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.

i will cut off the horns of all the wicked

oldies


Pearblossom

Yeast tickles my belly and the desert grinds in my teeth,
Callused toes to the metal carve routes between us,
But the breadcrumbs float as the wind clouds pummel across the empty pavement I leave behind me,
I float on rubber and lose you in the distance, but this euphoria of love is blind,
No different than our freedom, we make the mistake of believing we can word it,
But it never was there and never will be, even though we feel it clenched within our fingers.
It can’t be lost when we’ve never really had it,
Freedom has come and gone and love is but a loose string in the cobwebs of our needy imaginations,

untitled number two thousand and fifty three

clocks are getting carpal tunnel, hung up on the same routine
the sun will do about anything to be unseen,
greys sick of being grey, envious of black and white,
greed wants to sleep for just one night,
carpool lanes are looking for lawyers cause they just want to be alone,
and girls on the cover of magazines try so hard just to be unknown,

yeah, dude, totally, i know, i feel you on that, dawg! (a.k.a WHY?)

we're lost in a spacious sea of broken communique,
you know what im saying, no, you dont, i never knew what you meant,
what is it that gravitated us toward eachother?
why is it that we approached one another to talk, what cosmic bind gave us the will to acknowledge one another?
why do we chose the friends and lovers we have chosen?
why do we act how we do, dress and eat the way we do?
what was that first influence that made us come to be everything we are?
Al bundy from married with children...?

i was never a judge of cuisine, but you put a bad taste in my mouth,

a belly full of spirits, we met on the edge of the river,
she danced in peach painted panties and asked for my hand,
our hips collided, her hair smelt of tangerine and i couldnt help but quiver,
she pulled me in and my feet swaggered desperately to the band,
she spoke such sweet words, it'd be a christian crime to recite,
the clouds rushed to part, just to catch a glimpse,
and the sun snuck a peak in the darkest of the night,
one second passed and we were underwater,
i had forgotten how to swim and so we dog paddled,
in moments i had declared myself her martyr,
i told her, even the wildest of horses can be saddled,
but she wouldnt have it, she whispered secrets in my ear,
but she held my head under and i never got to hear,

Anyone can be on tv nowadays, but fuck that, they're going to put me in books

the lucid liquid of control drains through the sieve of my shattered fingernails,
a blanket of security is torn from the grasp of a vagrant child,
i've managed to stitch up a wound, but with one healing, more begin to infest the beaten tomb of my body,
i shutter, to shake the demon's from my shoulder, and my imperfections take a cruel turn and steal one of my eyes,
I do not give up, i drag this withered cyclops through the mud, using my elbows to pedal toward a far off light,
Even when my legs have given up on me, I crawl,
Regrets, regrets, fuck them
I'm not one to stay buried, i claw my way out through the muck,
I always said it all falls apart,
but i never thought it would happen to me,

water under the bridge can create tsunamis

"Well, the earth died screaming while I lay dreaming, dreaming of you. Well, hell doesn't want you and heaven is full."

The Florence Nightingale effect is a psychological complex where people who are entrusted with the care and well being of vulnerable patients begin to form a romantic attraction and often erotic attraction toward their charges. Medical workers, such as nurses, are typically at risk, and it is a form of psychological countertransference. The effect can also occur in patients who see medical workers as their protector and then develop feelings for them. It was named after nursing pioneer Florence Nightingale

alcohol and sleeping pills/planes trains and automobiles

i'm losing my will to do anything, it's becoming hard to write, im just so tired, all the time. i'm pressing forward though and forcing myself to keep doing this blog thing. it's therapeutic, its not about who reads it or if it even gets read, i make em extra lengthy not because i want to expose people to copious amounts of information, but because i need desperately to write. the current events stuff is a cop out because i'm too unmotivated to write anything completely originally anymore.

"I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset. Although I'm so tired, I'll have another cigarette."

the puzzle pieces of my new life are starting to come together. I'm getting used to not having a car or someone to drive me around, adjusting to public transport.

Also i've started moving into my new place. Moving in and out of places pretty much sucks. There's a lot that comes with it you wouldn't normally put together until you're actually doing it. As you pack your shit you get weird waves of memory and nostalgia, everything that you've held onto this long seems to have so story, some significance.

But when i carried the boxed items to my new location and examined the space i'm working with, i realized i'm a pack rat. then it was time for the next step, getting out the trash bags and seeing things for what they really are. memories are memories, junk is junk.

the reality sucks, but its the truth. the excessive amount of things we have dont really matter, they dont make us who we are. and sure, you got that when you were 16 at a carnival and it was a great time you wanna remember, but do you really need it?

i think we collect things and buy things to put around us as a shrine to ourselves, as a way to feel accomplished, we put trophies up from things we did when we were nine to remember "hey i once did something" and we surround ourselves with cool expensive gadgets so we feel like we worked hard for our money. but none of these things define us. They don't make us who we are. I've realized, i could live without anything. We all can. We're more than what we've bought, we're a little more than what we've been sold

everything has been so exhausting lately. buses suck, especially getting on one at 6:30 am when its so crowded its hard just to find a place to stand.

not to mention being a fucking insomniac. there's nothing that brings forth as much self loathing as the mental struggle of cursing myself to sleep when i know i cant, tossing and turning in bed, begging myself to fall asleep so i can wake up so early enough to get to work on time. I dont know what else to do but take sleeping pills and drink. only problem is, this remedy will make me sleep but makes it that much harder to get out of bed.

but by far the most annoying thing of the morning routine is bus buddies. i hate people, i dont want to talk to anyone, and i hate small talk even more. i try my best to avoid human contact, and the bus is no exception, but no matter how smug i act, people really like to spark up conversation with me.

it all starts with that first, intrusive question, the ice breaker. lately its been, "where'd you get those tattoos?" and "so you go to UCLA?"

Normally, i do my best to give short and to the point answers, avoid eye contact and physically show my lack of interest in conversation. But on occasion, when i'm feeling a little easy, i have fun with it. one of the better things about public transportation, like on the train, or on a plane, even in a cab with the cab driver, is that you can always make shit up.

you get to create new identities and tell stories and act out a character. it's really quite fun, i've had good ones on air planes, cause you're stuck next to someone for so long. when i started doing this at bars, i realized, everyone at bars is always playing out a character, its part of the aesthetics of going to a bar.

slash one throat, possibly kill millions

Last week UCLA was put on lock down. I wasn't allowed to leave the office. News was soon relayed to my department that there had been a stabbing in the chemistry lab. My department was notified very quickly, because it was up to us to put a purchase order out on a crime scene clean up crew.

It was one of the exciting moments in my dull afternoon, i got to call around to get a crew to come in and clean up the blood.

A student, Damon Thompson was charged with attempted murder in the stabbing of a fellow student who was a female. She is in critical but improving condition at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center across the street from where my office is location.

The whole office was in panic to get the situation taken care of, everyone was rushing around and acting crazy. It helped secured my feelings on such subjects. It was incredibly uninteresting to me. And while everyone was so concerned about the young girl, my thoughts were more on the attacker.

I just couldn't help but wonder, what he could of been. I can kind of understand, when under lots of pressure and fueled with adrenaline, how one could go red, lose sight of all things and become a primal animal. Get lost in a second and make one bad move that changes their entire lives. For some, its slashin a bitches throat. I can't imagine the feeling that comes after you do it, the terrifying overwhelmed guilt of "i fuck up." That tiny moment dictates the rest of your existence.

But for a kid going to UCLA and working in a chemistry lab I can help but wonder what he could of done for society. What if this kid, who will be known as a psycho forever, could of created something that would have changed the world. Cured aids or cancer or made a dope psychedelic drug?

It sucks to know that smart people are still human enough to make dumb decisions.

"Had a friend, she once told me you got love, you ain't lonely. Now she's gone and left me only lookin' for what I knew."

So sure, I enjoy alcohol. I enjoy drinking a forty while i shit, sipping vodka in the shower, packin a flask for the bus, waking up to wine, drinking beer in the afternoon and taking night caps with scotch. Even the novelty of paying too much money to sit on a barstool and becoming a "know my name" regular at the liquor stores.

Alcohol is a psychoactive drug that has a depressant effect that reduces attention and slows reaction speed.

I mostly enjoy alcohol because it keeps me from thinking, takes my attention off things, pushing them down in my belly for the time being. This of course sucks, because eventually all the bullshit boils over, but i also handle that explosion with my hands wrapped around a bottle. A drunken cry of releasing all the bullshit is actually a little better than soberly destroying your entire room or snapping and slicing your friends throat.

Anyway...Couple nights ago I got a visit from my oldest friend of 12 years. I was sitting outside chain smoking and chasing jack daniels with redstripe when he proceeded to drop a fucking anchor on my head.

He told me I was a drunk and that i was hurting the people around me. My argument was, I'm in a hole right now. I tried to explain to him that times were tough and this was my self medication. He then retorted with something along the lines of, "you're always in a hole. It's one hole to the next." Of course I can't quote him exactly, because i was drunk. He then got up and left, leaving me with a bottle of beer in one hand and whiskey in the other, a dumbfounded grin and a shit storm of emotions.

I'm still trying to digest this experience...there's a whirlwind of feelings involved. dont really know what to do and how to feel. what would we do without friends, huh?

Currently Listening to: Young Widows

assorted rantings and ramblings of the disgruntled

"And I hate to break your little heart, but chaos definitely ain't you. No matter what the shirt says. Buy a book. Read up. I'm on every page"

Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in abducted hostages, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger or risk in which they have been placed. The syndrome is named after the Norrmalmstorg robbery of Kreditbanken at Norrmalmstorg in Stockholm, in which the bank robbers held bank employees hostage from August 23 to August 28, 1973. In this case, the victims became emotionally attached to their captors, and even defended them after they were freed from their six-day ordeal.

stranger die everyday

I work across the street from a hospital, and it just so happens to be the closest and cheapest place to eat. everyone in my building goes over there for snacks. every morning i go into the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee or an espresso. maybe something little like a banana, and on "hung over as fuck days" i'll get gatorade, orange juice and a breakfast burrito to settle my stomach.

i wait in line, then get rung up by my cashier. we chat, we see each other every day so we have that friendly "im a regular" relationship. then i find a place to down, eat and then go out front for a smoke.

ever so often when i smoke and drink my coffee out front, i get confronted with the reality of the place being a huge hospital, UCLA medical.

Monday through Friday, i live out my boring normal every day routine of no significance. And yet every day, someone right around me, maybe even someone i saw in the cafeteria or smoked a cigarette with outside is having their life turned upside down. Every day people's lives are effected dramatically in a way they will never forget and i will never understand, right in front of me and around me as i buy a cup o joe.

people dont go to hospitals to hang out. for some people, this day is the most important day of their lives, they're having a baby. and for others, a day they'll never forget, the day they lost a limb or a family member, and for others, it will be the last day they remember.

it just trips me out, that every time i'm there living out my routine, someone elses life is being changed forever and the only time this hospital effects my life is when celebrities die here(i.e. jackson, fawcett) and cause traffic jams and media mix ups.

I took a shot of cocaine and i shot my woman down

Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger went hack and slash on California and dropped nearly 500 million dollars from the revised budget passed by Legislature. $20.4 million of that was allotted to the program for domestic violence shelters and agencies that offer domestic violence services. The proposed budget from Legislature was for a 20% reduction in state funding for domestic violence services, but using his veto authority Schwarzenegger cut 100% of the budget. This eliminated ALL of the state funding for shelters.

Everyone was ready for the 20 percent cut, but no one with a clear conscience could have predicted a cut of 100 percent of funding for services that aimed directly at keeping women and children safe.

Nonprofit organizations committed to serving the needs of all domestic violence victims and their children regardless of ethnicity, citizenship, language, religion, physical disabilities, sexual orientation, gender identity or HIV status are now being forced to close, and dozens of them have laid off staff and cut services.

In 2008, 166,343 cases of domestic violence where reported. Key word "reported", domestic violence is the largest unnoticed crime in America. In this horrible time for California, an unlikely character came into the spot light and donated a large sum of cash to the cause.

On September 30, 2009, mother fucking Moby donated the proceeds of his three California tour dates to help that state's struggling domestic violence shelters. Moby said that he "wanted to make his donation in a way that would ensure that the funds had a statewide impact." “I've decided to give all of the revenue from my upcoming California shows to the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence,”

“My hope is that by doing this I will enable domestic violence prevention workers to continue their work, and also encourage other people to step in and help raise funds for domestic violence prevention and care. Domestic violence is equal parts prison and torture for many women, and my sincere hope is that we can step up and help to protect women in California and end domestic violence.”

well...i dont know what else to say. fuck yeah moby.


blah blah heres something from way back when, some real "fuck my parents" bullshit, prolly freshman year

Cacophony ©
Chastised and suppressing it with closed eyes,
A subconscious defense running through the bloodstream, naturally developed to withhold the regime,
Easier to bare, hacking the tirades into one monotone blare, like a speaker blown out from excess,
Keep singing all you want I wont bother to stress,
So overplayed its become tradition, the hammering of the hand, the bass snapping these walls into a dancing submission, retaliate to the demands,
Shake all you want, the lyrics lost their novelty when you turned them into psalms,
For this tattered flesh has seen its share and can turn the volume dial,
Muddling through for we must, these players in the band bound to us by something as shallow as a hint of blood,

Featured Artist: Fairweather
i love that artist and miss him so.


Currently Listening to: Son Lux

coffee, cigarettes, my sickness, my face

"and you wonder why i drink? i wonder why we're not all drunks, sunk in our dumps where nothing changes."

Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism which is written subjectively, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative. The style tends to blend factual and fictional elements to emphasize an underlying message and engage the reader. The word Gonzo was first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavors.

Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over accuracy and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the 'polished' edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for the gritty factor. Use of quotations, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and even profanity is common. The use of Gonzo journalism suggests that journalism can be truthful without striving for objectivity and is loosely equivalent to an editorial.

if my younger self saw my older self he'd call him a sell out

I remember going to shows when I was fourteen. Waiting in the long line, smoking cigarettes and being overly paranoid that everyone knew I was stoned or that the cops were going to throw me in jail for lighting up a cigarette.

I got myself as deep as i could in the little but active Burbank Scene, where kids found any fucking place that would take em and trash it. Whether it was a back yard, a house, the cobalt, the CIA, the Vet's hall, The No Future, the Moose Lounge or your run of the mill battle of the bands, we somehow got there and fucked it up.

I'll never forget making my way into the sweaty drunken haze of metal heads and punks who were all in middle school or highschool. Different clicks and genres uniting for one sole purpose; under age drinking, mosh pits, breakdowns, solos and arpeggios.

There was something meaningful about letting loose at a show with all your buddies and feeling the bruises from the mosh pit for the whole next week. I remember coming home with bruises, gashes, a sore throat, my voice shot, drunk, stoned, confused and avoiding all eye contact or verbal exchange with my parents.

Crawling into my classroom the next day staggering in pain. But instead of being pissed about it, i was happier than ever because for once i got to feel alive, to feel like i was apart of something i believed in.

The sea of sweaty bodies, the blown out amps, the horrible timing and mistakes of the bands, the strings breaking, the yelling and fighting. It's something every kid needs.Back then I was used to getting huge X's drawn on my hand by bored bouncers in thick black sharpie. This kept the ages segregated but allowed everyone to enjoy some tunes. It was a win win situation, the kids listen to the music, the adults drink the booze.

I remember going into the bathroom and doing anything I could to remove the intimidating X. The only thing that really got all of it off was pure adrenaline sweat and punk rock.

This freedom just might become a thing of the past. Because of issues with violence and underage drinking, statutory rape and such, the future of all age venues could come to an end. Just a couple years ago Washington DC pressed to have legislation to make all age venues illegal in DC. Of course in stormed Ian McKaye to testify against it, do me a favor and try to ignore his pretentiousness when he starts talking about fugazi, he kinda makes a douche of himself.


the rain clouds have parted and the sun has made it's way back to shun me

having a scratched cornea (drunkenly clawing out contacts 4 years ago) really sucks, it's been extra bad lately and my doctor told me not to wear contacts, so...im stuck wearing glasses so its a pain in the ass to wear sun glasses. sun glasses have been essential in my life, just as one needs food or cigarettes, so living without them has proven to be one hell of a bitch. i hate the sun.

anyway, heard through the grapevine my contract has been extended 6 months. I dont get it, they tell me they know I'm a piece of shit and want to fire me, then tell me they need me 6 more months. whatever, im grateful.

i can't expect anyone to like me, especially when i don't like them. i kind of get off on walking into a quiet office in the morning and turning black flag up real loud.

why is it that no matter how hard we try we often get pulled back to the place that we grew up. im being dragged back to shitty ass burbank. i'll be there in a month.

i've officially gotten a bus pass for the next couple months so i'm currently mobile, thats nice. can't wait to be riding buses and living in burbank...how the fuck did i get to this point in my life? i guess its time to load up on batteries and pull my dusty portable cd player out of it's grave.

here's something else from a while back

Loss Vegas ©

With the breaking of waves and coming of the tide, surfing in came a loose idea,
So up in the sky, it didn’t take much to get them in flight, and off we went,
An end to the night but a beginning to the day, if only we could give these eyes some rest,
For miles and miles of road, we find our noses doing all the work, assholes and ashtrays,
Caged in this box of long woven legs and moccasins, olive carpet kept the toes warm,
The sun comes up as we flee from the top of a desert hill to the eater of human beings,
With Clapton’s at our side, we arrive at this chew-and-boot machine that these sad suckers all buy into,
A dreadful picture, kidnapping these delicate beauties and bringing them to this wretched gutter of a place, luring angels into styx,
Only to leave them high and dry in this hole, with its greasy walls, concrete bed and bobby pin sabotaged wires, I guess this is fucking it!
Come on down and we’ll make it easy, we’ll put the gun in you’re hand and then sell you the bullets,
So we do what we can, stumbling through the masses in search of one white lady, these people make me sick,
So much irony and evil in this place, it’s built to wreck us,
Crossing state lines and taking them down the road, she had told me how she felt,
A lone ranger, a beat up truck, if only she know how much I understood,
The cheese kept us pleased despite its stench and the liquor kept us warm,
Finally in the right place, it’s fine to call it a night, red headed and fast paced but so utterly down, Waking up and knowing where you are,
Fucking vegas…

Featured Artist: Steadman

Currently Listening to: Welcome the Plague Year

I wanna fuck the girl singer...

p.s. all those time you were at the Vet's hall as a kid and you wanted to kill the little prick who spent 5 dollars worth of quarters on the jukebox to play "cathy's clown" on repeat...yeah...that was me.

eat shit

prose on finger pointing paper pushing pussies

"I make my bed, I die in it"

The Impostor Syndrome, sometimes called Impostor Phenomenon or Fraud Syndrome, is a syndrome where sufferers are unable to internalize their accomplishments. It is not an officially recognized psychological disorder but has been the subject of numerous books and articles by psychologists and educators.

A traitor amongst us / Mutiny at the University

my covers been officially blown, turns out it's been blown for awhile, i was just too dumb to see.

I'm a double agent, a day time impostor; practicing the art of deceit at UCLA by playing the role of hard working office man when all I'm really doing is what I've always done. Fucked around and tried to stay under the radar just enough to slide by doing as little as humanly possible. And when I clock out, the mask is tucked away for the morning and i embody the hard drinking, mean spirited, stubborn smuck i really am.

Turns out I'm not so good at being a double agent. According to an inside source, I.E a co-worker, my boss knows I'm a fuck up. Always has, she's actually been spying on me and monitoring my computer the entire time I've worked here. In which I've done countless things against regulation including writing this blog, at this exact moment.

Also, everyone in the entire building thinks i'm a little shit, which is true, because I am. They hate how I look and how I act. i can't tell if its that I'm truly just a little dick or that it's not my fault, maybe its a generational thing and i'm just too young for them to understand.

When looking into Generation Y and our common behavior, I feel a little better about being such a douche bag.

From wikipedia: Some employers are concerned that Millennials have too great expectations from the workplace and desire to shape their jobs to fit their lives rather than adapt their lives to the workplace.

They told me to cut my hair, I told them that if i cut my hair they'd see my peircings. So i cut my hair and gauged my ears. The told me to always cover my tattoos, even if its hot outside, i must wear long sleeves. So i wore long sleeves in summer time, but always rolled up my sleeves. They told me I had to take furlough days. So i started taking off fridays. They told me to dress buisness casual. So i wear black jeans and a flannel. So told me i could listen to headphones as long as I only have it in one ear. So i play my music through the computer speakers.

To sum it up, another inside source told me that no one respects me, or really likes me. They think i'm doing minimal work, that i look like a freak, play video games all day, and my personal favorite, that "i just don't get it". That i don't have the "head" for this work. That i need to grow up. Well of course I dont have the "head" for this work. I've never done anything like this is my entire life. What am I good at....being sarcastic (customer service) and cleaning other peoples piss off floors with mops

This is what I always dreamed of having when I thought about growing up. Minimal college experience with no job skills outside of being a janitor. Growing up sucks, so I try to avoid it.

"You're not cut out for this type of work."

i feel like im drowning in a sea of cubicles

I guess I can't complain about people finding out how shitty of an employee I am....Especially when I spend my time doing things like writing in blogs and making silly pictures.

A co worker and I made this one today!

Fuck it, lets get fucked up, below is some stuff thats blatantly about drugs, so, enjoy

dont bogart that joint ©

circles of conversations running in obstactles amongst the population, tiny cities made of circles but they can't seem to tell the circles all they are talking in,
bitter about their freedom they suck at the bitterness of their boxed wine as they bicker about their freedoms,
chopping concepts they dont understand into easy to understand concepts,
blurring the intentional meaning to try and define in simple words the intentions of their repression,
the mans got me down, don't bogart that joint,
recycling the words of reccession and repression to define the peoples depression,
needles to the vein is their expression of angression toward the tyranny,
the passing of smoke and spirits, they dull their spirits in smoke singing songs of revolution,
life's a book and this ones absent of text cause they never stop the song to think about the context,
fuck the man, he's got us all down,
hard to fight a giant when your fighting battles with couches and coughs of marijuana,
slumming yourself but filled with angst about the slum you live in,
praising your supplier but never realizing whose supplying, it's hard to fight the giant when you're it's main buyer,
aint it silly, that the places bleeding with poverty and the dirt cheap property are also flushed with the easiest of posion accessablity?
wallstreet's standing still but it's got it's head turned the otherway as the dollars burn their way into the lined pockets of a suit

Nic Fits and Nameless Streets © (written sophmore year, highschool)

Distorted, estranged and deranged, disoriented in disarray with senses throbbing.
I peddle across the floor in one last attempt for just a little change. Piteous!
Sheltering this bitter feeling in my stomach of hollowness and the need of a friend, I find myself strung out again.
Smug and contorted, I wander lost through labyrinth parking lots, aching for the nicotine fix.
Solely accompanied by the grief-ridden arguments of my consciousness.
Sinning and spinning in this hamster wheel of a cycle.
And when up has reached its end and the low tide rides again, that’s when I find it happening, I find myself breaking into the same old song and dance.
I try to shrug it off and continue in my attempt to bury the regret that I try so fervently to refuse, but I’m overpowered and unable to elude the shroud of the past.
And so like clockwork, a snapshot appears midair in the string of lights fixed up in my skull’s interior.
And I reach back into those words that glided off her tongue when we had last spoke, those etched into my armor like hieroglyphics in stone.
Asking how I’d been, I responded by slothfully arching my back to remove my slouch and cocked up my stubby chin to reveal a gaping mouthful of lies.
Snakes of mendacity slithered through the breaches of my nicotine stained teeth and fell deaf and inert.
She could see right through my frail disguise, reading the open pages of my pupils.
Comedic how it works, the process of coming down; the random memories and archaic sentiment that arise and pierce their way in so deeply under the skin.
And so sprouts the next sequence in this waltz of forcefully being reminded of the worst.
Appearing in the static are those jumper cables of friendship and those four white walls, painted colorless with an entirely new shade of isolation, imprisonment.
Running on empty now and eager to seize the poison score, anything to clear out these thoughts, anything but down!
If only I could remember what I was fighting for, the reasons have blurred to one and lost their meaning.
Simply a warn out engine block dried up and in need of fuel.
I’m trying to do what I can to stay strong.
But complications seem to arise when you know you’re wrong.
Honesty plucking at those strings and letting loose the melodic tune of knowing whose at fault.

Featured Artist : Jacob Bannon

Worthy words from a wise man: Bukowski

Currently listening to: City of Caterpillar