sigh boy i'm clever

2002-07-30T02:19:00.000-04:00

bionic brain rock

can you hop to the bionic brain rock. mad women with mad plastic breasts. watches walking backwards changing time and the events it held. I HAVE NO IDEAS
WRITERS BLOCK
CAN REALLY
MAKE ME
NOT WRITE.

2002-07-30T02:17:00.000-04:00

i dont know where the birds went, but im sure they're happy

when i was a boy i took a
screwdriver and i scraped
the bark off of the tree
in the front yard of my second
house.

the sun always seemed to
stain my eyes, i dont feel
the sun like i used to. its
not as bright. grass stains
raped the knees of the
blue jeans.
the sun doesnt stain my
eyes anymore.

i miss plastic bats.

2002-07-29T05:15:00.000-04:00

i dont know what annoys me, just the normal run of the muck

spacemen dont lie when i lie. cuz i dont lie. goddamnit. fuck writers block.

2002-07-11T02:28:00.000-04:00

a night off on wedensday when i was actually supposed to work.

yeah crystal is still a crotch. i got to see archer prewwit, there werent any sailboats or wood to be varnished. im getting quite drunk now. i got to look at boobies n stuff. and im not really in the mood to be writing shit, so im gonna stop writing shit cuz writing shit right now is kinda lame. i got a headache and im hungry. goodnight.

poop.

2002-06-26T03:31:00.000-04:00

just more bullshit for you to shovel with your tongue

you stumbled on your lies, and shit. shoveling shoes with your self rightousness. we all say im drunk. its been two months since they wore the watches that was given to them on the clear evening of june twenty sixth. lots of heat. heavy breathing, wet washcloths in the freezer, the sex gets less and less, but the blame game is in full swing, and it never reaches the opposite side of the earth. its always in my face in my space. i remembered to forget to remember to forget the phone, it never rings anyway so its alright. you change the codes and passwords without a care about my death. i want to eat as many pills and see what happens. i am those dreadful high school science experiments, that was thrown away a week after completion and presentation. just take a stick and tear that shit out from inbetween those shoes, press it on yr face, and fall asleep. i miss asleep. i wonder what happened to the color blue and its refreshing feeling.

2002-06-26T03:19:00.000-04:00

its so hot outside tonight

its getting so hot these days
our arguments are hotter than the sun
they are as frequent as breath
i try to talk and stumble on your shhh
i slip into bed with you
you seem to mind a bit too much

i put my arm around you and rub you
i kiss you so you know im there
in return you sigh, moan, and wish me away
with the flick of your wrist i crawl to my corner
when i get there you ask me whats wrong
since its not obvious enough i say nothing

it seems like years since ive left
the hot selfish bedroom naked
i slammed the door gently but
loud enough to hope it would grab yr attention
like my feelings, it didnt even phase you.
can you still remember the way we
made love, more than the numbers on a clock
can you still remember me

i know baby, it is so hot out tonight
i tried to try to make you acknowledge me
but it is hot out tonight and im a fool
its hot out tonight and i want to get there

2002-06-20T18:56:00.000-04:00

still i cant

i cant understand you
sometimes.
things are more difficult
sometimes.

we have good times
sometimes.
we have bad times
sometimes.

you miss me
sometimes.
you think about me
sometimes.

you work at a job
sometimes.
you cheat yrself
sometimes.

you loved him
sometimes.
he will be gone
all the time.

2002-06-20T18:52:00.000-04:00

cleo

cleo i saw you
on the new year.

illuminated with
your brothers.

i wish you well
this time of year.

i hope i see you
next christmas.

cleo i saw you
on the new year.

you were riding
the merry go round.

illuminating with
your brothers.

cleo i saw you
on the new year.

you smiled
you waved.

your hair floated
in the cold blue air.

cleo i saw you
on the new year.

illuminated with
your brothers skin.

cleo we missed you
on the new year.

2002-06-15T02:28:00.000-04:00

sometimes you know i never know.

some times you know i never know
when i cant remember a name.
i cant remember why she lies to me
and says shes in love.

sometimes you know i never know
when i forget the simplest things.
how can i forget you when
you are the most difficult thing
in my life.

2002-06-08T02:38:00.000-04:00

a loved ones violence

ive seen her get beat
by the bearded men,
shes lived here and there
she cant find one to love her.

the bearded men were all
pops and crackles,
still they couldnt love her
violating her body and mind
every single night.

she feels filthy and impure
but i know shes a kind
clean soul.
everything should be better
darling,
everything will be alright.

these thoughts are hard to believe
when her bearded men
hunt her in bloodthirsty hunger
every night.

they throb and moan
spit and curse.
she knows things could be better.
when she finds that place
inside her mind.

2002-06-08T02:33:00.000-04:00

a final nights thought

and now it is time for me
to bleed upon you
like shredding flesh
upon yr lovers chest.

i will rain down
over the cities
and under the seas
i will paint her face red
with windchimes.

i see the air move in circles
so innocently i bleed
i see the air move in circles
incoherently we speak.

tangled in yr web of thoughts
we rememberd that night
over the hill and onto the field
i thought we had died
one last time.

2002-06-06T13:01:00.000-04:00

oh jesus christ can you be more of a crybaby?

im sorry did i say jesus? i meant to say jebus. things havent been going as planned but thats okay i suppose. one person in my band in particular (youd know who you are if you read this, is the most pussywhipped sonofabitch i know. not only is his girlfriend hidious, she is one of the most airheaded people i have ever crossed paths with. i think she may even be bulemic. hes selfish. self absorbed. and an assrammer. how lovely. how kind. will you buy me something? will you let me slice you with this razor?
can we eat tortilla chips and salsa off our chests? can we lay in bed nude watching harmonie corrine movies? they are funny movies ya know, i dont understand them but ya know since everyone else says they are good, i guess they are good, and i dont wanna look stupid do i? *sigh* man what happened to you? you used to be a decent fella
you used to hang out. you used to hate her. this was when you were a different person. she spread eagle every orafice in her body, you closed the door to yr friends in the middle of winter. thank you "friend".

mood highly annoyed, aggitated, and i wanna kill a couple people
playlist blah who needs music when you want to kill

2002-02-17T17:43:00.000-05:00

no more simon, but gimme a little bit of garfunkle

hmmm where to begin. how bout the beginning? sure okay. so "beginning", i am sir simon milligan. i am evil and i dont like to write when people are around me. and this keyboard sucks ass. and there are good television shows on right now, not to mention i have nothing to say.

mood pleased as punch to go watch television
playlist who needs music when you have television

2002-02-05T14:24:00.000-05:00

Which Kids In The Hall recurring character are YOU?

2002-02-05T03:12:00.000-05:00

this is when everything swells up

i havent wrote a goddamn thing in a while cuz im just too lazy and rarely have access to this piece of shit. my stomach hurts alot right now and im thinking about shitting in a mouth. so if its rusty, as im sure it will be, dont kill me.....yet.

and she walked into the bar at about ten thirty pee em. as she walked thru the open glass doors, her foot felt loose, and she noticed her left shoe was untied, as she bent over to tie it, a bearded man about the age of thirty three and four months smacked her ass. she fell face first into the floor knocking out one of her upper front teeth. she could taste the salt from the sidewalks outside used to melt the ice and the snow, for a more pleasurable walking experience on this cold lonley february evening. as i stood behind the counter i laughed at her and threw raw meat on her. i fell into a world of glowing stars, diamonds, and large rectangles. geometrical signals sent from the man himself in this dark space. my head slowly fell to the right shoulder, the pupils dilated, and the hands have no feeling. the feet felt a prickly sensation, and the back was like rubber. im a living white gumby. i felt ill. a cold sweat ran over my body, like fully erect mens hands slide up and down a worn out porn stars body. full orgy of sweat, nausea, chills, and visions of death. vomit on the black toilet seat, smashed by football players bowling balls. i came out of this trance five minutes later, and proceeded to cut my hands while chopping onions. crying uncontrollably. when the hell is the boat going to come to pick me up to drop me off at sea. tell me this, will ya?!?!

playlist: vanessas new black dahlia murder cd. how quaint.
mood: fucking lovely, thanks for wanting to know?

2002-01-29T04:11:00.000-05:00

the attention span of a dead man

....................wait...........................................................................................

....................
....................
............................................................................................

rapid fire of excuses.
i have nothing else for you.
goodbye baby, goodbye.

2002-01-29T04:09:00.000-05:00

so just let me talk to myself a little longer

i told them they didnt understand. still, they didnt believe me.

2002-01-29T04:07:00.000-05:00

these are my thoughts

exactly.....................................................!

2002-01-29T04:06:00.000-05:00

worship a worthy cause

hahahaha, no no i dont know about that. just keep dreaming baby.

2002-01-29T04:05:00.000-05:00

and his voice sounded like burnt potato chips on a nineteen eighty seven summer afternoon. boy oh boy that is some foul language you use. im not important and i have nothing intelligent to say

hahahaha, yes i know.

2002-01-29T04:03:00.000-05:00

more idiotic brain candy for what i would like to call "the masses?" im so full of myself, eh?

the young child with the blond hair and the auburn eyes, took the pitcher out of the refrigerator, stepped on the small blue stool by the counter. he began to pour the red kool aid (i dont know what flavor, use yr fucking imagination, im not here to paint a picture, im writing what i wanna fucking write so you pick what flavor it is you greedy shitheel.) strawberry was its flavor. it poured into the cup but somehow fell out of the cup. he put as much kool aid into that cup as how much effort a mexican puts into their job. we all do too much, especially with electricity and wooden paper clips. hold me like that hand holds the fetus. i want to be born again and held into my mothers hand, six weeks premature, slimy, bloody, no breath. just held comfortably dead in my mothers left hand. i dont deserve the right. right? sure. rock n roll at sunday mass. they all look up and think they can see him sittin in his throne. but all they see is a ceiling. all i see are paper receipts, juice boxes, stickers, bottle openers, film, lotion, markers, violence, bad dreams, static, lack of drama, beards, baseball caps, dust, gold, her walking further away from me, sheets of paper with colorful ink splattered in a neat code on them, fingers walking across grey plastic, not attatched to wrists, wrists not attatched to arms, arms not attatched to cars, cars that scream loud, cars that hum softly. everyone always asks where im going, i always tell them i dont know. i dont think ill ever know. when somebody tells me they love me i dont know what to think. maybe i think i think too much, do you think? i think you think i do. oh well, everything is a circle. fuck this, why are you still reading this nonsense, why dont you go beat a cripple.

2002-01-29T03:50:00.000-05:00

"to all of my frequent visitors"

*sigh*
so they finally arrived
in their horse carrages
ford explorers
nice shiney new cars
nice shiney new wood
nice shiney new plastic
horses.

i left a note on the large
wooden door.
"i have left home, and i am never
coming back."
sometimes the knife is
to the throat.
its still too dull to cut.

life cant cut butter.
so they walk, yeah oh boy
they can also talk!!!
they "understand?"
sure they can
comprehend a
simple message
a meaningful conversation.

they never read the note.
they keep knocking,
but are too dumb to realize
to break in, and steal whatever
is left of my soul.

would you?

playlist: fuck music my thoughts are haunting enough
mood: indifferent, scared. (scared of what? i dont know).

2002-01-23T18:42:00.000-05:00

another day
wake up
drove her to work
come home
kiss then sleep
wake up
eat
go to the bar
sit and wait
nothing happened
get in car
pick her up from work
grocery store
return bottles for cash
buy food
come home
cook food
eat food
smoke cigarette
watch an hour of tv
wash dishes
type
words words words words words words words words words
that nobody pays attention to
i still have more time to do this
do you?

playlist: the tee vee in thee other room
mood: sleepy, annoyed

2002-01-22T03:13:00.000-05:00

a thing called love

i love vanessa paulienne jones
yes baby
i love you!

playlist: us sipping miller lite
mood: luckiest boy ever im in love

2002-01-21T20:23:00.000-05:00

lifes all about good times

according to the security guard with the tattoos and a shaved head. but so far all i see is this: lifes all about waking up early in the morning by an alarm clock, showering and washing yr hair with the finest of products to give you that clean scent and extra "bounce" to your illustrious hair, eat a shitty breakfast drink a cup of coffee in fear of being late to the job, driving in your car, shaving on the way, being at work doing this and that answering to somebody you hate. lifes all about calling your wife telling her youre going to be "late in a meeting" while actually yr shagging some other broad. lifes all about cold dinners and sad faces at the table, doing dishes, arguing over bills, changing diapers, washing yr car, doing laundry, taking out trash, scraping ice off car windows, shoveling driveways and walkways, going shopping, getting haircuts, fixing household appliances, yr car breaking down in the middle of a busy intersection. life is all about boring family events, going to terrible movies, having terrible leaders, keepin up with the jonses buying that big screen television. life is about being overweight, eating wrong, sleeping wrong, television, foreign substances to our fragile bodies, going to funerals, watching loved ones die. but still life is all about good times?

playlist the music has stopped now i can hear the television in the other room.
mood: still the same as five minutes ago baby

2002-01-21T20:14:00.000-05:00

i blew a job call me a blowjobber

some people live. some people try. most people fail.
i blew the job off, like a leaf on my pantleg.
i blew the job off, like spilled salt on a table.
everyone dies.
but hey its okay.
at least i tried.
i blew the job off, like long strands of hair in my face.
i blew the job off, like cooling off a toasted marshmallow.
but im still alive.

playlist: god even more gay music
mood: hopless, yet happy!

2002-01-21T01:51:00.000-05:00

seesaws and water on chalkboards

sitting on seesaws spitting at the sun. slow slurred speech. vision is like ashtray. voices are like bugs. bug me while i bug you smasshing small bugs on sidewalks on sunny afternoons, on suburb streets. standing on corners waiting for busses, these are elementary school children, being run over by garbage trucks, just throw them in the back and save some room in the ground for more important people. throw a wink at the mascara wearer beating the ringbearer at dusk. empty smashed beer cans on the cars dashboard, cases of cashmir sweaters given out to the homeless men and women. they still cant get a fucking job. beat the bastard with the beautiful stick let him meet his maker his father his own self. spreading butter on the stomach of roast beef victims post world war two. fuckin typical. most people enjoy unintelligent or just straight up boring music. people think they know more than they actually do. wise men think they know less. an act of knowing. so we melted the chalkboard with holy water pissed out from lucifers swollen member. drop the gun and shoot something in the face while reading the wallstreet journal. burn the kind person.

playlist: some gay ass shit
mood fantastic

2002-01-18T18:36:00.000-05:00

worlds built on blood and tire irons

its a constant struggle up the hilly graves.
blood and tire irons fill the repair shop.
dirty oiled old sad and drunk faces.
fill the void in the old ladies heart.
blue jumpsuits, with a patch named rob.
green eyes. messy brown hair. digital
drug store watch, that doesnt work.

its heart stopped ticking months ago.
he forgot how it felt, and how warm he was.
vomit on wires and copper nerve paper airplanes.
trains on their tracks, roll across rocks steel and wood.
i dont know where im going with this.
long fingernails, owwie throat, sweaty palms, greasy skin
dirty hair, cold nose, no clothes
that fit well, on chubby bodies.
im gonna clean it up. fuck.

playlist: black flag: everything went black
mood: dirty greasy decent

2002-01-12T04:12:00.000-05:00

its pretty much the same thing

three generations of sheep
eating the same food
working the same job
paying the same bills
sleeping the same time
dreaming the same dreams
wearing the same clothes
if it werent for the
big bad wolf
who would have
stopped their
suffering?

sweet sounds of spring
around every corner
filled their ears
as they walked
to the fruit market
smelling avocados
oranges
pears
apples
these things and
that.

dirt on the cities pavement
went unnoticed
they held hands
they smiled and
their eyes missed
nothing beautiful.

its all pretty much the same
every year, month, week, day
and hour.
same routine, same songs
on the radio.
eating leftovers.
smelling the flowers
in a garden.

so they wake up
and live yesterday
again tomorrow.

playlist: the sea and cake- oui
mood: highly amused

2002-01-11T22:35:00.000-05:00

a recollection of about four days, nothing interesting
i wrote this thing yeah i wrote it. i left for a small city to meet a friend. we met at the coffee shop. made flyers, went to the bar in the big city and i drank. i came home with someone and passed out on their bed. i wake up. what happened next? oh yes. to the studio. for the worst practice ever. so we drank again. came home and drank a little more and made love. wake up eat corn and beer for breakfast. meet up with two of the boys. im still drinking as we drive to a restaraunt. i eat. we are still drinking on the way to the shopping center. we walked laughed and talked. we drive to my house. to watch the television and meet up with her.she comes they leave to pick another her up. they come back we watch the television. out to eat again. her and i get dropped by the stork. we drink i say id quit she cried i held her. we slept. i wake up only to find myself drinking in the morning. we meet up with him and go to get food. we eat. go buy boy a toy for year number 3? she leaves for work. we drive to get a haircut. snip snip cut. its cut. we go to the bar and drink. we swim on the green pool tables. hes too drunk. ill drive the car. i come home. she meets me there. i sleep as she goes to visit the computer. we wake up. go shopping and eat. she drops me off so she can make a living. i sit alone. still. with no job. and borrowed time.

playlist: song of zarathustra : the birth of tragedy
mood: indifferent

2002-01-07T13:47:00.000-05:00

she'll want to go down on you in the eight

one knew what would
happen tonight.
the other just
caught flies in
her open
smelly mouth
all night.
so while the other
was spewing
lies, and
hitting on
random boys.
the other knuckled up,
had a few last
drinks, to kick
her into
gear.
laced up the gloves

she'll go down on her in the eigth

she stepped up,
turned her around
on the black
bar stool.
punched her in
her two front
large teeth.
she fell over with
blood pourin like
a facuet
from her mouth.

she began to go down on her
at eight in the morning.

(yeah i know that sucked but, i didnt really have anything fun to write about, so fuck off cracka ass cracka)

playlist: sonic youth: goo
mood: now that the bad dreams arent present im feeling pretty fucking pleasant!

2002-01-05T04:35:00.000-05:00

the night lasted longer than smoking a full flavor 100 cigarette

the hand of jobe shook mildly. spittle formed in the corners of his mouth as he watched his shitty television set on mute. the ash of his cigarette pretty much consumed itself to the butt. he forgot he had lit one. it extinguished itself like a good boy, and fell to the brown, stained carpet of his living room, breaking scattering to a few smaller ash chunks. there was a knock on his apartment door. the number of his apartment was 212, he lived on the second floor. he sat still, not to make a sound, it may be the landlord. so he let the stranger knock for about 4 minutes until they went away. he could hardly blink, his eyes were crusting. his brown greasy hair was sticking everywhere, if his veins were wires of this and that, and his hair were antennaes he could recieve every f.m. station on the planet. he had a dirty newport with pleasure t-shirt on, several cigarette burns in it, stains ofmustard, peanut butter, and other miscellanious condiments. khaki shorts, and no socks or shoes. his toenails were due for a clipping. he took a deep breath and reached for his pack of cigarettes on the tv dinner table at his side. without looking, first his hand went into the half eaten dish of microwaveable spaghetti. he wiped the sauce on his shorts. reaching again this time looking, finds his smoke, lights up, takes a nice drag, and lets out a tremendous phlem producing cough. he sniffles. the phone rings, he stands up and walks over to the touchtone telephone, tears the phones cord out of the jack and sends it flying, crashing against the wall. walking into the kitchen he stubs his toe on oneof the chairs legs, cracking a toenail. he curses. hes still cursing. this goes on for about 3 minutes. he opens the refrigerator, pulls out a miller light, cracks it open and takes a nice big hit off the brown bottle, he finishes half of it in that first drink. he could feel the cool refreshing liquid crawl down into his belly. not even sex feels that good he says to himself, and chuckles a little to himself. he finished off the beer in two more quick drinks. lays down in his bed. all his blankets were strewn across the wooden floor ofhis bedroom. jobe is too lazy to pick them up, this is not the will of jobe. he lays down and pulls the sheet up to his chin. crawls into the fetal position. and forget this long sad day ever happened. until he wakes up, and everything is still the same.

playlist: the lapse: heaven aint happenin
mood: anxious, numb ( i dont mind being homeless anymore, it can build character i suppose).

2002-01-05T02:02:00.000-05:00

this thing called....
i feel my
words are
falling
short.
even my
family
has forgotten
about me.
but i understand
i wouldnt
want to
know
myself
either.
these are times
when we all
wipe our eyes
on wool
sweater sleeves.
could you let
me just
stay here one
more night.
i need warmth.
i need to run up
your phone bill.
i need to run up
your walls.
i need to run up
your water bills.
i need to run down
your spine.
i need to run up
your electric bills.
i need to run
around.
outside.
inside.
i need to
feel your
feelings of
guilt.
do you have
any?

i need to
fall into
your eyes.

playlist: the rachels: selenography
mood: tired

2002-01-04T21:24:00.000-05:00

building bonfires in the center of your car

and all the houses closed their doors, in my face, as i stand on the snowy doorsteps. the only thing that has filled in me is anguish, betrayal, sadness, and ice. she asked "are you sad?" "we rented a funny movie, in case you want to laugh." hmmm thats rather odd. yes i am sad, no i do not want to laugh. thanks anyways asshole. i woke up from about two hours sleep, dried drool and spit caked on my chapped lips, and around my mouth. cold sweat on the back ofmy neck, causing my shirt to wrinkle around the neck. its now completly dark. unfortunatly i know where i am, and i have my mind in its right place. all ican think of is sitting in my s.u.v. and starting a campfire to cook marshmallows on. where am i going to sleep? where will all my valuables be? i dont want to leave them here for the vultures to devour, and sell. i dont know what im saying, i dont know what ican say. i dont know where im at. i dont think ill ever know where i will be. she let go of my hand. the wind knocked her on the ground. she turned into dirt as i watched, and soaked into the ground. i decide to leave the country. do i have a choice? will imiss this? i dont know, but i do know that i am ready to go.

playlist: enthroned: regie sathanas
mood: betrayed, depressed, pissed off

2002-01-02T22:06:00.000-05:00

the gods have all gone to sleep.

laying their heads down to rest, they dont care anymore. they've given up. killed for and exploited, beaten left for dead. all the harps have stopped. hearts have stopped. pulling the sheets and comforters up to their chins, like children listening to fairytales right before bed, they have grown weary of our existance. bored. we are yesterdays news, hand me down clothes, broken toys, rotted meat, spoiled milk, fallen hope. there is no conspiracy behind all this. created equal and brilliant, we destroyed them, well not really, but we let them fade, almost torn at the knees, and there are no patches to sew over the wound. our minds are the salt. everything we dream, concieve, create, is the wound, we pour the salt into the open wound. there is nothing to really reverse the pain, it just has to wear itself out, and die. nothing will be forgotten. they roll over onto their sides, to get a bit more comfy, let out a big sigh, thinking how could we have failed them. large hands tucked under large feather pillows, with clean black pillowcases dressing them. the nightgown tangles the legs, and twists up and down their bodies. i guess even they can get uncomfortable. the eyes blink slower, they grow heavier each minute, lou ferrigno adds 25 pounds every 5 minutes, breath in deeply, and let it out as the eyelids re open. repeat this cycle. finally, all the gods have all gone to sleep, we are on our own, forgotten trouble. we let our mouths drop from our mothers nipple, out of their hands, and into the world. we are now all alone.

playlist: elliott: false cathedrals
mood: aside from not having a job, i feel pretty fucking happy, i feel a bit free now.

2002-01-01T05:45:00.000-05:00

this is for you
this is for you
not them
not her
not him
not
me
not they
or them
or this
or that
this is for you.
this will always
be for
you.
hey look over
here
and over there
its one of
those
things!
playlist now its OPETH: MORNINGRISE
mood: the same as fifteen minutes ago

2002-01-01T05:29:00.000-05:00

id rather be somewhere to go

the empty bottle of rum
rolls out from
under 21 years of
dead hands.
apparently im
something to do
someone to talk to
but id rather be
somewhere to go.
ive wasted our time
tonite baby.
like i do every day,
every night,
every waking hour.
my mouth
is alll parched
and dry.
i try to drink
a coca cola
it helps very
little.
another eventful holiday
for the masses.
confetti and balloons litter
the streets
of new york city,
along with broken
burned down buildings
i decide to pet
the kitten.
the holiday of
killing children
in car wrecks
drunk drivers are
prophets of doom
yet a spark lights in
my heart.
she tells me that
she loves me,
and i believe her.

playlist: glenn brancas third symphony (gloria)
mood: still lonley, sad, but now im pretty drunk so thats okay i guess

2001-12-31T21:31:00.000-05:00

i hate your backs
once again, like every year, month, week and day, i stand alone. they have turned their backs, and i stand here naked, alone. not enough alcohol to make me even crack the most pitiful smile. i try, and i tried, i dont think ill try again. i failed, i fail, and i will fail. dont even bother to turn back around, i know how you really feel. my new years resolution. i give up. forever. ill see you at the diner. more than likely. enjoy your fucking meal.
playlistdawn: slaughtersun
mood:almost drunk, pissed off, depressed, alone, waiting for that. fuck off.

2001-12-30T21:15:00.000-05:00

is there enough beer and bibles to go around?
so this is how it is. ive figured it out. hate is the longest lasting feeling toward another human. love lasts days, sometimesweeks, and occasionally years. cuts on arms from cats playing has gotten me a bit sketchy towards sleeping on couches in the afternoon. abrasions in corners of mouths. moths flying from red skies attacking other wildlife. walking on pre poured wood. balsawood baby. sleeping all day, cleaning all night, rocking this time away. everything is organized for once, i hope she can help me keep it that way. boxed in, room, with bed, concrete, radio, books, insects, arachnids, clothing for the poor, shoes, and lovely hand lotions of all sorts. pick one. its all a popularity contest. soup too spicy for anyone to eat. it swells the lips, and sets the asshole on fire. say boy, is there enough beer and bibles for everyone? of course, we've burned all the good literature, heroin or any other drug is forbidden. so stick to your beer and your bible, and everything will be a-o-kay! i wonder when she will arrive at my doorstep. looking how she does (beautiful), behaving like she does (like a fucking beast, i love it), walking how she does, talking how she does, looking at me. i miss her already. its only been about a day. so i sit with two boys and a girl. watching movies in a theater in someones house. i dont know them. i drank all the beer in an hour and a half. i was feeling okay. for a while.

playlist: dawn of relic: one night in carcosa
mood: lonely, weary
ps......factory 81 last night had to be one of the most hilarious things i have witnessed in a while, thank you vince and andrew for coming along for the laughs.

2001-12-28T15:23:00.000-05:00

no calcium and no health for poor boys
this is going to be a different kind of story. i wake up to a disturbing discovery. i brush my teeth, and floss, ( i do this everyday aside from the flossing i do that about every two days still not bad) and i look into the mirror. are my teeth rotting? i brush them bitches with the best damn toothpaste and toothbrushes money can buy (well maybe not toothbrush cuz i dont have a snazzy motorized one built by your friendly metro detroit ford dealer) but hey colgate with the twisty tips are damn fine brushes. granted i havent been to the dentist in a few years, but i know many people who havent and their teeth arent fucked. im not vegan, i dont smoke crack (but why dont i start, at least get something out of all this), i dont get in fights. so whats wrong? travis, it doesnt always rain on you baby (the band jackass), i feel a dark cloud looms over my head every moment of every day. this is true. it isnt visible but i know its there. if u dont believe me ask me of some of my misfortunes, and ill spill the beans all over your acne covered face. i hit myself in the face over my bad luck. now here is a conversation for you........ *bum* "hey boy you got some change?"..... *henry* "no i dont, sorry pal."...."fuck that i know you got some bread baby." "yeah i do hold on a sec" *walking to the store* *the return* "yr right i do have some bread, do u like wonderbread, i bought it just for you." "yr not all there are you boy?" (takin the bread anyway) "oh im quite all here, and a little over there, when people refer to money as bread, thats what they should get." "haha boy, you remind me of drunk charly, he used to piss down those twisting playground slides." "oh is that a fact, quite charming." "no shit, hey man you got a smoke i can bum, maybe two or three?" "sure i got you covered." (hands the bum a pack) "well hot damn, aint this muh lucky day?" "i guess so, dont smoke those all in one place." henry decides to walk home and play with the orange carpet that graces his living room. goddamn my teeth all to hell. fuck. if you have a gun and you have read this, i give you my permission to shoot me in the face.

playlist: superchunk:this is where the strings come in
mood: fucking pissed cuz my teeth are dying

2001-12-28T04:07:00.000-05:00

cut off your fucking hands, no more bad things

i will admit, i have made many mistakes in my time. only about 3 or 4 really bad ones, but one of the three or four turned out for the better, but ill leave that for another boring chapter. i turned back, and i looked at the person. it was wearing blue jeans and a white t shirt with a pocket on the left breast. not really any distinguishing features aside from the melted tar head with no face. the head of a match. telephone cords around necks, fingernails cut too short, halos bent, computers dead, lights out, empty glass containers litter the kitchen counter. grass stains on small childrens blue jeans. knees. touch your hand in the dirty dirty dirt, and sing in the rain. living quarters. squalor and depression. glass cups everywhere. flyers. coat hangers. dust. cobwebs. murdered love. i recite myself pissing to homeless men on snowy winter nights. carving my name into the ice that paves the street. so i want to stab the dagger into shakespears throat. overatted. unwilling. no compromises. dotted lines on dotted spaced walls. i want//////// that. this. them. they. who? why? when and where? over here and there, why not everywhere. i let this consume you. i throw it in the fireplace, and watch it drown in a sea of flame. light the match across your skull mechanic. computer technichian. graphic designs. game show hosts. professional athletes. music men and women for the masses pleasing children on wind up dolls and action men. christmas fun for the family wihile you wrap yourself in tin foil and spoiled dreams of absolutley nothing and words do not enter your mind but only in your esophotgus and you cant even spit them out when you feel at your best. mispelled words are for the genius. forget correcting. it only leads to conformity? sure why not! sounds good, eh? i kept on walking down the winding dirt road......and i never looked back

playlist goodwill (i dont know the name of the album i just bought it today)
mood im in looooove!

2001-12-27T19:35:00.000-05:00

did the lights go down in the city yet mr steve perry?

so here we are, all lined up waiting to get punched in the throat by empty emotions. handfuls of m&ms have run away for the season. its cold and the lights have yet to go down in the city. as the throat throbs and the body rains sweat, they need to think about steel objects and robots ruining lives. homewreckers. computers. large front teeth with a slight gap. bad haircut. weather thunder clasped thighs for jolly green giants to hold onto. david lynch is a martyr. i am a spoon. bent. forks learn how to dance on cartoon, how come not in reality. nothing is real anyway. so dont take bad pictures of me, cuz i am not that kind of boy. as i try on this article of clothing and that i look in the mirror. the lighting of the store is supposed to make the clohtes look good on you. then you go home and put them on, and you think "damn i thought this looked better in the store." well so i was trying on these things you put on your body to be socially acceptable, and well, nothing felt right. i couldnt even look into my own eyes without feeling ashamed and uncomfortable. i wasnt meant to be clothed. but by the looks of my body i wasnt meant to be nude. i am in a state of limbo. a flaming bar right above my chest. i feel my eyebrows singe. hold on music baby.........................alright now im feelin fine eatin rainbow nerds. wait a minute the music stopped? what is this monstrosoty of beer swilling swollen throat rednecks weilding double blade axes at our skulls. i went into the far east trader. i looked at many pretty knives, i was pleased by them. the shine that reflected off of the blade and into my eye reminded me of how much i would love your blood on this blade and on my small soft hands. soiling themselves. wake up. back into the trader. i was in awe, the drool was quite noticable. different sizes. styles. it was like a child in a toy store. i couldnt really afford any though, at least not the ones i really wanted. because baby, when i make you die, i want to make you die for sure. and as messy as possible. "can i help you with anything" is what ive heard about 10 times already today "no thank you" is my response, what i would like to say is "look, i know you could give a rats ass if i find what im looking for, and i know youd rather be doing something else with yr time, than asking me if i needed help, so fuck off you silly poor boy." and then i would turn around, strut my stuff (stuff?) trip over shoeboxes, turn red, then do some other stuff. i am not good at entertaining you my dear. im sorry about all that. come back later, and put another fifty cents in my slot to see if i work.

playlist: mogwai: ten rapids
mood: cold, yet very happy

2001-12-24T04:20:00.000-05:00

baby,it doesnt take a brain surgeon to fix your heart

baby,it doesnt take a
brain surgeon
to
sew a patch
on some
blue
jeans.
walk the dog
on sunday
mornings.
water the blue
grass,
of your
front lawn.
there are two
ways to
mend yrself
back
together.
drinking,
sitting on
a
bench.
think boy
think
or to drop
the weight
of
your past.
baby, it doesnt take a
brain surgeon
to
fix your heart.
lets begin
to operate
on
that liver.
its worn off
rolled off of
sleeves.
now you can
wake up.
and feel the
sun
again.

2001-12-23T17:32:00.000-05:00

invisible phones on sunday morning

evening, the long car ride is getting to me. it begins to rain which helps deteriorate my blue soul. the music is blaring i can feel my eyes fill with oxygen and alarm clocks. i begin to play a hand held videogame. im never very good at these. i quit. i begin to read a little, drown into another world, and snub out the one that currently surrounds me. then all lights go out, even natures. i have to return the book to the bag closed. page saved, like the third baseman watching for the steal from second. we arrive. filth. not as far as the eye can see yet. keep in mind the alarm clocks and telephones are still in my skull. we leave again. directions are absurd
we can never find what we are looking for. a skyscraper in a bale of hay. hey. so we watch the magic men make their noise, i dont im busy reading having a sore throat. we leave and walk on streets made of boston. add four, i am the loser a thousand times. we arrive back at this texas farmhouse in michigan. now this time around, i truly see everything. my stomach hurts badly, from what? i didnt eat all day. anyway so i have to take a shit. mold surrounds the base of the toilet, filth and scum inbetween yellow stained tiles. i come back out after that pleasant experience, i sit there while cards are dealt and soak up everything like a sponge, wooden doors as thick as kathy bates. the beer has arrived at last, i really need a drink. as i sit and feel like im in some odd indie flick, i decide to go into the other room. soak up a little more. i have decent conversation with the boy and girl sharing the couch. time lapse.......................................................i am now drunk i didnt remember much between then and now, six of us three couples sit around a kitchen table, playing a game called life. my throat is really beginning to hurt, and i cant stop thinking of those invisible telephones on sunday mornings. we decide to watch soemthing. everyone is drunk on soap and samples of tide we recieved in the mail. and as we all know nobody can watch television while drunk. the bed waits, the posts stretch out and grab our wrists, as sigur ros blares from the silver stereo. we lay down, we want to do something, but i passed out. i woke up to invisible telephones, ringing in another period of time. i didnt answer it.

mood getting sick, slightly hungover, and tired
playlist the best of blondie

2001-12-21T15:22:00.000-05:00

wear some shorts

it may be at a freezing temprature, but its okay, put on some shorts boy. the sun is shining, isnt that enough? at war with blue jeans, and no sunglasses. i wear them everyday on my sleeve. i saw him walk in a circle around his car, opening the hood, inspecting, open the driver side door, lean in for a moment. go back inside the house with a cigarette dangling from lips (non menthol i predict). i finish up, come back inside. its nice. a furnace. i really have no creativity right now. maybe i need drink. maybe i need smoke. blah blah blah blah blah blah, thats pretty much all i have to say right now. ill be back to kill you soon.

mood: bad morning breath, but im feeling well

playlist coldplay about ten minutes ago

2001-12-20T17:36:00.000-05:00

when eternity lasts a minute

my brain is still somewhat drowning in an ocean of alcohol.
you missed the chuckle.
they will be back soon.
hide under the bed.
and for gods sake
do something
about those shoes.

mood tired happy irritated

playlist: sonic youth: a thousand leaves

2001-12-19T07:26:00.000-05:00

remembering that serious tone of voice
now on another note. ive been beginning to look for words. blinfolded by hands, arms flailing about for those imagined words. what else can i say? my hands dont feel a thing. i feel something jutting out of my back. not really anything "serious" all my internal organs are still intact and i havent lost blood in anyway in quite some time. but a different kind of sharp piercing pain. maybe its the same one the crayon felt in the back when the colored pencils arrived. no more children art. we are professionals. you know your trade well my dear. i think you think you're too good in your field of whatever you want to call it "work". i am still being fired at by ameteur archery students. im pretty much used to it. i thought it was something else though. i can never remember these things. my fingers walk at about 45 miles per hour, they feel like long strands of rubber. cold. almost numb. i feel like sitting with her in the dark. looking and not seeing into each other, but knowing that they are there. ill let go of your hand for a while. fall into it. and maybe never come back. for cowboys, that winding dirt road, is always the most lonely.

2001-12-19T07:15:00.000-05:00

clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean you want the truth clean clean clean clean cleeeen cleaan clllllean cllllllllllllleeeeeeaaaaaannnnn why clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean yourself up girl clean clean clean clean clean clean clean clean trampled by intangible ghosts clean clean clean clean clean that room girl clean clean clean clean clean at war tonight clean clean clean clean clean clean your mouth catches the fly clean clean clean clean clean clean yourself up girl clean clean clean clean clean clean midnight heartbeat clean clean clean clean clean clean words dont mean a thing ? clean clean clean clean clean cllleeaan clean..clean clean : clean, clean clean clean.cleancleanc lean clean clean clean clean yourself up wild flower!

2001-12-16T03:42:00.000-05:00

dreams of things to come?

the eyes fell shut. like a heavy wooden door being slammed in yr face. first thing i can remember, a flag burning outside of my bank as i go to make a blood withdrawl. i see an old house i used to live in as a child. militant men and women with copper hair soon dragged me away from anything pleasant. they take me to this empty factory of some sort in the middle of a lonely desert. a few cars parked a bit more large tanklike vans, all of them dusty and dirty. i am brought into this place arm in arm in arm in arm. they guaranteed me id never work again, especially at a 24 hour seven-eleven. as i was dragged into this warehouse, i noticed there were people, and the only thing besides people that i could see were large wooden structures that almost touched the ceilings with ladders on the sides of some, and large wooden stakes stabbing up thru the corners of the large structures. enough room to walk on top of. there was also a table, with two people selling things, they had chairs to sit on, and i couldnt figure out what they were selling. the floor suddenly turned into durt, long grass, the greenest ive ever seen, and trees began popping up from where the cold concrete floor used to belong. it turned into a forrest inside this warehouse. the scent of death was in the air. a man with no head and something resembling a knife, began chasing me wildly. the knife was too large to be a knife, but too small to be a sword. he had no head. but somehow he could see me. i picked up tape that was broken out of a vhs case, and began running, when he'd get close enough id hit him with it, somehow it hurt him. as he proceeded to hunt me, id climb up the remaining wooden structures, he could just leap onto some. we'd keep jumping from tower to tower, trying to slash one another. he was too quick, he landed onto the one i was currently standing on, and tipped the bastard over. at least fifty feet in the air, and i landed on my feet. him on his back, i began thrashing him with the videos guts. a boy i'd assume to be around the age of 16 threw me a large brown whip made of what looked like to be lions fur. the headless man while i wasnt looking, amazingly grew a head. so i began thrashing him. whipping him in his newly formed throat and face. he cut my shin with his blade. i began to beat his arm, he dropped the knife, i made my move for it and about 2 seconds later it was sticking out of his brand new skull, blood streaming out the side of his head. more people began to close in around me........i ran and escaped for a moment. i came across a hallway, untouched by the artificial forrest. more people waiting for me. i began to run the other way and there was the sixteen year old boy, being chased by at least 20 people, screaming for his head. he was running with an american flag. he handed it to me, just as the crowd swallowed him up. just as both mobs begin to near me, i lifted the skull and crossbones zippo from my pocket, i lit the flag on fire. put the knife into my back pocket. these people must have never seen fire, or must be deathly afraid of it, cuz when that flag went up in flames, chaos broke loose, people started screaming, i chased after them, man or woman, and would torch their hair on fire, maybe a shirt. id stab the occaisional person with my blade, sometimes hyde them with my lionhair whip. i killed them all and escaped the oil stained walls of that hallway. when i came back out into the forrest, all the trees, grass and dirt were once again gone, and only about 3 towers still stood, the table where a man and a woman were selling things was still up. and business was hectic. as i ran towards them i torched three customers with my flag, slit the mans throat, and torched the womans hair then broke off a part of the wooden post the flag was wrapped to (and miraculously didnt catch on fire) and lodged the sharp wood into the back of her neck as she frantically tried to put out her hair. BAM! then taryn stood there (a girl i once worked with) she hit me with some video tape, cutting open my cheeks, she got me to the ground, and somehow during that beating i threw her off, she fell and i threw my blade into her gut. i looked around and there was nothing there. my eyes peeled themselves open as she walked down the bluish grey wooden stairs. complete confusion. back of neck sweating. weakness. and a need to write all this down.

playlist: my thoughts
mood: insane

2001-12-15T22:22:00.000-05:00

boredom creates scott to ramble

no more digital walking. no more bleeding cables. no more love. not a single moth. no more eyeliner. no more of you wrapped in a towel on the bed with no sheets. no more time lapse. no more drink. so i walk alone thinking about how there is nothing left of anything. fingers and nose colder than the rest of my body, so i stuff my small frail hands into my blue jean pockets. i need something, calm the addiction. i pull one out, insert into mouth, strike the match on your skull, light a little death. extinguish the minscule fire, drop it into the gutter filled about two inches with rain water. stuff them back into their pockets. i keep walking. the splish and the splash of water, the hum of new cars, peoples conversation as i walk by, and some car horns, is all i can hear. hectic, but for some reason at this time it calms me. the wind picks up, the nose begins to drip, i sniffle. shiver, throw out a smile to the middle aged woman and her black labrador puppy, he sniffs my pant leg. i squat to give the little chap a pet. ive mastered the ear massage. tail wagging, wet paws on my chest and on my thighs (wherever they decide to land when he jumps), warm tongue licking my cold face. "he sure is a cute one, how old is he?" "a little over two months, i think he likes you." "whats his name?" "buster, i dont really like it, but i let my son pick a name." "its a cute name." "thank you." "well, buster i hafta let you go, it was nice meeting you miss." "linda". "it was nice meeting you linda." we both cracked a smile, the puppy let out a whiney pre pubescent bark at me. as they walked away buster kept looking back and sniffing pantlegs of other people. i arrived. it was warm inside, and the hot tea felt like it could make me glow. i felt it inside me on the way down to my stomach. not many things feel as good. stop breathing.

playlist: dawn of relic: one night in carcosa
mood: pretty much the same as two hours ago, just add a little more bored.

2001-12-15T20:24:00.000-05:00

brave men fear to walk in the land of reality. every glance, she makes me smile. unwanted debt rings the doorbell, invites itself into my home. makes itself at home, warm and cozy. we woke up, she was worried about a disturbing dream, i try to comfort, but fall short due to fatigue. my heart was in the right place. i wake up, she breathes heavy, i hold her. run fingers through hair like a fourty niner panning for gold. we leave and talk smoke and eat. she yet again makes me smile, even in the worst of times. do you really think i will get that job? no shiney shoes, no cotton, no intelligence? too much hair, polite, honest, shy? maybe. as she let me go i wished her luck. we hugged. i miss her already. i gave new birth to the basement, come over and you will see. i was tired. i lay on the couch watching the television set, falling asleep at around four thirty in the p.m. i felt like i slept for a day, when i came to only about an hour passed. in my soft sleep, i heard mumbles of conversation between him and her. hollow footsteps on the floor above where i lay. i killed it read it and ate it. i hope yr doing okay right now. beams of white light shoot out from under my fingernails into your mouth. you do too much for me. i cant thank you enough. so cheers. touch my hand, fall into it. thank you. i will see you soon.

playlist: mogwai: come on die young
mood: confused, tired, worried, and a touch of love

2001-12-14T20:33:00.000-05:00

nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo i just wrote a fucking brutal story. this is my first post. i sold out. give me yr money. fuck im pissed. cuz i dont want to type it all again. come back later, maybe i will tell you about the dead trees with ink splashed onto them in codes. and machines that will take you where you want when you feel the need to go somewhere. until then im sick of this thing. and josh is really annoying right now.
playlist: the television in the other room and the clicking of keys under the tips of my soft fingers.

2001-12-14T19:41:00.000-05:00

hello.

*sigh* boy i'm clever

sigh boy i'm clever