EYEfaceFUCKEDtheGODfearingMAN withMYknifeDICK

Repetitious phrases used on a daily basis in verbal or mental conversation, that I'm really getting sick of:

on waking up (and seeing the alarm clock)
"FUCK!"
"I hate my life"
"shouldn't had stayed up so late last night."
"really wish i hadn't drank last night."
"so tired"
"I can't believe because I overslept 15 minutes I'm going to be an hour and a half late to work..."
"this is bullshit"
"i should just quit my job..."
"cant believe its time to get up"
"i so don't want to be awake right now,"
on my hangover
"I feel like shit"
"this sucks"
"Why do I do this to myself"
"sooo hung-over"
"I need a drink"
"coffee...."
"need orange juice"
"my mouth is so dry"
on my work commute
"I fucking hate the bus"
"I hate people"
"it smells like shit in here"
"I cant believe I'm going to miss my next bus"
"why are you driving so slow?"
"FUCK!"
"this is bullshit"
"I'm so cold"
on my (sloppy) work entrance (in which my boss is conveniently right by my desk)
"I'm sorry I'm late"
"bus broke down"
"missed the bus"
"woke up late"
"wont happen again"
on my finances
"I just have to get out of debt"
"fuck, I need a car"
"how is it I can't afford a pack of smokes right now?"
"I don't know where the fuck I'm going to live"
"I need to stop buying so much booze!"
"I'm so broke"
"I'm such an idiot"
on myself
"I hate people"
"I smoke too much"
"I hate my life"
"I drink too much"
"I hate myself"
"somebody kill me"
"I can't write for shit"
"I'm going to die alone"
"I have a tiny dick"
"FUCK MY LIFE!"
"I'm so fat"
"I need someone"
"I'm never going to meet anyone"
"how can a ugly bastard like myself ever get laid?"
"I'm going to get fired"
"I hate myself and I want to die"
on life in general
"no god"
"no love"
"no hope"
"nothing lasts"
"we all die"
"life sucks"
"we are all slaves"
"no one is ever going to do anything about anything"
"fuck the man"
"I am always going to be unhappy"

how i became man:
a brief tale of my own gradual yet inevitable realization of adulthood
(this does not include "everything", because that would be fucking impossible, i aint about to write no god damn book)

I: It came slowly (oh, now i get it! sweet!) - teen

Epiphany:
I am alive, I exist
There are alternatives to everything; most importantly philosophies, attitudes and life styles, we all don't have to be cookie cut outs of each other.
There is no god, no use in being a god fearing man.
People rely too much on faith and the good will of others.
It's important to be creative.
Just because people are older doesn’t mean they are smarter.
Education is extremely relevant, even though school is lame.
Art/Music is everything.
Sex is awesome.
I am co-dependant.
The world, our country and people aren't as good as they seem.
We don’t have to play by the rules.
There is a difference between real friends, people who want to use you and drug buddies.
I am addicted to drugs and alcohol. I will live with this forever. There is no solution; you can only try your best to fight it.
How or what people think about you is not what life is all about.
It's better to be abnormal than normal.
Love is a human necessity as important as shelter and food.
Life sucks but it's worth living. Dying is inevitable, no reason to rush it. Permanent solutions to temporary problems are impractical.
Insecurity is something everyone has and that we are what we see ourselves as. The whole world is not judging you, you're not that important.
You need to have a job.
There’s more to life than getting fucked up.
Anything I want, I have to buy
There is more to relationships than sex, but sex is important.
It’s important to have good morals and be good to people.
Action:
Lost my virginity.
Got a job.
Actually graduated high school (thanks to continuation high school and gracious english teachers) Turned 18.
Was legally allowed to buy cigarettes and get arrested
Went to college but only went two semesters.
Got a bank account
Got a drivers license
Sobered up, twelve step programs, counseling, bullshit, in patient, out patient, all that jazz
Learned to control my own habits and my own emotions.
Stop taking psych-related medication.
I fell in love and found out what it was like to have someone and be someone's someone
Got first hand experience with the human body and got a further grasp on sexual organs and pleasuring techniques
Learned about the human brain and the mind and got a further grasp on how it can be manipulated and explored though use of substances.

II: Progress (woah shits gettin real dude! freedom isn't free!) - eighteen to nineteen

Epiphany:
Faith is not a bad thing, I just can't commit to it. It's not for me.
You make yourself insane. It's all in the way you look at things.
Everyone has there own opinions, there is no right and wrong on such subjects.
Parents are people and you should respect them for the years of bullshit you give em. Raising kids must be incredibly hard.
Education is more than relevant, its the only way to evolve as a human being.
Maintaining a secure income is essential to human survival
Everything you do is okay as long as its done in moderation
Being with people is complex. people are complex.
I'm a hard person to be around.
You have to conform in modern day society. We are slaves.
Cash rules everything around me.
I am an uncomfortable man.
Hard work makes you look good and helps you move up in the work force. (somewhat)
Action:
Got a car, and paid it off (it was later destroyed, and not by me)
Earned "seniority" in the work force
Held two jobs
Got credit cards, maxed them out, paid them off
Built credit.
Got past the lust stage and managed to cradle a relationship into "long term" status

III: Further exploration (the balance beam of freedom, partying, happiness and being financially secure) - twenty

Epiphany:
Everyone changes
We won’t always be into what we're into now.
Credit is important.
Be independent, you have to some day.
You are not a kid anymore.
No one or anything is perfect
I'm not always in the right with my actions and emotions can drive you to do things that are irrational.
You have to compromise (not entirely) your own beliefs/thoughts/traits to fit into a high paying fast paced work force
There is a difference between “lust”, "love" and "comfort".
Drugs aren’t as good as you want them to be.
I very much dislike the humanrace.
People you know can die. We are not indestructible. One night of getting high can be your last night alive.
Everyone is connected.
The position someone holds in society/workforce/friendship doesn’t necessarily mean they qualify.
You can be whatever you want to be if you apply effort.
Action:
Moved out of my parents house.
Changed my address.
Changed my banking info.
Got a new drivers license and ID.
Maintained an apartment for a year.
Lived in a city in which i knew no one.
Paid for everything I needed, clothed myself, cooked for myself, boozed myself up.
Switched from blue collar to white collar, got an office job.
Got health insurance.
Paid bills.
Turned 21, was allowed into bars and anywhere I wanted to go.

IV: Realization (it snuck up slow and took over too quick, where has it all gone?) - I AM ADULT!

Epiphany:
We have to play by the rules but we need to bend them as much as possible
Nothing in life is permanent. Not even love.
We are all suffering
Happiness is hard to find and doesn’t last long
You are going to be in debt forever.
When it really comes down to it, the only person you can rely on is yourself. All you really have is you. You are alone in the world. No one is going to help you.
You make your own reality.
If you don't take care of yourself no one will.
I am not perfect.
I am not great at what I do but I must try as hard as I can to be good. This goes for all things, not just creativity but in the workforce, in relationships, etc.
The only way to get what you want is to get it. Things aren't going to just happen.
The only way to meet people is to try.
Feeling sorry for yourself leads to nothing but people thinking you're a bitch.
You're always going to be self loathing, there is nothing you can do to impress yourself.
You will never be satisfied. When you get what you want, you want something else.
If you don't do what your employers want they will find someone else to do it
It's better to be reserved than vulnerable - you must limit the amount of personal information or emotion you invest in others
You are not special. Everyone is human, struggling to survive.
You have to play the game, or you are going to die. You need to work. True rebels end up dead, homeless, in insane asylums or jail.
Networking is essential to following your dreams
You need to find out what you "do" and do it as best as you can. You must have a trade, craft or art.
You can't procrastinate anymore.
You need to be educated. You need to be smarter than other people. It's all you can do to be better.
Suck the corporate dick, but still have heart and passion for something in the "real" world.
You have to take out loans.
I spend too much money on alcohol.
Drinking legally and going to bars is a novelty and no different than drinking in an alley.
You have to make employers take you seriously.
When you’re 21 you’re too old for teen parties and too young for adult parties.
This how it will always be.
Action:
Suck it up. This is the rest of your life. Live

You’re so vain, I bet you think this piece is about you.

(an older peice)

To the vegan revolutionary, who has a patched up punk rock jacket hidden in the back of his closet, that’s made out of leather,
To the art school graduate whose career has shifted to making logos and cartoon mascots for whatever major corporation pays him,
To the pro-peace activist, fun loving, all is well hippy, who complains, aggravated with his waitress for putting too much mayo on his lettuce sandwich.
To the DIY punk rock band who signs to Sony,
To the sixteen year old boy with a record deal for the shape of his face, who doesn’t know whats a hammer-on is or who Robert Johnson is,
Fuck all of you.

To the midnight rider, who drives a hummer to work,
To the vegetarian who attends PETA rallies but flips burgers to pay rent,
To the chain bearing, gat packin' thug who lives in the valley,
To the tattooed hairdressing vixen who always mentions celebrity friends, when her career has amounted to nothing more than one B movie.
To the bastard throwing stones at abortion clinics, that comes home to three ignorant kids he can’t support without welfare.
Fuck you all

To the straight edge kid who argues with druggies and has never gotten high,
And the druggies who argue with straightedge kids and can’t got a day without substance.
To the whore who calls a prude a prude, and to the prude who calls a whore a whore,
The mormon trying to convert an athiest, and the athiest trying to break down a mormon for beleiving in god,
To the beautiful bitch who got everything she ever wanted by laying on her back,
To the worcaholic, who lives to be the dependant of a bitch who got everything laying on her back,
She swipes credit cards all the way to her utopia of fine clothes and makeup, anything to make her feel less ugly.
Fuck you all,

To the strict conservationist, the extreme recycler, who tosses cigarette butts out of the window of his vegetable oil run vehicle
To the hardcore Christians who commit acts of gluttony and envy on a daily basis,
To the crooked cops and politicians, saying they are cleaning up the city,
To the students with no faith in themselves and the teachers with no faith in students.
To the parents who don’t encourage their kids because they weren’t encouraged by there’s
Fuck you all

To the anorexic prom queen who tells her friends to watch their weight,
To her friends, who envy her,
To the corporate sleezeballs whose job it is to tell hard working middle class employees how wrong they are doing their jobs, cleaning toilets,
The corporate sleezeballs, whose job perks, are high-class hotel rooms and business expenses of cocaine, prostitutes, limo rides and fancy dinners.
To the people who hold political positions because it was their birthright, not because they qualify,
To the disgruntled citizens who don’t vote, out of stubborness
Fuck you

To the people who only give charity when there are others watching,
To the self proclaimed writers, artists and musicians, who don’t take the time to strum some chords or leave paint or words on a canvas,
To the people who are fashion oriented for the sake of others or the need to impress or fit in,
To the broken boy, who holds his insides in by dissecting others and breaking them down,
To the self righteous writer who stands before a crowd of good people and judges all of humanity
Through simple and easy to understand anecdotes and stereotypes,
Fuck you, you're a hypocrite too.
And so are all of your loved ones and friends, cause we all compromise our own beliefs.

I bite my tongue as I clean toilets and mop around tables occupied by former classmates, they type away at their laptops, studying for their finals,
they are on their third year in college, i'm on my fourth year of minimum wage.

I’m just a jealous guy; watch out, I’m just a jealous guy,

I bleed punk and I eat vegan, but fuck punk rockers and fuck vegans,
Self righteous and as ignorant as their enemies,
Punk rock is for the working class,
You can’t deny your blood or your income,
As for the fashion diseased bastards, you piss on me,
In your non-conformity you conform in the worst ways.
Let me get another thing straight, a pit is for passion, not for testosterone,
I go in to let go, and maybe i'll bang into you, but i dont try to make it a fight,
if you punch me in the face while i'm trying to enjoy a band, i swear to fucking god, i'm gonna break a bottle over your head and kick you while you're down,
An art is made for heart, not for fashion, so leave your hair jel and custom bought bondage pants at home
Fuck you all,

I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m just a jealous guy, watch out, I’m just a jealous guy,

We are all hypocrites; we all eat our own shit.

And I think I’m fucking revolutionary, that i'm better than everyone else and that im fighting the system, cause I listen to a certain music, eat a certain way, and have been branded with some tattoos, fuck me, fuck you, fuck off,

i make my bed i die in it

love her

i curse the name "Mark David Chapman"

pig (rough draft)

Like a shooting star flying across a void of nothingness, i am but a rock, mindless, but carrying a massive ball of energy.
Microscopic, i dance and swim among my brothers, squirming and racing to the end of the core.
I only know one purpose and I dive in headfirst and become consumed in its entity, we all become one. I melt and reshape into a single cell.
As I ferment I am given Independence, one, two, three, four apparitions dangle from my center.
Time passes and we all separate from one into several, bursting into existence, there is a rough series of vibrations, it comes in waves and as this continues to grow I recognize the movement comes monotonously.
As time progresses more vibrations begin to explode into life, they form in a distance, but are close enough to feel as if they are a part of me.
I begin to recognize that I am indeed one big organism of vibration and sound, my own vessel, with my own skin, nutrients fill your belly and more of my body comes into form.
The shaking and movement around me assures me i am not alone, sacks of others are near.
I begin to feel, to touch, this is nirvana, security, overwhelmed with nutrients and floating in an orchestra of heartbeats surrounded by vibrating pillows.
Then i am alone, separated from my life source, i become scared, beat at my blanket with my feet.
Helplessness, deprivation of the tube and then I am flushed.
Drained out, its rather uncomfortable, my body is ejected.
My ears pop from oxygen and i have to learn quite quickly how to adapt and breathe for the first time without any support.
I find it hard to work my lungs.
I am lost, let free,soaked and blind.
I use my little instinct to dictate the next move.
I feel the others, my brothers.
We nuzzle in the comfort of one another, our skin pressed against each other for warmth, we lick at the tip of our life force, our nutrient supply, and we love her.
I become addicted to this affection, and its all i know.
Darkness and comfort, minimal mobility.
Then one day it happens, a blinding light, my eyelids open and i can't make sense of anything. The warmth beside me is other strange creatures, we all made it to this point together.
As sight became nature, becoming mobile does as well.
I learn how to eat and defecate.
Life becomes routine, running and playing, ritual eating habits, twice a day.
We all line up to our bin and slurp up whats given by the giants.
I become larger and begin to understand the routine.
Awake, live, eat, defecate, sleep.
Everything seems normal and i am at ease with the day to day.
Then one day it is all shattered.
I am lifted by the giants, the feeders and i fly.
I find myself staring down at the floor, levitated, dangling madly, my brothers beside me, it comes into my gut and i feel pain for the first time, the floor becomes red.
A color I've never seen.
Just as i had learned to breathe, i learn how to stop, i loose my breathe and i am as scared as i was existing the womb.
I loose all air and no longer exist.
Whats left of my physical form is then taxied down steel, body separated into several pieces.
I am then put in the cold.
I am then sliced into sheets, processed, wrapped in plastic and stored in cool air once again.
This is the beginning of my journey.
I am loaded into trucks, my form separated into different loads.
i am distributed all over the county, shipped and boxed into different packagings, ending up in people rituals all over the world, until all of me is consumed and i am forgotten.

i dont know, i guess i just dont know any better

its a routine. (no specific order)
i forget faces, names, conversations. make an ass of myself. do something inappropriate. lay down on the floor. smoke too many cigarettes. puke. fall on things. throw beer bottles into the street. excessive eating at an extremely quick rate. decide to do drugs i wouldnt normally be interested in. tell people i love them. have sloppy sex with no rhythm. yell alot. call everyone "bitches" or "cats". pass out. lean against walls to keep from falling. smoke something cause its there. have trouble taking my clothes off. dance occasionally. black out. accidental piss on myself. buy too much at the liquor store and spend money I dont have. make strange sounds with strange faces. tell people things i shouldnt. walk funny. lose my train of thought. get whiskey dick or the inability to cum. get carried on my friends shoulders. have long talks with lots of yelling and cursing with fast food order windows. go on tangents, rants. somehow make it back to my bedroom, turn the music up really loud. drool on my pillow.

i wake up. (no specific order)
dehydrated. i puke. indigestion. long piss. cough up phlegm. the random scratches, bruises, cuts. something hurts, like it may be strained. throat hurts. feel so weak. i'm sore somewhere. gassy. moan and complain. hallucinate when i stare at something long enough. head ache. smell rancid. bloated but empty stomached, yet i feel like im going to shit myself. force myself to eat. bicker and bitch. everything tastes like nothing. drink vitamin c, gatoraid i love you. feel so sick i dont enjoy that first smoke, cough through it. self loathing. disgusted. pasty gross tongue taste. eyes hate the sun. liver feels stepped on. long gross shit, thats unfulfilling. lots of water. groggy. make apologies. tell myself what to never do again. have little flashbacks of last night. confused. sick. late for work.

dead.girls.never.say.no

obsessed with death (version 2)
Harborers of death; these cloaked men who hide their faces in fear to the earth. Savouring their accomplishment and devotion for their maker, living only for death they live lifelessly in argument and worship to justify their own existence, to become a presentable monument to their destroyer. They are not men but vultures whose prey is a mere mirage and they spend their lifetimes gnawing away at themselves through self laceration.

Our subsistence inexorably ends up as grime in the garden, fertilizing seeds to bring about the buds of life, the beauty of establishment from ruin and so i live not in patience and agony awaiting death.

I live not to impress one monster or idol, but to make impression on all monsters and idols. I do not shuffle about in this existence to ascertain a personal deity. I fear not these creatures of the sky, but aspire to be a winged beast who lives with burden. i consume my sin and live happily with the earth, not ashamed of my stink, i embrace it. I am my own fuel and am not a vessel to an adherence or a loyalty.

To the unfortunate who follow out of fear, scared of the pursuit of abnormality, i give you not my pity but my piss.

For if life is pain and result is the cleansing of death, then how can you be too feeble to simply attempt to suffer and find the divinity in your own depths, you are but a coward placing his own path in the trail of others footsteps, you are reluctant to live, obsessed with death!

massacre at the nudist colony
my soul wages war for a society in which every man has the choice on how he wants to live his life, in which all men co-operate to build an international network of communes formed by voluntary agreements and a mutual respect for the freedom of others.

a society which opposes all oppression; sexism, racism, sexuality, spiritual/religious intolerance, discrimination, class systems.

a society in which the governing of one people by another doesn't exist and concepts like authoritarianism or hierarchy are a buried thing of the past.

A society where all that is known to be true is the empowerment of individuals and communities functioning together to sustain freedom and resistance to any authority.

PAY THE PIPER!
gambled everything you had left,
withered your way out of all your clothes,
wormed your way out of every open arm and the doctors wont help yeh,
cause they say you aint sick,
and your blacklisted from yr friends' apartment,
the street dont want yeh cause they heard you're too dirty,

well come on down to my garbage can,
dig through the soil and set up a seat,
and ill make room in my hole for you,
work with left overs to do my best to stitch yeh up

i got hurt eyes for the both of us,
cook you up a cup of something real mean,
remind you it could always be worse,
come on down to my bunker,
come to me when you re fucked up,
thats what you need, we all need a place when theres no place left,
misery loves company.

rude awakening, plastic stick, bad lipstick
talked of your type before, elitist cunt you.
how is it people can become so hollywood, aspire to be a stereotype, a demographic.
I'll give you a little credit, we all play within the lines of stereotypes.
but atleast most of us have personality and not just persona.
i dont know you, i know your type, so i know enough.
get your hands off me, get out of my bed.
I dont care how much makeup and slut attire you can paint yourself with.
you're not even worth my load.

sense memory

There i was, sprawled out on my twin bed looking up at the posters consuming every inch of my room. A beat blue comforter draped across my body.
I heard the jingling of his dogtags as he swaggered his way toward me.
Patches leaped up onto the bed, giving it a good shake and then plopped his heavy body up against mine, curling up and nuzzling his mouth up against my beard.
I pressed my fingers against him and felt static electricity at my fingertips as I ran them through his coarse black and white hair.
He looked at me and let his tongue drop, I got lost in his grey eyes, those old age cataracts that stole his sight.

I awake in a run down bed, the broken wooden planks that support the mattress are swords in my back and the irritable buzz of an alarm clock forces me into reality.
I brush my teeth to wash away the taste of yesterday and shake the nostalgic feel that is trapped in the back of my skull.
I am fascinated with the soon to pass imagery of my old life in my old house with my old dead dog.
I tried to picture him and couldnt, but my brain had completely restructured him in dream state, he was in perfect form, I actually felt him, it was as real as it ever had been.

sense memory: interaction of the senses and the memory, and the ways in which certain sensory stimuli can trigger memories.

how strange, I can not remember many chapters in my life and yet I can remember the the oddest of things. there are certain feelings that stuck with me from memory.
the taste of blood in my mouth, the iron and that strange texture similar to thick water, the burning sensation of liquor coming out your nose, the pressure and shock of taking a fist to the face, the step by step pain route of bearing a boot to your testicles and the final stage; stomach sick and eager to curl up into a ball.

At the sight of a red hot steak, I salivate and can taste the sultry liquids flowing my down tongue, feel that texture of carcass in my teeth being mashed up and then dragged down my mouth as I swallow it.

the smoky dust filled smell of my great grandmothers house, the smell of death. the warmth of a body next to you in bed, and the smell of woman. the smell of burning incense and Indian food from when I was two, being baby sat by a Pakistan family, the cold steel of handcuffs against my wrists, the nausea in my stomach from being taxied in a cop car

all things I've been deprived of for long periods of time and yet I can remember them perfectly.

the pasty taste of cocaine in the back of my throat and the anxious jitters that shoot like electricity through my spine, like the electric shock I felt sticking a key into a light socket when I was a kid, learning not to ever do it again, like the first time I burned myself on boiling water, trying to grab at noodles.

yet I cant remember my teachers names, or my friends names for that sake, can't remember anything from high school.

old friends always ask me, "remember when we did this/ when you said that to him/her / remember back in the day when...."

no I don't....much of my adolescence is lost, and yet I remember the taste of the lipstick of first girl I kissed

so strange, this...senseless memory.

i spit the toothpaste into the sink and give myself a good look, i ask myself, "Who the fuck are you and where did you come from you ugly bastard?"

we all end up at the hospital, waiting to go

As a frequent viewer of Transit TV, not by choice but by circumstance, I noticed an ad for an essay contest. There was a 500 dollar reward for the best essay that described a positive experience on the metro. Thought it would be entertaining to submit a satirical essay for them. Wrote something very fast on the bus and didnt bother to do any editing or rewriting. Submitted it this morning, here it is in it's rough one draft entirety.

Transit TV Essay Writing Contest

unwillingly aborted only inches after last call, i was alone with nothing but the stale air of early morning los angeles and the fermented juices trapped in my bowels eagerly itching to make an escape,
i had no friends but phone booths and vagabonds, who shared nothing in common other than the need for quarters my suit pockets no longer housed,
i wandered in the dark until i saw a light at the end of the tunnel,
my heavy feet and beat eyes couldn't be more fortunate to catch sight of my armored stead, my savior,
the bus stopped before me and i crawled up the mountainous entrance, remembering my fond appreciation for hand rails, balancing my self sane enough to see straight,
the drivers kindness was stomach settling in retort to my twisted explanation of me being lost and empty pocketed.
he let out a chuckle of charity and closed the doors behind me, he had a beautiful smile beneath that musky ethnic Christmas tree mustache,
it wasn't until i reached the back of the nearly desolate bus that i came to realize i was headed in the wrong direction
i felt passive as i curled up and smelt the solidarity of expired urine and fast food wrappers,
the passing of city lights brought reminiscent feelings of meteor shower picnics and smoking grass in college dorm rooms to the viewing of 2001 space odyssey,
i cursed the name of every saint and patron of christian chemistry for my misfortune before comfortably falling into slumber on the arm of the metro link

ugly

ugly people
use ugly words.
rather grotesque;
recirculating dirty blood
with ugly children.
through use of ugly sex.
incapable of advance, it continues to go round,
building monuments of mud,
that keep us underground.
ulgy remains and i wish it were a lie,
Nigger, faggot, kyke,
all these words cease to die.

this will do: i can only go where they'll take me

when you're left with all you've got left, you find yourself with nothing but yourself, a dead beat with cracked lips and heavy feet, an empty apartment with boxes of x rays of dead dogs and old coke straws,

club higgins

within one day of being a resident of my new home, the man of the house told me i was "reckless" and "needed to slow down on my drinking", then told me stories of his old dead friends, fuck it, come over and party

three years

life rafts were only built for so much weight, and the accumulated baggage amounts to the fucking titanic, so someones got to be the bigger man and fall into the arctic slumber, we will both freeze in the end, and im nothing but a boy, i never wanted to listen when you always said this would happen, am i just that predictable, well are you fucking happy? i fell into the trap, im too choked up to even argue my defeat, not man enough to pull the chute, you had it right from the start, i thought i would be different, but my skin has warped from sun light and ive turned into the nocturnal creature you've always known of and feared, didnt think i'd end up putting scratches on your armor, i always thought i'd be your medic, but even a sheep can awake a wolf, im going straight to hell, and its from my own sin, i wish you could curse my name and nail me to wood, but you're too gentle, let me assure you that those remorseful eyes do the trick just fine, securing the pain inflicted by yours truly, i do my best to swallow my tongue and avoid those beat brown shiners, its hard enough to even see my own reflection, you always said this would happen, you knew it from the start, there no apologies that can pierce that acknowledgement, so i carry a sinking ship of shame down to the bottom of my own hole, my desolate ocean floor, im so feeble and weak, pity me, an empty bed occupied by two bodies, on their way to being smelly cadavers, its my instinct to reach for sunlight when im buried underground, burdened with compassion, but we both know thats not fair, its beating a deadhorse, begging it to come back to life, its hard to put down your best friend, but it might be time for the shotgun shells, the disease is taking over and we're trying to map a route around a city of landmines, you always said this would happen, you knew it from the start, i never thought you'd be right, i actually thought i could prove you wrong, it hurts me so bad, i drink until i cant talk, oh how i crave your hate, it would sooth my heart enough to maintain a regulated breathing habit, why must you lend so much credit to me, give me more than i deserve. i feel the scalding of a disappointed parent when all i want is to punished, was it all worth it, i think so, im glad i took the journey, i just dont look forward to the future, cause im convinced theres nothing good, just new kinds of alone, my worst fear; does it always turn to shit? is this what the future has in store for us, will i go through the years hacking and slaughtering beautiful people into pieces and wind up alone and terrified, god how it scares me, is it always the same? is it human nature, does that mean im better off stayin cause its always going to end up the same? is it worth experiencing others, well, you were a hell of a journey despite the destination, we both deserve to have more, im a shell of a man and you're Guinevere, when i think about what ive become i want to be underground, but im no good for you sweetheart, the way i treat you makes me sick, how can you still love me? im half the man i used to be and im still a boy, if i was a man id have the strength to explain but those beat brown shiners are too much for me, you always said this would happen, best friends tend to know you well, of course you were right, you always said this would happen, you always said this would happen, satisfied?

well jesus and his second coming done came.and i tell you its a god damn shame.that second time around.he found himself done drown.as a latex condom fillin.so don't go bickering and blaming.brick built clinics for killing.cause its a good waste of stones.and my belly can't help but moan.at the devotion to these psalms.and the archaic sentiment of the holding together of palms.i dont get it-i dont get it-i say fuck it-and forget it. well I tell you men just wont last.i litter and i burn up gas.cause there's just nothing left of grass. just wood, brick and concrete.and so i shit and piss on the street.where men in hardhats cut down trees.for whoever pays.so we can have shopping malls.and big fancy highways.i dont get it-i dont get it-i say fuck it-and forget it



so...fucking...tired

holiday: an adult's excuse to get overly loaded

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction." -E. F. Schumacher

(shallow/hollow)ween, streets piss scotch, dull memory into clouds of something dark but gentle, slurs on trolleys and pedicabs

Parades of freaks; the boys are the gals, the gals are the boys, oh boy, these gals,
Elbow to elbow in disorderly fashion and swagger, high heels and hand guns,
Armies of wigs, wands, wardens and wanderers, wonderful,
Short and trim, as if it had a purpose, and they serve it right, my eyes are on them,
Take something playful, youthful, make it dirty, sinful, it's that season, no complaints, my eyes are lost,
Saint Diego, my love is with you, for near bare beauties and proud cheers of proud queers,
Clowns and kings share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Revolving circles of gibberish, passing smoke like topics,
We clink glass and celebrate,
Bathroom walls, numbers and names, 'Mandy' illuminated in effulgent purple, broken tile, unapologetic mirrors,
Ached for air, staggered out, instead got urine, trash, alley cats, it goes black, i smile bearing winter petticoats of numbness,
Waves of existence carve at my bone like vultures to lunch, eyes fight to rip the seams,
Cold bricks and cool street, I love you,
Up again, crawl from the gutter, parade aint far, for it's everywhere
And, back to it, glitter and face paint shimmering shades of sunset,
Parades of freaks; the grown are all kids and the kids are all grown,
Streets crawling with lust and wild hearts cheering to youth, now so seemingly lost,
We struggle with the weight of our insides in attempt to distinguish the landmark of it's end,
But for now, we wage war in costume to dab our fingertips on the surface of it, reliving it in disguise,
An ethnic smile and a chuckle he passes me, whispers under his breath, blistered by my primal talk and drowning algorithmic, exchanging papers for bottles of something heavy, registers slam and doors ring as my shoes manufacture an exit,
Monsters and masquerade victims, chariots devour the streets, I flag and am awarded a servant,
Wind scratches cross my scalpel, lugged through the dark, pedicabs peculiar,
I sit in my throne, full on a sensation of royalty, I piss words like cheap production value to uninterested passerbys and mr. taxi horse,
End of the road, ramble and give him cash, and the lights take me from there,
Dorothys and witches share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Making conversation with busted brassieres and eyes from brown bouncers,
Laugh up smoke, choke, tight clothes on loose women,
Oh, eight ball, how I've missed you, scratch, I toss my loss to the victor, taking sticks back to their prisons,
We clink glass and celebrate,
Morning meal exits my doorway, subtle but in mourning, alley way of filth, detestable to the tongue, chunky soup sidewalk,
Rest for awhile, cold brick against the skull, face becomes center of gravity,
Up again, linger past the dumpster and back to the riot, my fond farewell to the friendship of alley critters and stomach acid stains,
They chant and dance, I follow, free from vehicle codes, traffic laws, lights are left alone to play out one role, vision for our match, fireworks crackle in the moonlight,
I blink and my balance beam is arctic, steel, my fingers make love around it; handrail, I love you.
Air picks a fist fight against my mugshot with cruel intention but fails with a vitalizing result, trolley cars and trolley tracks,
Nervous laughter of my possible fates from strangers digging their fingernails into my shoulder, my saviors from the rouge colors of fall,
Found myself where dogs and cats share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Gravity once again, misplaced itself, I've become a regular to toilet seat covers and porcelain princesses,
Misused words misconstrued, large arms leave large bruises, feet dragged behind me, i feel alive again with the taste of floor,
Flames consume the street, fueled by gas cans of insanity and heart, and I stride amongst animals, back to what I know, all fours,
Discovered ease for one last time in the company of cold bricks and narrow streets, no use in conflicting with my bodies petition to curl up, it goes black again,
Up again, this time it's warm, heads got the blues, liver aint too happy to see me, towers of dirty blankets, pillows, I love you,
Vision comes to, worst of morning, how it registers again with every break of sunlight, the craving of eyes and the well kept lawn of empty sheets I wake up to,

Currently Listening To: The Stooges

how can a pacifist eat his own fist, easy to taste when you can't see her face...

how do you know when the vampire buzz has gone too far?

this is no joke, kids. when i said, "fuck twilight!", i didn't mean it like this.

october 30th, 2009, axe to fall, hungover, bus, bullshit, wanna sleep,

you do this to yourself, he whispered as we listened to the faint whistle of the morning wind and watched the fluorescent sun shake it self stubbornly into the sky.
I dreaded the taste of a cigarette as i pulled it from the box and put it to my mug,
a small cold walk through cough city, snot and smoke slip down my throat,
earphones blaring ballads of heavy heavy heavy,
it's like being drunk on a skateboard, i try to keep balance, holding my balance beam,
surrounded by aging, fattened up ethnic women, crowding elbow to elbow and exchanging yawns and accidental eye contact, i stare off at traffic to avoid such contact,
the great stop and i'm off, trudging through mildew dipped shards of grass,
that cup of something black and hot to twist my belly into confusion, a toilet of liquids,
the confirming beep of the punch card, makes me think of hospitals, of dying, of sleeping,
sitting in that isolated island of white walls and computer screens,
never realize how still drunk your body is until you first sit down and look at the stack of papers in need of your touch

Whats left of scraps of wine stained journal paper

I carry my journal around with me everywhere. I never really write in it, but I feel its better to have it around and not use then need it and not have it. Kinda like a gun. Anyway, on the bus this morning I skimmed through it and found a couple little things I liked. Thought I'd share em. These had to have been written in the last year.

no body ever got nailed to no fucking cross for me/i never got nowhere being nice
they will hang flags upside down and put candles in their windows when they're done with me,
they will spit on dollar bills in memory of my name,
there will be no more church bells a ringing,
i ate the hand that feeds me. -Book of Dan 1:27

the thousand yard stare/living bottle to bottle just to make a living
no gods, no masters, no unwritten laws, there are no rules.
maybe I'm just not the type of man who has an equilibrium.
this ship has fucken sunk, i wake up and piss out the night before,
our future, past and present is a beaten book,
who will fold our pages and wear out our spine?
is anyone man enough to get lost in a couple of my chapters?
i scare myself so much i wet my bed, toxic thoughts tossed up in my twisted tongueless head,
up to my neck in my own smoke made spit,
gamblin on a brothers dime you never know what you get,
but i'll choke on my own pride until i'm spent,
take a shape and twist it, now i'm bent,
i never expected to break clean, it was never part of my careful planning,
fuck a fine tooth comb, i've got two fists and a mouthful of regrets

media made icon, hidden agenda
go ahead and cast your blame, did you really think it could be that easy?
we dont live in black and white,
he's a patsy born with royalty blood, he was conditioned with training wheels to be a sucker,
you think what they want you to and they got you thinking you got rights,
go ahead and cast your blame, he's a patsy, a martyr,
factory built to keep a nation of comatose consumers in the game,
so point your finger and sleep easily at night,
do you really think it could be that easy?
we dont live in black and white,
this is what fairy tales are made of:
the corrupt king brings terror and famine on the people,
and the black night ignites with the power of the people to restore faith and order,
he comes in preaching freedom and change, we can do it!
and with medieval magician tricks he parts the red sea, yes we can!
our messiah has arrived,
did you really think it was that easy? patsy!

the peace sign
capitalizing on symbolism that once had significance, thats meaning is now diluted with piss to sell porcelain cups and embroidered jeans.

untitled scribble
idol minds are the downfall of humanity, the de-evolution of man,
and they will name cities after our generation,
in war torn villages on foreign soil,
copper statues will stand strong in their courtyards,
of our religious icons; 21 century celebrities,
whom we worshipped for their public humiliation and gluttony,
oh our wear envy, oh our weary envy

you keep pulling the pin on my grenade
well the sun will someday run out of gas,
who knows maybe the Mormons get the last laugh,
im left out cause a priest never gave me a bath,
so ill be exiled to feel the devils wrath,

one time
sometimes i hate time, when i got too much or dont have enough,
good times, bad times, old times, break time, new times, lunch time,
i like to hear myself talk so much i find myself talking to myself,
and ill talk in all kinds of circles till i realize i never got no where else other than where i started

untitled scribble
Our protectors crashed when their bellies exploded with excess
now we regurgitate on their shit just so we can breathe,
i choke, i choke, i choke,
they ate too much and now our sisters are sick, without insurance and have lost all their jobs, i choke,

l.a. county blues
your security will be tested when strung to strangers in the nude,
and that hose bath dont wash away your dirt,
i got the la county blues

untitled scribble
cant trust my brain cause it always goes and tricks me, hurts me bad,
convinces me the thought of something is better than the reality,
tries to make me forget the truth, aint no la la land, i really do hate everything

Little Darcy and the Weekend

Couple days ago, got stoned and took an hour long shower in which i drank a pint of whiskey. One of my favorite things to do, drink in the shower. One of those long stony showers where you realize you've been staring at a tile for twenty minutes and you havent even picked up the soap yet. Anyway, I somehow started to create a childrens tale in my head. It was influenced off seeing something similar to a face in the tile of my shower. It reminded me of a character my friend used to draw named Darcy. I conceived this story, although incomplete, with the strange stoned/drunk shower thought process on my side, although, I'm sure listening to Tom Waits Rain Dogs on repeat helped a bit as well. Afterwords i thought very little of it. But it kept coming back to me, it's very different than anything I've ever considered even writing, but for some strange reason, I wrote it down...so as funny as it sounds, here's my kids book.

Little Darcy and the Weekend

It was a beautiful Saturday morning and Little Darcy strolled down her favorite street in her favorite neighborhood to see what the sunny day had to offer.

Her first stop was at Old Lady Peggy's place. It was a little house, very worn and old, but despite it's grey colors it's had the most magnificent garden. Darcy stepped up to the gate and smelled the pretty roses.

Old Lady Peggy smiled at her and asked. "Well hello, Darcy, how bout this wonderful morning?"

"It's quite delightful!" Darcy exclaimed and then asked, "What are you to do today?"

Old Lady Peggy answered kindly, "For my weekend, I will be tending to my garden."

"It's so lovely, Peggy, may I help?" Darcy asked.

"Yes of course, my dear,"

Darcy then climbed the gate and began watering the plants. Her garden was magnificent, filled with all kinds of plants and flowers. "How have you got so many pretty flowers, Peggy?" Darcy asked.

"I work real hard to keep them happy, and they keep me happy, my dear."

She had the best garden in the neighborhood, although you can't see it behind the old raggedy gate. Most people wouldn't even notice after taking a look at Old Lady Peggy's Old Lady house.

"How was you're week Peggy?" Darcy asked.

"It was long, I worked very hard." She sighed,

"Why do you work so hard Peggy?"

"So that I can one day buy my dream car, a blue VW bug!"

"What will you do with you're blue VW bug, Peggy?"

"I will drive it far to go see all the nice flowers outside of this neighborhood. But until then, I will work real hard and enjoy the the little things, like my Apple tree."

Darcy hadnt even noticed the Apple tree. There was a lot of little things all around the garden that hardly anyone would notice. Darcy finished watering the plants and decided to continue in her adventure, giving Old Lady Peggy a big hug before taking off.

Darcy walked down the street, with a huge yellow dandelion in her hair. She stopped in front of Old Man Johnny's house. Old Man Johnny had a huge mansion, with its own basketball court, it's own tennis court and lots of big fancy cars in the front.

Old Man Johnny sat on his porch and made calls on a tiny cellular phone. Darcy walked up to him and asked.

"Old Man Johnny, do you like the dandelion in my hair?"

"Oh, little Darcy, you should take that weed out of your hair!"

Old Man Johnny hung up his phone and stepped off the porch, his fancy shoes clicked and clacked as he trampled through the rose bush in front of him and stared down at little Darcy.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Taking her off of the smooshed roses, she asked kindly. "Would you like to play basketball?"

"No sweetheart, I don't play basketball."

"Would you like to play tennis?"

"No sweetheart, I don't play tennis."

"Well, what are you to do on this lovely Saturday morning?" Little Darcy asked.

"I am going to try to sell one of my cars. Would you like to see my cars?"

"Sure thing Johnny." Darcy happily accepted.

Old Man Johnny took her to his garage to show her his cars. He had several excellent cars.

"Which one are you selling, Johnny?" Darcy asked.

"This old blue VW Bug." He pointed at a gorgeous little car. "It's an old hunk of garbage, sweetheart."

"You dont like it?"

"No, not anymore. I want a new car."

Darcy counted one, two, three, four, five cars, all very different and nice looking. "And how was you're week Johnny."

"It was alright. I worked real hard. But I got to buy a lot of nice things."

"Johnny, why do you need a new car when you've got so many?"

"Sweetheart, you wont understand until you're older, but even if you eat the worlds best steak every night for diner, you get tired of steak."

Darcy said goodbye to Old Man Johnny and he smirked at her and handed her a quarter. "Go get yourself something you'll like." Darcy smiled at him and continued down the road.

At the end of the road she saw an unfamiliar man. He lay in the street, as if he had no care in the world. He was dirty and had hair all over him.

Darcy approached him and asked. "Hello there, I'm Darcy, how are you doing on this wonderful day?"

"Oh, Little Darcy, I'm quite fine. My name is Dirty Dick. You have such a lovely flower in your hair. How are you doing today?"

"I'm great, Dirty Dick!" She smiled. "And what are you doing for you're weekend?"

"Same as I always do, cutie pie, enjoying the air."

"And what did you do this week, Dirty Dick?"

"Well, cutie pie, I did just this."

"No work, Dirty Dick?"

"Sweetie pie, this is work."

"And why do you work, Dirty Dick."

"For this, to enjoy the air."

"And where do you live, Dirty Dick?"

"Well, right here, cutie pie."

He then slid a little bucket her way. She smiled at him and dropped her quarter into it.

"Thank you Little Darcy."

"Thank you Dirty Dick."

It was a wonderful weekend.

Fer me zombie lovaz
Currently listening to: Aesop Rock
You gotta watch this video. blood, guts, tits, hip hop, zombies, even John Darnielle.

memories fight not to fade, i suppose

"I wanna see movies of my dreams. Wanna see it when you get stoned on a cloudy breezy desert afternoon. Wanna see it untame itself and break it's owners."

COINTELPRO (an acronym for Counter Intelligence Program) was a series of covert, and often illegal, projects conducted by the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) aimed at investigating and disrupting dissident political organizations within the United States. The FBI used covert operations from its inception, however formal COINTELPRO operations took place between 1956 and 1971.[2] The FBI's stated motivation at the time was "protecting national security, preventing violence, and maintaining the existing social and political order." [3]

According to FBI records, 85% of COINTELPRO resources were expended on infiltrating, disrupting, marginalizing, and/or subverting groups suspected of being subversive,[4] such as communist and socialist organizations; the women's rights movement; militant black nationalist groups, and the non-violent civil rights movement" such as Martin Luther King, Jr. and others associated with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the Congress of Racial Equality, the American Indian Movement, and other civil rights groups; a broad range of organizations labeled "New Left", including Students for a Democratic Society, the National Lawyers Guild, the Weathermen, almost all groups protesting the Vietnam War, and even individual student demonstrators with no group affiliation; and nationalist groups such as those "seeking independence for Puerto Rico." The other 15% of COINTELPRO resources were expended to marginalize and subvert "white hate groups," including the Ku Klux Klan and National States' Rights Party. [5]

The directives governing COINTELPRO were issued by FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, who ordered FBI agents to "expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, or otherwise neutralize" the activities of these movements and their leaders.

I'm a cliche of a cliche of a cliche of you and everyone you know (Commentary on the 1977-1989 Generation)

Excerpt from "Call them Gen Y: They Deserve Our Attention" by Merrill Associates" It is not surprising to find honor students with green hair and college virgins with four tattoos."

Excerpt from "Millennials: Worst Generation in the Workplace?" by BuisnessWeek "A generation stripped of its competitive and capitalistic background through coddling and technological overkill. They are categorized as rude, poorly mannered, overly tattoo'ed, pierced and lazy. This generation truly has been coddled to believe that everyone else is here to make their job available."

Excerpt from "Millennials – Themes in Current Literature" by Azusa Pacific University, April 24, 2006 "Consequently, enthusiastic self-expression flourishes under the perspective that everyone’s opinion of how they look or act is equally valid. Older Generations cite the explosion of tattoos and piercings as an example of this trend."

Excerpt from "Rise of the Millennials: Why They Know So Much…Yet Understand So Little" by RealTruthMagazine "Theirs is the first generation to grow up surrounded by the modern, “instant gratification” technology of digital media. They have no memory of a world without cellphones, digital cameras, email, text-messaging, instant messaging, personal digital assistants, mp3 players, handheld video game devices, blogs, do-it-yourself Internet videos, online virtual worlds, web browsing—you name it."

On the subject of a normal Millennial "a pimply blonde with streaks of orange, lime and other unnatural colors swirling through her hair, a butterfly tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, and body piercings on parts of the flesh that should never be pierced."

Excerpt from " ’Youthquake’ shakes up electoral politics: Millennials fired up over jobs, health care, and debt" by MobilizeMagazine "The 46-year-old Illinois senator's surprise victory in the Iowa caucuses and close second-place finish to New York Senator Hillary Clinton in the New Hampshire Democratic primary were fueled largely by hordes of twentysomethings in hoodies — the oft-pierced-and-tattooed generation that has come to be known as the Millennials, or Gen Y."

Excerpt from "The Millennials: Generation Enlightened or Generation Lazy?" by The Wall Street Journal "They don’t play by the same set of workplace rules as their boomer parents did. Their sense of entitlement and refusal to follow corporate dictates blindly - not to mention a couple of tattoos or piercings, - make them very different than their colleagues."

Excerpt from "Tattoo Youth" by The Herman Trend Alert "A 2006 Pew Research survey found 36 percent of people ages 18 to 25 had tattoos, while a full 40 percent of those 26 to 40 sported them.

As members of the Millennial Generation will readily share, acquiring a tattoo or body piercing is their way of expressing their individuality and their availability to members of the opposite sex. Tattoo parlors from Brazil to Malaysia have seen an upward trend in business over the last ten years, as the Millennials have come of age and can afford these displays of uniqueness."

Excerpt from "TATTOOS, PIERCINGS, BODY ART AND SMALL BUSINESS TO HIRE OR NOT HIRE?" by Metropolitan State College of Denver "Current statistics on the extent of body art vary but point to an increasing trend in the U.S. and other countries (Matthews, 2008). A medical telephone survey found that 35% of the respondents in the 21- 29 year old age group had tattoos (Price (2007) A Canadian survey found 42% of the respondents either had a tattoo or body. A scientific survey reported in the Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology found that 1 in 4 Americans have at least one tattoo (Lauman & Derick, 2006). Gardner (2007) reports increasing usage by younger workers: over 40 only 10% usage, 26 to 40 years of age 40% usage (a 14 year span) and 33% for18 to 25 years of age (a seven year span).Gardner estimates that 40 million, Americans have tattoos (Gardner, 2007)."

My response

Okay, so there is a lot of stuff I could discuss about Gen-Y. I could even defend us by mentioning what we've endured in our era (Instant gratification, Excessive expansion of technology, Massive Decline in Musical/Artistic Expression, Clinton Sex Scandal, Columbine and school shooting trend, The 2000 Teeny Bopper explosion, Hanging chads and the fall of democracy, 9/11, Bush, Corporate corruption scandals like Enron and WorldCom, The War on Terrorism, International Anti-Americanism, North Korea going nuclear, China and India emerging, the dot-com-boom, Hurricane Katrina, Economic depression, etc, etc, etc). But instead I'm going to focus on how we are perceived, or stereotyped: lazy, tattooed and pierced douche bags with eccentric hair. Unfortunately I think there is some truth to that.

The percentage of the acceptability among peers on the subject of piercings and tattoos has boosted significantly in the last ten years. Almost everyone I know has tattoos and piercings, and we might not admit it, but we feel unique. Unfortunately that makes us statistics. We use piercings and tattoos as a way to be different from our prior generations or to express ourselves and feel like individuals, but instead we've only classified our entire generation as a whole, and so we fail, we have become cliches. We are not counter culture, we are current culture.

Well, fuck it, I'm okay with that. It's reassuring to know, statistically, that I'm not the only one who gets shit constantly from my workplace about how i look.

I can't blame us when our country and our era never gave us anything to live for, I BELONG TO THE "BLANK" GENERATION! Fuck em, power to my lazy bastard brothers and sisters.

Here's some fun facts about us

• 97% own a computer
• 94% own a cellphone
• 76% use instant messaging
• 15% of IM users are logged on 24 hours a day/7 days a week
• 34% use websites as their primary source of news
• 28% author a blog and 44% read blogs
• 49% download music using peer-to-peer file sharing
• 75% of college students have a Facebook account
• 60% own some type of portable music and/or video device such as an iPod
• 90% have had premarital sex (This is awesome)

Take a wild guess on the one thing all these slang terms are used to describe?

Hot Pocket, Tunnel of Love, Peach Fish, Rubyfruit Jungle, The Pink Panther, Countess Olenska, Muffy McMufferson, Tang, Nappy Dugout, My Barbie Doll, The Capt'n Chair, Pink Slip, Lady Doodiddle, Boner Graveyard, Patsy Incline, Thigh Master, Cruelty Free Fur Muff, [INSERT NATIONALITY] Sausage Casing, Lil’ Miss Muffet, The Center Ring At The Three Ring Circus, Pandora’s Box, Wizard Sleeves, Queenie,Coochie-Snorcher, Hoo-Ha, Your Breakfast, Man's best friend, Man's worst enemy,

Memories fight not to fade, I suppose...

as much as we sometimes hate feeling, we love to feel,
im no sadomasochist, but i like to make things worse for myself,
we all like to listen to miserable music when we're miserable,
kind of strange, aint it?
my current fix, the ever so appropriate "Album of the Year" by The Good Life

Currently Listening to: The Good Life

dickheads with tattoos in business suits screaming "warfare!"

"One stair. Two stairs. Three stairs go spiraling. At best a cracked head will stop your smiling. Playful blood streams talking and smirking."

A Ponzi scheme is a fraudulent investment operation that pays returns to separate investors from their own money or money paid by subsequent investors, rather than from any actual profit earned. The Ponzi scheme usually entices new investors by offering return other investments cannot guarantee, in the form of short-term returns that are either abnormally high or unusually consistent. The perpetuation of the returns that a Ponzi scheme advertises and pays requires an ever-increasing flow of money from investors to keep the scheme going.

The system is destined to collapse because the earnings, if any, are less than the payments. Usually, the scheme is interrupted by legal authorities before it collapses because a Ponzi scheme is suspected or because the promoter is selling unregistered securities. As more investors become involved, the likelihood of the scheme coming to the attention of authorities increases. While the system eventually will collapse under its own weight, the recent example of Bernard Madoff powerfully illustrates the ability of a Ponzi scheme to delude both individual and institutional investors as well as securities authorities for long periods: Madoff's variant of the Ponzi Scheme stands as the largest financial investor fraud in history committed by a single person. Prosecutors estimate losses at Madoff's hand totalling $64.8 billion.

If this is what Wallstreet is all about, i gotta buy a suit!

Tuesday in New York the State Supreme Court held a hearing against Bernine Madoff. Madoff is a BAD MOTHA FUCKA, thats right! A once multi-millionaire, financier, and Chairman of the NASDAQ stock exchange, he now spends his nights in a federal prison in North Carolina.

Madoff defrauded thousands of investors of billions of dollars by turning his wealth management business into a Ponzi scheme. He's been doing this since the 70's and his offices were infamous for their day to day partying. Insiders (investors and employees) referred to the place as the "North Pole" in reference to the massive amount of cocaine being snorted and smoked through out the offices.
Not only were his insiders aware of his mischievousness, not only did his employees contribute to it by going out on "drug runs", but major financial institutions, including KPMG, the Bank of New York and JP Morgan Chase, were aware that Madoff was transferring stolen funds to a foreign bank account. He used these funds to buy yachts and Bentleys. His offices were non stop orgies. The company parties had topless entertainers, all kinds of drugs, hookers, i mean the whole nine yards - double sided dildos and all, employees fucked all over the place. Stolen investors money paid for all of this, even Madoffs daily masseuses. Yeah...daily...

Madoff was convicted of operating a Ponzi scheme and defrauding thousands of investors. He pleaded guilty in March to 11 counts, including fraud, money laundering and perjury, and was sentenced to 150 years in prison. Prosecutors have said it was the largest investor fraud ever committed by a single person, totaling billions in losses to investors.
This guy bankrupt the rich, so that he could have cars, boats, planes, and every day of his life he got massages and blowjobs while he snorted coke off his big fancy desk. He did this for thirty years. He's now 71 years old and he's got 150 years of prison to go. In my opinion, living that life for thirty years is worth the next fifteen years in prison he's got before his heart aint going to kick right no more. This is whats happening in Wallstreet, everyday, this is whats happening behind the curtain.

Artists dont have enough money to buy paint, musicians can't pay for strings and I dont even have enough money to buy a pack of smokes...

I found this article to be quite entertaining and thought provokingI addded the picture, I found it appropriate.

“Everyone with a tattoo has their bullshit reasons behind it; You always want to live by a religious philosophy you briefly learned about in your eastern cultures class, you want to honor that guy you spent a fateful spring break with, you want everyone to know you’re hard to touch, hence the barbed wire on your bicep. While none of us want to admit it, most of the mental preparation done before getting a tattoo is figuring out what you’re going to say when people ask you what your ink symbolizes. You want to be deep. You want to be profound. You spend months crafting the beautiful soliloquy that will give insight to your masterful epidermal tapestry. But most of us are dumb and only profound in the way that a Zach Braff movie is profound. Every tattoo explanation I’ve ever heard (including my own) comes off as a cover story for the real reason we get tattoos: they are awesome. You can philosophize all you want, but deep down we know that the reason we brave ridicule from our friends, lectures from our parents, and potential inker’s remorse is so we can look cool in a tank top. But few people will admit this is the case. Most stand proudly by their tattoos and their vague, cryptic, undertones. The trickiest part of this whole equation is that we’re all getting older, and that one day we’re going to have grandkids asking about the muddy purple spots on our forearms and lower backs. Just take a second and imagine your own grandmother, just finishing setting the table for a delicious Thanksgiving feast, saying that she got Death tattooed on her shoulder blade because she always wants to remember that the Reaper’s on her back, man. Now imagine your grandfather, sporting Bermuda shorts and an oxygen tank, saying he got this piece done on his chest because Fall Out Boy is “fucking awesome.” Hilarious right? Gaze into your future, American youth. ” — Johnny Highland

They call it a pecker-"head" for a reason

Although i hide him beneath some withered boxers and a tightly shut zipper. My cock is not something I hide. I am my dick. All of our actions are driven by our sexual organs, my main vein takes the reins on my entire existence.

Give it a chance to think about it. I believe that everything that we are is all based on what we want to fuck. We dress a certain way, talk a certain way, act a certain way because we are attracted to that kind of person or seek sex with someone who would be attracted to that kind of person. This even applies to our belief system and how we look at the world. If you're looking for a nice-stay at home-take care of my children-normal gal -with no dirty sexual experience, you probably attend Church regularly.

This even applies to where we work, how much money we make, and what we buy. You want a girl whose into muscle cars, you buy a muscle car, you want a little high maintenance but appallingly beautiful dime piece, you drive a Bentley and buy her diamonds. This isnt something that just up and started, we have always been that way, it's how we're programmed as animals. The girl or guy you liked in middle school, you unintentionally reinvented yourself to fit what you think would attract them.

In some cases it's not even someone you've ever seen or met, it could be an icon. For instance, if you think Brad Pitt is into wild girls, you're gonna be a wild girl. Unfortunately my love for punk isnt going to actually get me in the sack with Courtney Love, Nancy Spungen or Kathleen Hanna. But I hope for the best.

Yeah yeah yeah...I know, you can argue you all you want. This idea does make you seem kind of shallow and unoriginal, but hey, even you're idols are the way they are because they wanted to fuck that category of pussy. This is another reason why people tend to change so much, no matter how perverted we are, we all get more perverted and over time, with experience and life, we all change the "type" of person we wanna get all up in the guts with.

Here's a strange but relevant example, think about the way you've progressed in watching porn over the years. I mean let me speak for myself. When I was younger, I used to catch as much porn as I could, as did most confused thirteen year olds with their doors locked, scanning the Internet for clips of free porn. Back then, what I got was what I got and that would do it for me. Over time, I started to dip my toes into kinkier and kinkier stuff, started looking into "specifics" in my viewing material. Don't judge me for for putting my cards on the table, I'm no worse than you guys. We're all pervies, anyway, somehow, now i can't get my dick hard unless I'm watching something nasty, dirty and hardcore, you know what I'm talking about, the good stuff. Examining the space between these time periods, I've realized my perversion and kinkiness has always been and still is directly related to how I've prowled for pussy and what "type" of sexual counter part gets my junk in a vice grip.

Due to me growing as a person, and acquiring my sexual habits or "kinks" over the years, my type has been finely molded into something that mirrors myself, a kind of sweet on the outside, hardened bitch on the inside, a freak in the sack that practically hates everything but is still somehow capable of tolerating me and I am of her. I mean, let me get real for a second, I'm not the type that will ever buy you a diamond ring, but I'll treat you damn good, cook you a mean diner and give you a little pearl necklace if thats what you're into, as long as you let me pull your hair out, choke you a bit and give you a little slap on your ass.

I'm not sure how this article here has transcended into this. I'm pretty sure there was a point I made somewhere in there. Anyway, there's nothing like exposing you're sexuality to the public eye via Internet. It's not my fault that no one else wants to talk about it (maybe it's cause they dont wanna hear about it, meh, fuck em).

my best friends call me a creep., also, if you dont get the pearl necklace joke....seriously go choke on a dick

Worthy words from a wise man: Kerouac

Currently listening to: Crass

Added note: So...I very rarely do anything for my lunch break at work. I usually chain smoke for an hour and get coffee next door. But today I decided to go to the quad to get some actual food. I'm very glad I did, because coincidentally the day I actually walked to the quad I got to catch a live performance of Beach House for free, an entire 45 minute set. It was awesome.