. I don't think my beautiful bride—Kristen—cares much for the occasional mentioning of her, and I won't have this source of truth following me (us) around.

It's gotten too personal.

And while I no longer write about the women I've slept with, I must scrub this text ironing out the awful truths.

It's gotten too personal.

I'm doing what I can to see that I'll live a fine life! and with something so basic as writing I shall bestow short stories, masturbation references and glorious smooches upon the fortunate reader. *SMOOCH* and my advice: write something. I have a hell of a lot of people reading something so basic as me typing; I do have enough to report from and interests you. I'd advise you to pick it up. Really I keep a to-do of finding short story content when I spend my waking (and maybe sleeping) hours because I'm so fortunate as that people care what I have to say. Shit I had this website showcasing the blah me for a year—soon to be abolished. A part these glorious files seeing their doom: The New Beginning.

I can't have this source of truth following me around. It's gotten too personal.

I hadn't seen a friend, someone I went to high school with, for quite some time, and he asked me the awkward question, "So what happened?. . .sorry to ask but uh uhhhh. . ." Yeah it was uncomfortable, and I'm doing what I can to make some new ground. First I'm not fully recovered. Second I've changed my goals in life possibly reflecting how I don't care for what you drool over. I'll never really get past my accident of over a year ago telling me to play my cards with this textual interest.

This website, I must cleanse this doggy with hopes of an internship—Blank Canvas Magazine: a creative writing publication of Worcester. I'd like to have something to show for this. Hell I've picked up a unique perspective on life ; ask me why I believe we're here. I've yet to pick up the 20something trendy outlook, and I hope to take this hobby somewhere through my unique perspective. I plan to be a writer in the years to come. A friend told me that most writers hold a day job, do typical shit and relish in their free time—in the seedy underbelly—of writing. I'm looking to play that position.

Perhaps making you uncomfortable, I've set up a neato bulletin board included with my webhosting. It won't amaze you but I invite anyone to register with my forum—soooo dorky. It took me a minute of my time. I don't have any big plans for it. It's gay. It's nothing. It sucks. And it's empty right now. But I invite you to register, posting anything of value, and I will then share copyrighted music, pornographic film, and make many [racial slur] jokes. It is creepy, I know, it's strange that someone has their own nook on the internet. I believe this is a dead end. It won't see next month. It's a waste of time. It's nothing. It will suck. I don't think I'll have more than one or two people register but I'ma give it a shot. It's interesting to offer something that revolves around myself. It's an experiment.

my brother agrees:
Marquis is King: haha, at one point or another, everyone with a website makes a forum that will grow to roughly 5 people, a maximum of 2 who post, and will die within a month's time
Marquis is King: it's the harsh world of bulletin boards :-(

Again, this website will live out the year with a full sweep of current content. Nothing will remain except for short stories and the equal. Thank you for reading what I have to say. =)

November 28, 2005 - Monday
__________________

ATTN: Babes

I try to keep my sexual complaints separate from this website, but I perhaps have some swinging females browsing and looking for an orgasmic time. Girls—if you're white, single, and generally acceptable—you can reach me at (508) 596-4311. I've got nothing to lose; and everything to gain with this little whoring. Did I mention I've got a six-foot theater screen waiting for you? with the lights off.

See that projector? I own (several $grand retail) that purveyor of cuddle sessions, said aphrodisiac, projecting a six-foot screen in my room waiting for the next female to pony up and make that phone call! Do you have what it takes?—notably a means of transportation? If you think you pass the test, please give me a phone call maybe driving your vehicle to my house with the expectancy of a frisky skylarking at the courtesy of my huge cock.

Mention this ad and receive a free backrub!

I navigate Worcester's nightlife without drinking, working to improve my voice, and gaining the experience I lack: with the notable aim of meeting sweetie whores. *SMOOCH* With that let me segue into my dating life's low months and months ago, where I've picked myself up from this:

Fatty Joanna. This is evil but I digress ; when I came home from the hospital, less than one year ago, I yearned to hump but had no female to savor my flavor—until Derek graciously shared my instant-message name to "some girl" from the internet. Enter stomach-stapled chick. Here's a girl who once weighed in at 316 lbs., who has had her stomach stapled, who thought I was "too hot" for her, and who was soon listening to me croak into the phone that we should "hang out" sometime soon. I know desperation all too well. She's long gone now, somewhere across the country—don't worry.

316! She was by then reasonably unfat, and I couldn't be choosy. I'm sorry to say, but I would have given her privilege to my beautiful male essences if opportunity arose. I've recovered enough so that I can. . .316!!!

One of my contemporaries brought his girlfriend out for the night ; his girlfriend a Patriots cheerleader; the type of female I'm only able to dream of with hopes for a beautiful-bitches reality. I know enough and then refrain from the f—flirting with braces keeping my lips sealed and glasses preventing that joyous reality. It's on its way, but for now I'm only able to coerce ladies with promises of an X-Box hooked up to a projector. . .and the guarantee of myself, the sexual animal, cozy and avidly spooning your ass.

[THIS SPACE FOR LEASE]

November 27, 2005 - Sunday
__________________

I was a real fucking scumbag. I was a bad person. I see much more of the person I used to be and I don't see a good person—lack of caring for others, drinking ; and drinking was clearly a problem with what I judge from these shoes—too much beer, my laziness and a lack of caring for others—it did make me a bad person. I'm trying to change that bad-boy appearance through one-upped goals, meaning I'm now working to bring my life somewhere special ; special, not working in an office all day ; I'm not sure if I want that screen-staring nothing impact on humanity.

But to be honest, I love this HDTV I see; I drool over the incredible picture. And I love this XM radio—the clarity.
It's good but anyways. . .

I just see too much negativity having been in my life—driving too fast, not working hard enough, no plan—it did make me a bad person.

What I'm working now is to do this—spend my days with a productivity and I accomplishing what I enjoy , what improves myself ; I think that's something I'll have forever. Thus making me less of a scumbag. I once would have sat here staring at the screen and doing nothing : downloading junk and wasting space.

Over one year ago I would have been slopping around Worcester with no aim. And I guess the point of this is just to say that I, myself, I see an asshole and I'm doing what I can to see that I don't navigate that route through life. Thank you for caring what I have to say.

November 25, 2005 - Friday
__________________

In an effort to showcase what has been important to me, I've compiled a list of songs:

Paul Oakenfold – Ambeoassassin: I went to the WBCN River Rave with my brother mostly showcasing alternative bands, but there was a rave tent with none other than the world-famous Paul Oakenfold highlighting. He played this melodic song, faux dancing and looking at the ceiling while pretending to be on a drug. It was a memorable night with my brother.

Goo Goo Dolls – Iris: Kristen Johnson appears in my head a lot, especially after a ruinous even, and this song embodies her in my mind. Why? There's nothing inherently relative about the song itself or the lyrics, but I remember dancing with her, losing myself in the moment and experiencing a new emotion at a Saint John's dance. This song has always made me think—yeah—her. This "Iris" rustles more emotion in me than any other song out there. Any other song out there! The more I think about it, this must be my favorite song. Somehow. . .

Smashmouth – All-Star: This song makes me think of Megan Manduke who I once palled around with. She was a year older and held the real possibility of sexual intercourse. I remember a pretty girl: a pretty party girl. This song came out when we were most flirty. We both liked it. We never hooked up.
That's all.
We never hooked up.

Def Leppard – Pour Some Sugar on Me: Continuing with a theme of women, let Allyson step into the picture. Sugar is a theme song of the club we met at, Sh-boom's; a great club. There I was dancing dirty with the woman ; the woman with whom I'd soon have conjured the song's title as code for the mighty sexual acts that were about to ensue joyously.

Enigma – The Return to Innocence: Showtime had a few episodes of its own Outer Limits, a remake. I caught the episode halfway through one morning; doesn't matter what it's about but the main character having a second chance at life was the theme of it. It's funny because I feel that now. Anyways the song came on as it ended, and I caught only the name Enigma in hopes of purchasing the CD. I bought the wrong one, but thanks to my mom's dealing with clerks I had the correct disc days later. It's not the type of song you'd think I'd have ANY attachment to and maybe I enjoy it a little more because of that.

Aerosmith – Amazing: Another song, "Livin' on the Edge", was on the charts, but Amazing had me tapping my feet. The video features Alicia Silverstone and Liv Tyler. The video features Alicia Silverstone and Liv Tyler. Anyways. . . Yeah Both Babes.

Akinyele – Put it in Your Mouth: My cousin Dan was getting booty from the good-as-dead Amy. I remember we—the virgin me—kept a running theme of the song representing anything kinky in nature, playing it on the way to The Palladium and junk like that. Fun song. "Put it in Your Mouth"

Big Pun – Still Not a Playa: And again my cousin Dan and I founded camaraderie over a song referencing ladies' company. This song refers to quote-unquote playas, who are known for their highfaluting attraction of "hoes" and their style of baggy clothing with malt liquor accompaniment. I am not a "playa." I never have been. Not then; not now; not ever.

Chris DeBurgh – Lady in Red: And again, a woman comes into the picture! Krystle W. the top-heavy (meaning fat tits) woman whom I'd invited to an ECM Christmas Party wore a red dress, and I then had a fat grin on my face glaring, "Yeah. Just look at her. Yeah." I felt special with my "hot babe" dancing to this song. We didn't hook up and I won't joke about it with this one because she's one "naughty hottie" I'd like to have "smooched."

Righteous Brothers – Unchained Melody: This song is from that lovey movie Ghost and it's another example of how I am attracted to a lot more than you might guess from my young-male, muscle-head image—allowing me to stand out when compared to my age group. I'm by far un-average and this brings with it much creativity.

It's very clear that music has an importance with the ladies of my life. It makes sense. I remember , towards the beginning with rides home from Kristen's, to the late-night booty-chasing coasts toward Framingham State , I've always enjoyed listening to music that somehow reflects my sexual happenings.

I've got a wonderful filing system for my music: DVD backups and dual harddisks with 200 gigabytes of storage, meaning I've scored a ton of audio. We all love music. I've picked up on the next step in radio—satellite. I'm listening to an XM unit which sends a great assortment of unusually crisp audio through the cosmos and into my ears. Ever viewed HDTV? That's the comparable difference of the audio that flows from it, compared to our computers. I highly recommend satellite radio.

November 23, 2005 - Wednesday
__________________

"Shakespeare already wrote every story."

Yeah faaaaaaaack you. What's the point in anything because it's all been done before? I've heard this in past years, and it comes to mind every so often when I'm writing something. I will erupt if I ever hear this filth again.

"Our greatest blessings come to us by way of madness." – Socrates

I didn't know what I wanted out of life, and it's exactly why I drank so heavily. *IRRRCH* I began writing without suggestion early on in my return to life—telling me that I'm now apt to see greatness through my unique perspective. I do love writing; something I've never had before. You enjoy reading what I have to say when I couldn't have sparked any of this creativity in past years. I'm looking into writer's workshops; Socrates I hope you're right because all of my chips weigh on you, hoping for greatness.

time passes

A man died from internal injuries while having sex with a horse.

You figure it out.

Does this mark the low point in human existence? or new high? Said video has made its rounds over the internet with jaw dropping reactions. Who are these people? The video however pales in comparison to the mental image it gives us; that spark in our head: Ohhh, I get it. I get a kick out of mentioning pornography here, but this awful act makes me uneasy. The horror! The horror!

I fear that I may sound like a granddaddy but maybe the world is going to Hell in a hand basket. I've heard of the nasty technique younger girls utilize these days, and the idea seems—is—very unwholesome. Maybe I'm simply more holy in many regards, but pushing sexual excitement to any further tests the boundary of hygiene. Physical, mental, or otherwise. Kids let's tone it down, eh?

time passes

I've taken an interest in this Sigmund Freud character. He's onto something. I've said that I feel somehow reborn into these shoes—nothing on my conscience—and I think he's on the right track with how our history shapes us. I've opened myself up to some things in my past that I never looked at before. Anyways I'm confident that he was correct with a belief of how something small: a successful smooch on the playground, then stays with you for life. For example when I mentioned Freud you probably thought of some 'mother' trash ; no think: Freud. What comes to mind when I mention Sigmund Freud? Think about it.

What comes to mind when I ask you to think of Sigmund Freud?

Most of you are thinking about the motherly sex filth, but I'll stay away from that. I remember some movie where Robin Williams says something about Freud doing "enough cocaine to kill a horse." I'm positive that someone, maybe you, reading this will have picked that one Freudian memory out of any. The rest of you, also Robin Williams fans, will notice that memory actively ticking around in your skull. That example is part of something larger; how any and every event shapes us. Any and every event shapes us.

time passes

Girls (therefore English majors) tell me they've written something; when actually it's a Copy and Paste of a song's lyrics prefaced with three sentences about Aunt Julie and how she isn't really gone; how this lil' girl (therefore English major) feels her aunt's presence in the sun beaming down onto her freckled face and making her smile with those perfect teeth. The only other person I know to write is the man I faced in a battle of words with a topic of "Abortion," the author of Falling Apart—for anyone interested! (hi) Some of the girls I know see that I'm into writing and remark, "I'm an English major." If you've got some textual shit I'd enjoy, send it to jeff@justchillen.com You await my Fitness Ideals and On Writing. I'd like to somehow repay any (gaying up on you) sadness that I've brought into the world. I'll release those next month, but anyways—girls are known to major in English, The Non-Technical Major! Seriously, I'm interested in reading anything of my peers. Again, please send me your textual shit. You'd pick up the hobby if you had your own dot-com!

time passes

When I speak something random: Virtual Tera Patrick is great; I'm only having some fun with this website. I've begun with short stories, where I have a couple in progress. My words have improved enough so that I have some professional business to take care of, advancing this hobby. I saw this kid at my gym—ripped and shredded arms—but he was in a damn wheelchair. I didn't talk with him, but I can only respect that "overcompensation." Being demoted to one step below my peers brings out a lot of girly-sounding inner strengths. I'm getting fucking diesel at the gym, hopefully making ladies smile. I'd like to have something to show for my time at school and home; why not something so basic as strength and writing; that I'm good at. I've got the ball rolling as for beginning an internship. Wish me luck!

November 19, 2005 - Saturday
__________________

I did a presentation in front of my English class today; that is, in front of twenty girls to pick me apart. And I didn't have much of a plan—only a few notes to expand upon! I had all those girls analyzing me, the eye treat, and thinking, "Does he pass the test?" In the past I might have crumbled under the pressure of being so unprepared, and the fact that twenty delicious girls were watching me would have guaranteed it. Me, I didn't care.

You may know of my anxiety woes, where the tasty green pills let me carefree. No more. I only expect that my willingness to discuss a favorite hobby, masturbation, here and there will carry over into the social world with unparalleled confidence. But there I was, smiling at her and her and her, winking at Katie (hi). I have glasses, braces, and my voice is low. I look funny, I know, but. . .I'm going to have a great time with this supreme freedom.

time passes

I see a new side of the human existence, handicap. At Worcester STATE College, I see two or three wheelchairs every day. I've also seen a few people with a spastic gait, hobbling violently for the world to see. You don't see these people like I do.

I've always turned my head to the handicapped, just as you. There's nothing wrong with it. Don't feel guilty. This is something I've never seen before, trust me. I've had the thought of authoring a few 'brochures' that I've seen in the hospital, intended for the families of those with a head injury—what to expect. My mom kept a journal as advised by the hospital staff, recording names, procedures, and progress, mostly as a record of medical nature, but it's interesting for me, who wasn't lucid, to see all that I'd missed.

I, who remains drop dead F'ing sexy, bitch about the lack of sex in my life (I'm still recovering!), but the thought of some real structural damage, confining me to a wheelchair would completely erase the possibility of female pleasure. Maybe I'm a scumbag, but I fully support the idea of a handicap-on-handicap date night at the local hospital. Maybe I'm a scumbag, but I think they'd enjoy that. Fortunately I'm able to smile, for my beautiful face remains unscathed and my well-received member blessed.

time passes

Last night I went to a SHIP (State Head-Injury Program) meeting, like a support group. Some of you can draw the connection of this idea having been leeched from a book, but I do have honest intentions for advancing my recovery. Both of my parents came along with me (how nice, but how awkward for them). I was surprised to see how normal everyone was. I looked around the room, looking at ordinary people, trying to discern who's damaged. I have to tell you—it was uncomfortable—but beneficial.

The next day I went to Fairlawn for a speech therapy. Upon its conclusion, the woman therapist walked me to the door and sparked some conversation with her next patient. A storm of moans, groans, and unintelligible speech ensued from, I assume, a stroke victim. I see things like that and feel lucky, but it doesn't change anything.

time passes

We don't like what we're not used of. We don't like what we, ourselves, can't identify with. I tell you I'm not drooling over nice cars and shit, to which might appear as that a very brain-damaged (therefore simple) person, me, has dumbed down his hopes one level. No. If anything, I believe I'll EITHER be doing something very special—lucrative *crosses fingers*—in years to come OR something as was predicted (and acceptable). I have a damn degree in computers. I know I'll do fine, but this is the one specific time in my life where I'm kicking myself to new heights: productivity, fitness, caring for others.

I think
I'd like to start a little company, maybe, and I WILL write a novel in the future. I'm saying this publicly now so that I'll put down a Red Bull when I read this in years to come, and say, "Ah haaa! Yes, I remember that ambition. That Jesus-like potential." It's my wish to live a life of experience, and I'm not sure if you, yourselves, are able to identify with that uncaring in luxury.

That's the way I see it now, and I'm doing what I can to see that it doesn't fade in years to come. I've got a very unique perspective after what I've been through, which is going to serve me very well for any authorship. I was speaking with an English professor, and she just plain knew, like common sense, that my individual verve is a strength for writing. My geeky website as example, what would you express about yourself? Probably something in relation to 50 Cent or The Daily Show. Please. I once listened to Howard Stern each morning, but if he gave me the microphone I would have had nothing to say. Pretend I give you a piece of paper, what would you write about? Yeah. You'd have nothing to say, and granted I wrote about girls at first, but I'm now working toward fiction. The shit I write now, I expect that I'll be able to roll my eyes one day.

I'm starting to understand the scope of this websites' influence. When I sit down to write something, I'm communicating with people—really speaking to them—in their underwear. It doesn't make a difference in the world, but I enjoy this creativity: the cake, the Explorer pictures, short stories. It's something I've never had in the past, and it's exactly what makes you smile.

November 17, 2005 - Thursday
__________________

I've got a bad feeling.

November 15, 2005 - Tuesday

__________________

November 9, 2005 - Wednesday
__________________

"Beauty"

The only other fictional story I've written has been in a contest with the scandalous topic of "abortion." Until now. I've decided to rustle my authorship hopes with a series, an alphabet, where I'm going to A, B, and soon C. . .until I reach a fictional topic starting with Z. Simple premise.

What I shall graciously bestow upon you: "Beauty," a good natured ribbing aimed at my own kin, Justin, to brighten our souls after an untidy morsel.

Firstly, I assume you think that my aim has already strayed too far from the target—"beauty"—with my brother as a main character. He isn't voguish. He isn't pleasing of grace. But. . .well. . .take a look at this:

Click Here

There I see a boy crying for camisoles and capri pants, with his fair lady—the mysterious Lindsey—atop his shelf, staring yonder. This damsel, proud of his new prêt-a-porter hairstyle, isn't fooling anyone.

I give to you, "Beauty"

November 2, 2005 - Wednesday
__________________

I taste victory.

Continue with October.