washed up poetry mops and videos bout burbank cops

so i guess there is a burbank based web show thats a parody of typical "confessional" shows, this is the kind of stupid mindless shit i end up finding when killing time at work. i put everything off until the last hour and then crank it out real quick, that gives me 8 hours of nothing to do.......sitting on my computer, my facebook on idle, hidden under ten screens somewhere. my life is so fucking boring at work, social networking is actually starting to be entertaining. hey, maybe i can use it to get laid.

anyway, here's a little video, its fucking dumb


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and heres a little poetry ive written here and there in the last couple weeks, ive already posted it on facebook, but whatever...

excite me (2010) ©

its as simple as cigarettes,
you can change em up all you want, but they all taste like shit.
bodies are bodies, sex aint nothing but sex,
different authors with the same content.
funny how when you get what you want,
you just want more.
i dare you to give me something new, or atleast try,
cause nothing really excites me anymore.
even my obsessions, my fantasies,
they are only picture perfect because i havent been given the chance to fuck it up.
like that girl who got away,
once i'll get inside i'll find that it was nothing but another comfortable crevice of flesh.


1/12/10 3:16 PM Ronald Reagan Hospital / one of the downfalls of working next to a hospital © (2010)

bickering beneath my breath about the bosses argument
sickened by the mess, told to straighten up my desk.
it brought memories of mother knockin' at my teenage door,
and its windex, towels, dividers, oh, what a fucking chore.
thought i'd cleansed myself of cleaning by quitting my last get,
so i validate a little break and go to where the smokers met.
giving dirty looks to the shining sun, i joined the doctors maids,
lit up a smoke and got close to them hospital ash trays.
held out a handkerchief for a hiccupping young lady,
she told inbetween her tears about how she'd lost her baby.
felt so bruised that i had to go and bought myself a coffee,
the heavy hearted cashier's hours had clearly gone by awfully.
oh how we felt like simple slaves to industrial clocks,
as we timed our breaks and counted through the weary hour blocks.
but i couldn't help but fall in love with the ticking highs and lows,
for i'd seen six different sides of things in such a simple prose.

im not looking to get my dick sucked right now, but thanks © 2010

judging by your appearance
i'm nothing like your father
so greet another slob
i'm hardly worth the bother
i'm here because the drinks are cheap
not for sloppy sexual relation
so theres not too much for you to reap
but shity conversation

yeah, your room mate seems like a douchebag © 2010

the echoes of morning dan against the paper thin walls of your apartment;

the monotonous blare of cell phone alarm clocks and the snoozes in between
jingy jangies shakin' with each step --- an orchestrated dance tune of keys bumping nasty
the visceral howl of my morning cough --- kicking out the mucus demons of my smoke consumption
the slamming of the door behind me as routine takes me into the morning cold.
you best get used to it
and yeah...i left the door unlocked

you wanna feel good, I wanna feel good, lets fuck (C) 2010, this writing blows

everybody's talking bout the good old days
back in highschool, when every thing was great,
when we were around so many people,
so many different types of boys and girls, it was easy to meet people, connect, network,
I knew her cause I knew this guy who knew another gal, and now we're all together
but the "now" is my problem, and life aint like a michael cera flick,

I hit the bar or go to parties in an attempt to be social,
and its always the same, a sweaty cramped up mess of horny lonely people and their radiant insecurities,
everyone wants to get fucked
everyone is hoping to meet someone, but we're all so reserved and nervous,
we all get too hung up on the language of attraction and the silly game of you work for this to get that
I use alcohol as a crutch for my awkwardness and then get too drunk to talk, then I'm stuck with the end of the stick, the last of the leftovers,
Might even score big and get to fuck a nameless girl in the bathroom,
but right when I think I've dragged her in and sealed the deal, she's on another's arm,

she was just testing out the space,
getting different tastes,
and I wasn't for her,
at that time,
for someone else looked a little better
at that time
even when I think I'm last resort, she's off to greener pastures,
and then he tosses her away because she's too engaging,
but I respect her more than anyone else, and do not deem her a slut, but simply an outrageously honest person
she was the only one strong enough to show off her emotions, not afraid to tell everyone what everyone's thinking
"please god, one of you fuck me, I want to feel good and so do you"

and I'm out on the street, oh los angeles,
every person I look at looks the other way and when they look at me I do the same,
we catch eyes for just a little second and then you're gone, you coulda been my soul mate,
If I manage to sneak in a little smile in that beautiful moment of our eyes connecting, you'll probably take it the wrong way,
"look at this creep checking me out, giving me those eyes, gross bastard"
the only people that stop to talk to me are crack heads and the homeless
I feel bad for them, all their social interaction is in monetary exchange,
but I don't feel too bad because my situation is becoming more and more similar,
when my life is nothing but buses and offices, old people and their discrimination,
I'm so disconnected from any relevant connection of like minded people in my age group, I almost give up on meeting people all together,

so I sit in my room
where I spin records all day,
fantasizing that there might be one gal who would be content getting drunk and bickering about our bitterness, while we spin records and fuck,
it's nobody I know, and I don't know how or where to find em
what do I do, go to a record store and try to pick up chicks?
try to engange in conversation at that exact moment that i give you that look and that smile when we've accidently locked eyes
only to have you look the other way and stare down at your records, or pull out your phone and pretend to text message,
I cant blame you, I do it too, but I wonder, are you a little bit as curious as I am but just too afraid to make a move?
are we all just that weak or is it just myself and my insecurity I need to conquer?

for now I give up
I just sit in my room,
where I spin records all day,
having arguments with mirrors, staring long enough at myself to find something new to hate,
where I'll drink and bicker about my bitterness and complain out of boredom about how I should go out and be social
maybe I'll even get up and go out, and repeat the cycle,
sit at the end of a bar by myself or go to a party and get so drunk I cant talk,
hoping there might be some outrageously honest person who might be vulnerable enough to try something new,
fuck it,