my pistol doesnt shoot, it just kinda drips...all over my sheets, when i pull out of you.

the black sheets of my twin bed
coated in a fog of sex strains and cigarette ash
my pistol doesn't shoot, it just kinda drips
all over my sheets, when i pull out of you
i cant help but wonder
out of insecurity, out of curiosity
am i defect?
are my little soldiers weak
lazy maybe
procrastinators like me?
unable to make it to their mark
i hope so
because i dont think of baby names
because i dont plan on having babies
but i still cant help but wonder
was it all the drugs through puberty?
was it all the times i was kicked in the nads?

when i think back on puberty
when i think back on my younger self
i almost cant believe that shit
im surprised i didnt try to kill myself multiple times
i cant imagine what it must had been like
to walk by me in the halls

i feel ugly
all the time
but back then
i think there may had been some truth to it
of course
im sure i was probably to blame
not just the hormones
if i wanted to do something about it
i should have

doing lots and lots of drugs
took care of the weight
made me feel like skeletor
but not as cool as skeletor
in fact
it made me feel uglier about myself
because it wasnt about appearance

before i got laid
i used to think my penis was deformed
hormone deficiency
ran in my family
my sister was never able to develop tits properly
she had to get operations to even them out
and i used to think
i had a tiny baby penis
i used to tell everyone i know

it was nice knowing my penis isnt deformed
still not huge
but not deformed
or atleast ive been convinced
by filthy cunts!!!
whom ive loved

even when ive got women frequenting my bed
my black stained sheets
i still feel ugly
afraid
even though i act like an asshole
and slap em around
try to show them im in control
i still feel
weak
tiny
a boy
who looks ridiculous
has a deformed penis
cant write for shit

dan
the pseudo intellect
the pseudo writer
the pseudo bohemian
the pseudo vegan
the pseudo punk
the pseudo romantic
the pseudo comedian

GET OVER YOURSELF FAGGOT!!!!

im so alternative....

im so alternative....

that i started a new band and got signed within twenty minutes of thinking of the name (FUCK YEAH TWITTER),

it's a post-pop punk lo-fi shoegaze neo mccarthyism indie nu-folk techno-breakbeak-grindcore dub, power trio!

its like 80s hardcore had a threesome with tom waits and devandra banhart during the early 2000 pop explosion and then had an abortion at a hospital in silverlake where sonic youth played on tour with built to spill, and then that aborted fetus survived, because it was saved by the members of blind melon,

but then when it was walkin the streets of hollywood, it got finger banged by bon jovi while robert smith watched and jacked off while he talking on the phone to dolly parton who was at that very moment de-virginizing morrissey while listening to the Cars,

and then afterwords, the aborted fetus got married to devo and black sabbath attended the wedding, and then devo and the aborted baby had a baby that looked like a deformed lady gaga but had the voice of george harrison and the fingers of joni mitchell....

but before the baby got to the age of three it was eaten by a pack of black metal hypnotized wolves in norway, who then ate synthasizers and puked them up onto wu tang clan.

and thats what it sounds like

yeah, the records coming out soon, but it only comes out of 5" vinyl and vhs tape, better get it quick, its limited to 3.


tweet you later, brosef

romantic drunks drunk on drunken romance

it only takes three drinks
for me to fall in love
but it takes
months and months of winter
sweating underneath a mountain of sheets
with a bottle of something heavy
against my lips
to recover
from love

and so i cling to the gutters
and the alley ways
on that side of the tracks
where love aint found
a deadbeat whose dead beat
i hide beneath the dirt
and find comfort in the dead

uptown, downtown, underground via metro
looking for something to snack on
complex, dirty, untamable
deadbeats who are dead beat
the type
that doesn't want to know your name
and wont whisper
baby
in your ear

up, down, and sloshed on drink
looking for something to hold onto
instinct drops as we fall from the barstool
intuition becomes a lost puppy
and splashes with loud expression
against the bottom
of the wishing well

and so i let go
of that fear
and whisper
baby
in a sirens ear

drunk on it
for that sweaty moment
only to be revived
between dawn and the tick of the clock where cars start piling up on the freeway
then its
pants, socks, shoes and shirt
peck on the cheek
soft enough not to wake

and so i let go
of whatever feeling it was
and its
uptown, downtown, underground via metro
clinging to the gutters
and the alley ways
on that side of the tracks
making my way
back to that mountain of sheets

boy, you're going to carry that weight, carry that weight for a long time

when i was 14
i crippled my father
i still carry that weight
every day

life isnt simple, but atleast i can write simple

wounded dog
hardly making it
wobbling on three legs
playing defense
out of fear

got a steak
wants it
makes him salivate
makes him warm
but knows dog food
is safe

counter intuitive
trying to be a man
afraid and hungry
not ready
to hurt again
or be hurt
he's only got so many legs
and he can hardly stand

trying to convince himself
that its best to be an asshole
he wants to be a man
boast about football
and leave her bed in the morning

he bites and barks
cause he wants to bury the real one inside
the wounded dog
hardly making it
wobbling on three legs
the weak one
the sap
the romantic
the poet
the bitch

counter intuitive
he wants to be a man
playing defense
out of fear

but this steak
makes him salivate
makes him warm
and so
even though
he knows dog food
is safe
he's going to eat the steak
stop playing defense
stop trying to be a man
and be himself
the three legged dog

and he'll wobble on those three legs
no matter how much pain there is
to curl up next to that steak
and use those words
that scare him so