recollections

you kiddin me right/
this shitty little life/
wack off dreams/
artsy photos of fake dykes/

it comes down to interpersonal relations...

the way you master situations...

the content you bring to the table...

shut off. shut down. sit down. shut in. get out. talk money. make enough. relax. grin gin grin gin grin. fire up the grill and... chum it up as much as you can stomach. keep the water intake up. SSRIs help to fuel a drunk slut. as she s t u m b l e s back to her room. with a suitor... not a groom. they fuck. they go down. they fuck loud. you can hear in other rooms. of course they used protection... we are responsible... resume.

throw your head back/
you earned the little laugh/
do it like a bitch/
life is such a bitch/
just move on.

do not worry, hail satan.

HOLY SHITigetsofuckingbonedupwhenithinkaboutgothchicks

holy shit i get so fucking boned up when i think about goth chicks.

caps really make a difference in the room taken up. who would have thought?

but nevermind.

i think that more people should get plastic surgery. integrity isn't really in these days. it is more about what looks good. that is simple to follow. who cares if you get a tit job... dudes will be oggling you and you will look great in little tank tops and shit.

rhinoplasty, blepharoplasty, brow lift, breast augmentation, whatever the fuck, just get yourself sexy.

life is about good feelings. you will remember those drunk nights and those passionate lust fucks forever. and when things start to sag... you will be able to get more rounds of surgery... not to mention you will be on booze and valium cocktailing all the way to the nibble bank by the time you look completely plastic. you won't even be cognizant anymore. think about now. think about the potential for all those good times.

hey who cares if you don't even look like the same person. pop culture... nigga.



hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahhahahahahahahahahahahahahaha




hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha



hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah get the fuck up off the planet. at least get a new driver's license or kill yourself. whatever.

she most definitely more fuckable now son...

true. im'a stick this spike through my skull.

aight... peace.


















by the way fuck using computers that are not my own... aol.com as the homepage... i am exposed to this shit.

all i want is a night with an ether rag and Carnap. you were so moderate rudolf. i long for you.

not so me/ and not so you

forgive these people. they know not what they do. i will bear the burden of their responsibility. point your fingers at me. i am willing.

if only i could find a way to make it meaningful, to make it relevant. sacrifice means nothing without an ultimate. i have not found the ultimate, but i have found the desire to be a martyr.
what can i give the world with the help of this desire? there are sensations that i want to experience. i want to know the intricacies of these abstract principles. how did we come to extend guesses into rules?




in the midst i put my lips to the bottle. the solace is unbelievable. something like a good fuck. earth-shaking. no need to search for the ultimate. it is right there in the extension of my person. we are sharing a tunnel. the ultimate makes no reference to these others. there is no reason to sacrifice. the inclination was a product of conditioning. i need to listen to myself. create myself... the way it feels right.



no advise from the world. i have the tools i need. sensation governs. all the others are afraid. they cower in the norms. all because it is secure. all because it breeds longevity. but there is no destiny. there is no fate. there is only the choice to cook the ketamine... or lie and say you're straight. these metaphysical issues... nothing but brain fun. all choices in the realm remain superfluous.

instincts will do us just fine.



music and sex.

i give tours!

i have information about some famous people. this is information that not many other people would know. i was there in person with them. i saw them living and breathing. i rubbed elbows with them and i even had some awkward incidental hand contact with a person who's name you would all recognize.

now... all of that would be cool. if i didn't start telling you about it. at this point i have started down the path toward being a glory whore. just because i know the dealings of famous people doesn't mean that i should share them with any that would choose to read. celebs are human beings too... and my freakish obsession with them is not really acceptable or cool. but... people do think that the celeb life is cool. which it is. but it just shouldn't be such a huge deal to think about. i don't understand all these magazines and gossip television channels. it is cool to see benicio del toro on the street... but it is certainly not cool to know where he buys his hand cream. celebs are hot and they live interesting lives... but we need to get over it. we have to stop living vicariously through them. we can all lead exciting lives as well. i know because i have seen the way that celebs live first hand. there are lots of comfort things. there are lots of luxury things. but their lifestyles bog them down just like our lifestyles bog us down. and if any celebs happen to be reading this... then you can just feel like a commoner for a second while i explain the dynamics of how celebs are actually more like commoners than commoners believe you/them to be.

celebs live fantasy lives. everything about celebrities is kicked up a notch. the speed of their lives. the number of things that they have to do in the day is almost always a lot and it is magnified by being in the public eye. celebs live augmented lives. they have more money. they experience more pressure. there are always expectations. above and beyond the money they rake in in the fiscal year... they have to maintain their marketability. there are so many layers to celeb functioning. their fashion sense has to be on at all times. if you or i make some bad clothing or accessory choices our friends ridicule us for a few days... if a celeb makes a bad clothing or accessory choice they get put on lists and messages are posted on creepy message boards. as a celeb you always have to be thinking about your career. the people you fall in love with are part of you career. as commoners we can't even imagine that. it is like being royalty or something. the person that you fall in love with... or at least choose to enter into a relationship with is going to be part of your marketing landscape... it is going to be a factor in the equation that is celeb status. if you get involved with a hot nobody then you are illusive and even more chic. if you get involved with a hot celeb then you become a power couple... you are both included in the photo ops... that is so fucking awkward when you are freshly in love and the photographers tell your other to step out of the shot. do you oblige the photographers? do you stick with the gut feeling of your new burning love? do you hold them by your side? god i have seen some terrible looks of rejection in those situations. regardless, love is not the same for a celeb. there is so much expectation. these people have larger than life personas. it is hard to get intimate when you don't know who you can trust. paris got completely fucked over by being young and stupid. i made a sex video with my girlfriend when i was 18, not that i would sell it if she was famous... but i don't even have to worry about that... because she is not. well she kind of is... but i am not going to let any info slip on that. i mean in paris' case the sex tape helped her popularity... being a bohemian bad girl has done wonders for her. just watch her antics on the simple life. nicole ritchie is a little bit more open with the sexual dialogue... but they both exercise blatant disregard for the rules of conduct within social situations. it is so refreshing to see them let loose. that show is reality gold. we all know that reality television is all little bit over-bearing but some of the offerings in the genre are absolutely irresistible.

back to the woes of celebs. if you buy a nice house... the whole world knows about it. when you have children everyone is asking you questions and every choice that you make is the subject of mucho scrutiny. there is so much stress and so much image to maintain. as commoners we can not even imagine that baseline of stress. our trouble is based in the stresses of working and maintaining a good social life... but in the life of a celebrity... they are given more of a monetary reward for the things that they do... but their status makes it so that they are on the job anytime they leave the sanctity of their homes... or their private spas or whatever... you know what i mean. anything that involves being in public is automatically like being on the job. pictures are being snapped. fans are asking questions. and as gracious as any given celeb is willing to be there will always be a limit. every person wants to be able to relax and enjoy their life. if you wanted to go for a quiet afternoon in the east village... looking through thrift stores and bong shops you would not be able to experience the outing as a leisure activity. even if no one recognizes the celeb under a large hat and some sunglasses... there is still the worry that is going on underneath the disguise that they will be found out and photographed, or asked a million questions.

i don't know where this is going. all that i am saying is to think about the way that you think about celebrities. they are human beings. and even though they make tons of money, which is due in large part to their fan bases, they need to have leisure time too. they need to be out of the spotlight. they should not have to feel any worse about themselves than any person that makes bad choices. when a celeb fucks up it is like you or me fucking up. cut them some slack. lay off the gossip. stop asking questions about their children. enjoy their talents and praise or criticize them only if the situation is appropriate. it is not fair that they make a living doing their arts and other people make a living off of the way that they live their personal lives.

so... america! get a grip on yourselves. stop being so obsessed with celebs. their world is cool. but you will never get to experience it if you are so awe struck and lame that you choose to sniff jen aniston's butt hole instead of doing something with your life. everyone has talent. celebs have maximized their potential. look up to them. but try to avoid the freaky fetish stalking that is so common today. okay... that's all for now. susan sarandon rules!!!

and i just got fucked by a horse.

i sucked its massive cock too.

why do i get to leave?

the choice can be made at any moment. right? we can turn it all around. we can defeat anything if we maintain a positive attitude. if we can get our chemical selves to have the potential for positive attitudes.

who's calling on the phone? the ring scared me. i was deep in my lesser evil. really rolling with the vibe of these one minute trailers. better than the usual 15 second clips.

refill the nalgene? sure man. always good to stay hydrated.

what's up man.
what's up dude.
yo.
{hey}
[benito]!!!
howdy.
como estas.
que tal.
what's up bro.
ciao.
yo peace.
later.
one.
1.
bye.

now... how can i make one thousand dollars this week? job search alone would take a week. it is not likely that i would get a job that i could enjoy. i think i know a kid that i can call. maybe he will have some work for me.

cool man. cool.
we all use hip words/

3 or 4 parts per million... above the limit

tainted by the notion that nothing is special. trust shouldn't be an issue because there is no reason to be consistent. trust issues? being nice? being an asshole? you only have to worry about those things if you want to exist in the realms of friendship, romance, and other actively fulfilling and engrossing human entertainment activities. but for those human beings that are not pussies. for those human beings that are willing to sacrifice sanity to display emotional autonomy, for everyone that accepts isolation as the way to go... you will be quite fine without the support network that pleasant social interaction provides.

so this goes out to all that use drugs...

to all that booze to make things easier...

to all that booze to have more fun...

to everyone that takes the easy way out.


i resent such an existence. i will still interact because i am too much of a pussy to take the hard line. i cannot give up the confidence-boosting/life-fulfilling set of activities that we call social relations. but i will continue to have panic attacks and hate myself for being unable to cut my ties. i don't even want to cut the ties. my gut reactions to isolation are not pleasant. however i will wage intellectual war on the code that dictates the format of my reactions to all the adverse stimuli. it would all be solved by something pleasant that had staying power. but nothing of that nature does have staying power... who said "trust issues?"? not to mention; this is a smashing good time. i often commit a specific typographical error when typing the word 'good'. i often type 'goof' instead of 'good'. common mistake ova hea. unfortunately finding other people that accept the absurdity to the point of quasi-isolation is very rare. and when those individuals do come around they are usually people that have been forced in to loneliness because of character flaws. there are seldom individuals with all the tools that choose this path. i do not know where i stand. i like to think that i am on a mission. but i just might be another one of those dick-farting failures. nothing against the homosexuals, that was merely a reference to the kind of person that tries to shove their own johnson into their own anal cavity after loosening the good old clowner with some household objects... making flatulence a bit less controlable.

the lack of sex is by far the worst part.


in our culture it is very hard to find sex after deciding to give up partying. there is no chance that any other social organizations will be joined. won't be attending any church group meetings, won't be faking alcoholism, won't be faking addiction, no book discussion clubs, no college campus groups, no student government, no difference making charities. there is no desire to show off the splendor of my moral character. i don't want to get mutual interest pussy. no mutually lonely... emotionally complicated... orgasm giving relationship.



so it all comes down to luck... and the luck used to be catapulted by booze. just go out and spout whatever comes to mind. smoke a joint, hit a bowl, hit a bong, rip a rail, ingest some pharmaceuticals. all in concert with alcohol of course... and after your cocktail has allowed you to settle into the party rhythm... go out and be your not-so actual self. be the thing that you have become with the substances in you. there is still something from the fiber of your character that maintains in this thing that you have become. you have a chance to mingle with the things that other people have become... and hopefully the remnants of your actual selves will have been enough to help you pair off with a person that you can enjoy when you regain consciousness... lying next to your early morning shit-faced fuck partner.

maybe you will hit it off. maybe things will change... take a turn for the better.




however... what i am saying... is that such a situation is no longer a possibility when you give up the booze and the drugs. this is followed by refusal to take sleep medication. refusal to medicate in general. and a form of all-out life crumbling.

this might actually be the easy road.

step it up. blah blah shimmy nuts.

angelina jolie is my future wife.... omg

what the fuck do people think they are doing?

elect me the mother fucking emperor of this shit before your brains get smashed.

more specifically... where is the common sense? the self-awareness? the depression? the honesty? i don't buy these smiles or these chats. same old same old fart bottled up in a jar waiting to knock that ass out when you choose to twist and sniff. of course you don't elect emperors. of course i am a sorry excuse for a chronic masturbating loser. i don't even have the legit qualities that a genuine one of those would have. my chameleon status is on filth blast. just write me off as creepy because my thoughts are never harmlessly drifting. it is never casual and the drugs that "should" be tweaking my physio-chemical self are numerous. but that ain't my aunty's tits. that isn't the score. that is not the way i want to be remembered.

so how can i rage out? i hope my stroke hits like a nuetron bomb. ya'll know about the nuetron bomb? there was big article about it in the times last week. right next to some shit about hugo chavez... and his wacky international persona building. man he is just such a rogue... whatever will the world do about him? buy some new outfits. fat bitches... get out there. although there aren't many men that find you attractive you can always eat more if you go out and fail... just eat and hate yourself until the funk gets so deep that your irrational self catapults you back into a momentary state of insanity/depression-based confidence. then you can go out again and be reminded of how miserable the combination of your genetics and your eating and exercise habits have made you. who the fuck am i kidding? i am pretty sure i have stomach cancer. the medical system is bullshitting me... and the world is dark. darker than scary niggers. you know the kind that make you want to roll up your window? their teeth strike fear into the white man. they might have been our slaves at one point... but their personas and their numbers in seedy urban areas are quite intimidating. racial tensions have not been eased. if any latino man is ever facing a rape charge i would bet that said variable guy is actually guilty 90% of the time. nevermind the verdict... i mean the events that transpired in space-time, the forced intercourse etcetera.

and fuckin rap music. it seems that having an intellectual message in the art form known as rap... is corny... is cliche... is cheese-dick, if you will. rap is basically rhythmic poetry over, what you would hope are, hot beats. fresh beats, meat beats... for this poetry to lack any substantial message... i dont even know what to say to that. is the culture just that retarded? you want to hear black men talk about their dicks and their drug money and their guns. how about the dynamics of the struggle that forced them in to using their guns and their hustle smarts and their dicks on trife hood rat bitches. come on... dissect the situation with some intellect. show that you have talent. jay-z hints that he has intellectual ability but that money is the number one concern... so he squashed intellectual messages... for a more subtle... street smart message, all right hova you have won the streets... but you aren't really saying anything that has staying power. you are just talking about yourself... and the way that you do what you do. reasonable doubt was great... all the albums are great... aside from hard knock life vol.1... but they don't really say anything that will be timeless. they just aren't that great. and the tracks on vol.1 were just marvelously mediocre... with standouts such as sunshine... with "face in her puss" foxy brown... who sounds like shit in live performance... never let her on a stage again... holy fuck it is awful... hey foxy where is that sexy deep rapping voice when you leave the studio? balls in your mouth...

balls in my mouth... i have not shown that i have any talent. i am in no position to criticize.


OH MY GOD. dingus f.'

it is getting early... so f

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prime

because a you i'm on some real fuck a bitch shit.

fuck bitches, get money.

fuck niggas, get money.

????

what is wrong with the Junior Mafia? i guess they weren't/aren't humanitarians. i always thought biggie was compassionate. i guess he chose to appear on the track despite the differences in their ideologies. actually people don't usually mean what they say in the rap game. "we are only word gangsters." "we are only word hardcore"... hey some cats are certainly real... but they go to jail and get killed. the fake thugs are the ones that talk gangster and live in high society with garbage disposal systems in their left-hand sinks. i am sure some real thug niggas have managed to make it beyond jail and murder, but without the data to back it up... i will claim that they are very rare. yes balls..

and little kim. telling black males to grab their penises. and is she claiming that her vagina is deeper than six feet... or it is just a metaphor? that would be one cavernous sloot-farm. she might just be too deep for me. and i certainly don't want to eat her out or let her come down my throat. whatever, that song came out in the 90's. i was still wacking off to the animated peter pan back then. damn wendy... you fly

sittin on the panel

you kidding me right? ain't no way that i will pay $400 for that satchel of femora. i could pay A HOMELESS $400 to kill 10 people and that'ud average out to $20 a femur right there... not to mention the rest of the skeleton. of course that would be a hassle and it is unrealistic, but... i am certainly not giving you $400 for old bones. yes, it is my fault for having a hobby as strange as human bone collecting... but it is an idea i really wanted to use. how many humans collect human bones? at first i didn't know whether it was legal, i didn't know where i would purchase them, i certainly knew it wouldn't be easy to find them out and about. you have to admit that you never dreamed you would be trying to work a human-bone hustle. probably because the whole thing is written off as being wierd. it seems that bone collecting has this stigma of being linked to serial killing. serial killers are certainly wierd but... i am not a serial killer and i don't think i have the stomach to take human lifel. however, that would be an easy source of bones right there.

free pack of 5 notecards when you spend $10

1: i will do anything and everything to preserve this sensation.



2: it is infatuation... the quick ticket to destruction.



1: i would destroy all possible worlds to experience it for an extra moment. i might choose to crush you on a whim.


2: all for her?


1: what do you think it is that you know? can you tell me what beauty is? are you an authority on all things pertinent? tell me what you see, i feel the pressure of your latent counsel.


2: she looks like a peasant. you are not limited by anything. you are free to experience sensation without responsibility and you are choosing to ground yourself for the touch of a woman. for the attention of a peasant woman. the thought alone is disappointing. the scene never changes. you can only grow tired.



1: i was not aware that there was a formula for the experience of sensation. are you here with me during my subjective moments of bliss, during my subjective moments of turmoil? i know that i am begging the question. but i do want to know what you believe i am lacking in the realm of sensation. how can you be sure that i am not poised to escape into infinite pleasure as i freeze a moment of climax with this woman in my arms?



2: you are not bound by physical laws but you are here... living a physical life. this is not the limit of sensation. you are impatient. you are not willing to wait and learn. you do not understand anything... but you are capable of anything you wish. your only limitation is your lack of vision.


1: what vision do i need? everything is here before me. i have felt it. i have reached the end of sensation's offering. my capacity is greater than any will ever be. you are eager to discount the value of the pretty peasant girl. you want the answer to be complex. you want the mystery to be incomprehensible to mortal men. but it is not. i have seen the boundaries. i cannot prove you wrong, nor you i. but i have the tangible before me. you are waiting. hoping that your theory will be confirmed by the unknown. you will wait forever.


2: you harp on the subjective. you claim that you have felt the limit of sensation's potential. but why? why do you believe that sensation is so easily understood. could it not be a craft? might there be layers? you will be sentient forever. you will be cognizant forever. after twenty years you believe that you have an answer. do not be blinded by the powers of your perception. do not be a fool.

1: what will i be waiting for? i have found the sensation that brings me to the point of fulfillment. if i wait and the actions become routine there is no guarantee that i will ever reach the point of fulfillment again. why would i risk that? my purpose is to live in the midst of sensation. there is no way to avoid the general practice... but the outstanding moments will be few and far between. i have the capability to preserve it. why shouldn't i make my experience one of infinite fulfillment?


2: when will you experience hardship? how do you know that your vision is dynamic enough to maximize the meaning, the breadth of your sensations? i do not believe that you know anything, or that you care to know anything. you are passionate and crazy. you are willing to throw it all away for something very pleasant. but pleasantries are not worth the suspension of your existence. no matter what you choose... the experience will be amazing. but if you rush you will not break ground. you will not be remembered or respected. you will only be envied by other fools that are eager to rush, eager to forget, eager to be static.... numb.



1: nothing will ever compare to this. you are the fool. you will wait forever... and you will never know the beauty that i have found. continue to wait. i pity you. you are a coward. i only wish that you had the vision to see the splendor in this simple game of causality.








can't speak the lessons.

skull press.

moments of yelling. followed by moments that we call something else. maybe the shouts return.
and.
maybe such hardships are easily forgotten.
as life grows.

ease so early

some people chit chat forever. why not oblige? just fuckin dig in to the banter. make some people feel good. including yourself!!!!! casual interaction. story telling.

F: "i was at my boyfriends house over the labor day weekend"

M: "oh... did you mention your boyfriend so that i would think that you want to cheat on him with me... or because you are subtly telling me that ain't shit gonna happen between us"

F: "oh my god, what?"

M: "please don't waste my time"

that kind of conversation may or may not happen at jury duty. there is a room full of pissed off people. some trying to make the best of it and other with sunken eyes scanning the room from under the hood of their sweatshirt.

old people. good-looking chicks. ugly chicks. average dudes. some guy pretending to be famous... with a hair style and sun glasses... inside. with a fucking button down shirt with trendy pattern shit on it. club-wear. cheesy techno wear... girls gone wild girlfriend wear. i want a tweed jacket.

booze for fun.
coke for fun.
powder sneeze.
i don't know whether that actually happens or not.
i am just throwing things.

lookin good gina... lookin good.

advanced formula

welcome to the orgasmic experience that is music. moods, rhythms and melodies have to be right... for that moment, for that transcendent moment. the tears. the ocean. the flow of life as we may or may not know it. drugs help to get the experience going.

I don't do drugs anymore, but i should probably start again. not that i did any that were that bad or that i did too much of them, i wasn't forced in to stopping because of excess... this is not an adictive desire thing... it is just that i find myself in a half-assed mode of living and perhaps i need the artificial death-face of elicit substance to jump back in to the mix. i am frozen in the here and now worrying about health. i patrol my house with a net... claiming that i am hunting ghosts. if i were to get in heavy with drugs then i would have a real problem to overcome... and this half-assed bullshit would be left for all the other retards that are still sane but just too bitch to handle their nihilist selves. it isn't really real nihilism. it is the kind of nihilism in which the believer/non-believer knows that there is no purpose or meaning but they choose to hang on to notions of god possibilities and love possibilities and other such things because the world physically hurts without those cuddly thoughts. even though they know damn well that the dark brooding moments leave nothing but a dusty semen spray and the ashes of some former holy texts. no creation. no beliefs... just some lies strategically placed to keep it all from falling apart.

HEY!!!!!!!!!! let's bob for apples and have underage sex. that will surely help us forget everything bad and live freely in the now.

or.

maybe some other slippery whale tit shit lickers will claim that talking about sad/bad things, like nihilism and underage sex, is for losers and idiots. i will categorically disagree and hope that they will allow me to cleveland steam them after they realize that their escapist rationalities are inferior. i got a fetish to feed. and it involves feces in the pectoral region. get your right/wrong goggles on.

i don't actually have such a fetish. oh come on. like me.

excuse me, what is the balance on your metrocard?

pick up the phone. back to default social mode. hit the reset button. put the face on. lace the weed with pcp and wait for the echo to come first. fractals fractals. no that is a different schedule. take the step from 1 to 2. are there different penalties for possession or is it just how badass the substance really is. at the heart of its platonic being.

some people have been known to wear a profound ontological shirt after ingesting this substance.

experience no sound economical gifts.

buy a silk shift in soho.

all the pieces are there somewhere... now... let me find my brain. actually, i think that personas are the only interesting thing that we have got. information is drab. most of the good stuff comes from the way that we experience each other. the raw sensations. the way that our figures look. the physical presence and the physical awareness. the thinking side of things can plague us. it is okay to indulge in thought, but be sure to return to baseline. in other words... remember to get down. pin some legs up, get your box serviced. whatever you like. just remember that purpose is optional and meaning is an old wives' tale. get a life picture and alter it often... if you can.

L ......................... R

ain't nobody real/
i am given the chance to engage in a genuine dialectic once a month, maximum.
bitches is trife/
societal pressures have made most females tough to bear.
get that paper/
technology has made survival an indirect worry for advanced societies, the new challenge is getting rich.



i may vomit.

can i vomit now?

you govern me. indirectly. the subtle pressure of our coexistence makes my freedom-self into an abeyant mouse. the snake gorged earlier.

do you like me?

a year for seven days

let me in behind the secrets.
the insecurities
the barriers.

you can trust
you can know that i will never lie.
we will dance in love...
like all the deepest authors wrote.

we can be there.
in those moments
the way they pass seamlessly.
everything will be incredible
if only you can see me in the right light.

because that is how i am forced to get by
i don't have the common tools.
a glance won't get your mind games playing
i am forced to work from corners.
to watch and plan
i do everything you might consider wrong.

but i will find a way to speak to you.
a way to reach you
in a way that others never could.
identify the contour of your character
and.
use the knowledge
to play you like a virtuoso.
that has found a beautiful instrument for creation.

the pattern breaks
a mistake removes the mask.
now you see me as the snake
no more compliments on dick size.
no more gentle rubbing backs
it grows cold.
no more open doors
left to kneel in the driveway.
i saw you glance from the window
our sensations begin to fade from my mind.

i look at the world as a black cloud.
i had to fake my way in
and.
now the world is colder than the moment i allowed the barriers to fall.
you initiated
you pulled me in.
i could have let it go
let it been what it was.
but i made the choice to craft it
to make it meaningful.
to try and impress
rather then live as myself.

that is why it crumbled
maybe not for you.
you may remain unscathed
but you are the beautiful instrument.
you can make beautiful music with another
another with less talent.
but the product will be precious none-the-less.
i was too young
too consumed by the pressure of here and now.
and
wanting the present to be forever.
it is clear
such works of beauty are rare.
and the beholder is left to gouge his eyes...









or find freedom














a different time.

sell it for less... make it easy

mr. everett spencer: do you swim often?

piss mop: i'm sorry?

mr. everett spencer: do you swim often?

piss mop: actually no, i enjoy swimming but i don't get the chance to do it very often.

mr. everett spencer: well you have fin-like feet. looks like you would be a good swimmer.

piss mop looks down at his feet. ponderously.

such a pretty face

what is the source of your hate? your prejudice? when is it blind rage time? how about a mood?

some are such natural humanitarians. some are so eager to be altruists. baffled by racism. unwilling to accept the ignorance of those that lash out at what they do not understand.

what is it that our species needs to understand? what will solve the problems?

rally to your cause. all you brilliant crusaders. show the world the right way. try to fix existence.

that is my goal. my goal is to fix everything. the notion of impossibility is a farce. it is either obvious or false. i cannot fly without mechanical assistance. i can change the viewpoint of the person standing next to me.

but how?

what words can i say?

what actions must i take?

what do i have to show?

what is the goal?

to get everyone to see it the way that i see it?

this fucking bullshit crusade. i stand so righteous and it is all a posture. i am so infatuated with my existence. i don't want to help our species. i don't want others to succeed. i want to be respected. i want to be the center of attention. i want to inspire awe. all these notions. these ambiguous statements that hint at improvement. they do not get at anything. the questions and the search for their answers will not eliminate a paradox. the pain of hardship will never leave. the joke is on me. nursing my self-inflicted wounds. a round of jokes... everyone likes the good jokes. the wacky viewpoint. it's all nothing. i know it. you know it. but we dance and we flaunt.

it will be simple for you to step back and realize that my depressive rambling is just the stuttering of a fool. you're life can go on. my life will go on. my mood will change. i will go to sleep. i will wake with new concerns. new facets of my self-indulgence. i will live to question the validity of my concern... after my fury has faded. it is all a big show, i am here reciting lines.... entertaining myself. trying to be honest. trying to seek truth. when it is clear that i am not in a position to speak about truth. my intellect fails me. i can't see the pattern. i can't find any answers. a fucking pollock painting. those that put the weight into his status. there is nothing there. random strokes. random splatter much less than extraordinary. a load of bullshit left for me to gawk at. pretentious pieces of shit sitting in the museum of modern art. hum chumming about the cocks they farted on in art school. none of it is worth anything. it is all inconsequential. and that should be simple. that realization should be enough to shut the questions down. but the infatuation reigns. the desire to lace it all with purpose. again and again. it all comes back to this sordid bullshit. let me ask again. let me say again. let us all be amazed by the ignorance of our world. let us all shed a tear for the hardships of others. let us all recognize the beauty of the complexity. we won't break for it. we won't stop smiling at our friends. we won't give it all up to be consistent. there are things that we are inclined to want. gut reactions. raw desires. the intellect has no control. the peripheral decisions are ours to play with. we can create styles for ourselves. and those choices may shape the way we fit. but in the moments when we step away. we will all find the same questions. we will all look to ourselves for answers that cannot be ascertained. and most will be lucky enough to stumble through uncertainty. a drink here. a fight here. a night without sleep. there will be milestones and emptiness. they will come and go with stomach pains, smiles, laughs, rapid heartbeats, and tears. lies and deception will be balanced by triumph and beauty. things will work out... because we have the will to survive. or we will die. leaving scraps of a disfigured life. defeated. but the questions will remain. and we will remain inconsistent. our focuses will shift. we will long for this and grow to that. the passion does not stay the same. life is too big for passions. there is too much to consider. because i don't want to be weird. i don't want you to look at me as a joke. i want to be respected. considered as a possibility, not as a carnival attraction. but i want to stay in line with my passions. i don't want to sacrifice discovery for pleasantries. what is it doing to my nuerotransmission? how many years am i taking off my life? will i ever get to sit at a table and look at the generations of my family? will i get to have a quiet cry on my own as the sun starts to set on my life?

yes. can i be serious with this bullshit? can we be serious? should we be serious? is life too short? do girls just want to have fun? or do they just enjoy singing it together when they have enough liquor in them?

it is always a hazy image.

too serious. too much thinking. thinking about my own fucking disasters.

just go out and get drunk man. lighten up a little. don't take yourself so seriously.

play your escape games. you will enjoy your lives. and i will not enjoy mine.








find the comfort. find the good.

the original unaired pilot

i took out a mixed gang with a wiffle-ball bat in my backyard. it was a battle.

what it is that means the story is;

there is a coveted patch of grass on my back lawn where, it is believed, that the nigger-spick-nazi jesus was born. his father, carl lewis, shit him out after taking shots of grain alcohol and injecting finely pureed locust bodies into his blood stream. the mixed gang worships the nigger-spick-nazi jesus.

the mixed gang wanted to claim their sacred patch of lawn. they are called a mix gang because they are composed of many races. primarily black males and south american females. but there are also wiggers and wicks... that new breed of whities that want to be spicks. they envy that latino swagger. there were also some afghanies, some irish people, some disillusioned white guys from nebraska, a very mixed bunch, but they are able to come together because they know that they love the nigger-spick-nazi jesus. in fact they have a ritual that is much like christianity's communion. in each one of their worship temples there is a statue of carl lewis in a doggystyle position (hips over knees, shoulders over hands). when it is remembrance time they go up to the statue and kiss the distended birth canal that is replicated on each likeness. there is room for artistic interpretation... the sculptors just have to be sure to get across that a nigger-spick-nazi messiah was jettisoned out of that ass. gruesome, yet pristine... in the holiness way. like mary giving birth as a virgin... in a barn. imagine getting your cherry popped by your first born child on hay with a donkey licking up the serous fluids that ensue... whoa

so

i would say there were about 200 mixed gang members that came to challenge me for control of the 3x6 patch of grass, plot of land.... whatever the fuck.

when they arrived i was juggling a bouncy ball, a red marble-works base piece (where the marbles collect in the basin after their journey), and a wiffle-ball bat. because the odds were against me... i chose to use the wiffle-ball bat as a weapon. i didn't have time to get to the hose, it would have been so easy to anti-protest those minority asses with a hose... rich united states traditions flew through my mind-brain and i just started swinging on the darker skinned than i's. the battle raged. i danced and wiffled their skulls. i hit temples and knee caps exclusively.

i won. i believe in the real jesus. and he kept my shit straight. the nigger-spick-nazi jesus is not for real. god's son. jesus christ. is for real.

and after it was all over i violated the unconscious women. because non-believers ain't even worthy of organism status. it was basically the same as sticking my penis in a coffee mug that had a wet hand towel and some lube in it. ain't nothing wrong with that.

i fucking hate socialites... but i need them. i should just kill myself yeah?

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since 1933

i have reasons for liking the things that i like. i believe that explicating the reasons makes the entire enterprise, of "liking", "enjoying", rather trite... i only engage in such explanations during post-orgasm glow. post-orgasm glow is never trite. at least not to the one glowing.

so...

i have trouble thinking beyond my perspective, reaching beyond my interests. for example. i am an only child.... therefore, when i think about an incestuous relationship between a brother and sister... i consider how convenient that would be, not how disgusting. i am well aware that such a thing is probably appalling to people that have siblings... but i don't have siblings... so the idea of a hot sister is sexually intriguing. sweet sweet honesty.

another thing. i hear this said; "if only he had a girlfriend." which is followed by... "then he would get it together" or "then he would be a different man." creepy dudes, lazy dudes, ugly dudes, etc... that need girlfriends... lack girlfriends because they are... creepy, lazy, ugly... dudes that need girlfriends. it is not as though a girlfriend is on the horizon and they will get over the pesky hump once she comes around. the hump is not just a rut, or whatever folk-psychology term you want to use, the so called hump is the shabby dude's way of being. said dudes are going to have to get lucky as shit to land some caring poon.

fucking insomnia. it used to be that i couldn't fall asleep at a reasonable hour.... now i can't sleep for more than two hours in a row. welcome to shit-bang-jelly town.



i may just yank off until my brain falls out.

blah blah sexually liberated blah blah russian hot bodies blah orgy.

they altered themselves... mentally

i ain't got friends/
i don't want em/
just a grubby situation/
made for stabbin backs/
rubbin off relations/
you want something/
i do too/
we create a network/
laugh together/
drinkin brew/
maybe liquor/
smokin drugs/
anything for fun/
for good times/
for love/
for easy transitions/
to casual hangin/
call the girls around/
call the guys around/
keep it real/
pair off/
some get left out/
go home/
jerk off/
work horse/
lazy fuck/
we range around the spectrum/
brown nose/
flax seed/
she's protective of her rectum/
nose and nipple rings/
chloroform helps me rip em off/
i collect em/
trophies/
just like herpes/
reminders of achievments/
but/
whatever/
we talkin bout friends/
or/
the lack of/
the black gloves/
i had em on when i did it/
black book/
black list/
black bloody shit/
liver problems/
a good buddy on your girlfriend's clit/
that shit scars/
the way we let relations develop/
relations envelop/
i can't remember the last round of innocent fun/
cause the evil is so much easier to see/
we label it/
enable it/
turning cheeks cause we long for sensation/
long for contact/
we let shit fly/
let the fan spin/
let the fans in/
fame is overrated/
have you ever dated someone famous/
is the pussy exponentially better/
the smells/
the raw feels/
does it all make more sense/
less sense/
more sensation/
better settings/
nicer surroundings for my fatal stroke/
for my death orgasm/
bloody skull/
cracked across the tiles/
all smiles/
life trickles down the drain/
but/
nevermind that/
all smiles/
this musing is fantastic/
elastic waistband wrapped around my dick/
trying to delay/
for pleasure/
to really flip the lids/
the readers of my script/
the path life/
so much good time/
i made it that way/
active participation/
melding in to my surroundings/
you don't know shit/
you know my value to you/
low self-esteem/
and/
delusional fits/
metal face talked about it/
using deep fried friendz/
but songs play/
and/
they end/
we live perpetual/
time extends from us/
we sleep/
but/
the up time comes/
meet you at the beach ho/
to your face; lovely lady/
we can fuck raw/
but/
i really hope we don't have babies/
cause your genetics will turn our child into a bitch/
either sex/
i don't want it/
so maybe i will throw the condom on/
cause you are an ornament/
a nice feeling for my dick/
a hand alternative/
i will still do the yoga/
i will still look out my window at the teenage chicks/
you don't know shit about me/
the feel of my hair/
the smell of my feet/
the important things/
the shade of my teeth/
involuntary isolation/
the way i roll/
15 humans in 14 holes/
who got the belly warmer for the night/
or was it dp exposed/
we don't know/
we can only guess/
did i mean holes in the ground?/
or/
holes in a ho?/
certainly the ground/
its about who goes down/
who goes in there to keep me company/



the good songs turn off/
and/
a stroke of bad luck leaves me with the shit i don't want to know/
just like a lovely voice on the phone/
great images/
good memories/
amongst a sea of shit that almost destroyed my life/





hello friends/
i may like you/
may love you/
but/
from time to time/
it will be fuck you/
cause ya'll deserve it/
just like i do/
so every once in a while/
remember that you are a piece of shit/
just like i do/
for me/
and/
for you/
because/
i have either forgotten happiness/
or/
i don't believe in it/




isn't that so sad/
i hope that your judgment is raw/
pitty is not welcome/
a piece of shit is in no position to judge another piece of shit/
the location may be different/
but the stench/
or at least/
the relative foul-level is somewhat the same/
maybe not/
call it denial/

or/


that which i need to do to live with myself/

hooty ho sha-bing

everything/

very serious/

maybe so/

maybe not/

never sleep before 4am


never sleep/


shifty knife dance. very drowsy. but moving like zombie.

yoga for good

there is a choice that must be made when an individual reaches the edge of existence.

it seems to be an ambiguous choice. meaning; the paths beyond the point of divergence are not very clear.

the options are as follows;

care about your life, set and achieve goals, be active.

or.

do not care. drift. kill yourself or live moment-to-moment. atrophy.


ontologically... i think that this choice is one that all cognizent beings will have to face if they use their tools to investigate. I am not a platonist. I am not saying that this choice exists outside of the spatio-temporal realm. This choice depends on the existence of beings with a form of cognition, or something like it, that resembles the cognition of human beings. Without this apparatus the choice does not exist.

Now... most human beings do not investigate, or they engage in a half-assed form of investigation. Perhaps it is advantageous, in the realm of survival, not to investigate metaphysical issues and all the related bullshit. But to avoid ingnorantly running ourselves, as a species, into the ground we may want to start investigating more thoroughly.

The result of half-assed human investigation is a hybrid of the choice-forced divergent paths. Because human beings are made aware of their emotions there is no way to escape... "what do i want?" questions. Because of our ability to deductively reason there is no way to escape... "why did that happen?" questions. So even if a human being wanted to be completely unaware of the surroundings... a picture of existence will arise given our cognitive/perceptual apparatus.

The people that do not run with the critical thinking powers are left in a limbo of sorts. They want to achieve but they want to experience brilliant sensations. They cannot manage to do the things that they want to do because they are conflicted in regard to whether they care about the way they will be viewed within their in-group or whether they care about the sensations and desires that they wish to know and fulfill in their subjective world. Sometimes image-based achievement and sensation can be simultaneous elements in the existential landscape, but i believe that to be a rare situation. The key to this situation is that most people have not been to the non-physical location that i call the edge of existence.

This non-physical location is a potential part of the human experience. It can be accessed during rumination after failure, during moments of extreme bliss... (post-sex, pleasant psychedelic experience, etc.), and during unexpected moments within daily activity. A person may say something that does not sit well, or a person may say something that you agree with, beyond superficial concurrence.

The edge of existence allows for a train of thought that is stripped of adherence to convention. Social conventions disappear and the individual that is subjectively quasi-free "sees" a picture of their existence. They see, within their ability to perceive and judge, the basic elements of their life. They become aware of the processes that they need and the processes that occur beyond their control. The vision is unclouded by the ignorantly constructed, but overwhelmingly real, portion of the societal acceptance paradigm. And this is when the choice becomes possible. Life becomes somewhat less ambiguous. in essence a small portion of the mystery dissolves. only to be replaced by the next round of existential mystery. but it is a milestone. an achievement that will actively shape the life that follows.

i am not crying about some sort of demonic society. there is no inherent evil that stemmed from the decision/need to settle into agricultural societies. i mean... i would be all for the harsh life of subsistence hunting if i didn't have to live it. i am simply saying that their is a way to achieve a choice that is free from artificial societal constraints. it requires emotional tweaking and separation from the "everything has the potential to be good" element of humanity. i believe that people should be encourages to figure out where they stand. the notions of success... and the molds of acceptability that stem from them... have, are, and will continue to limit the diversity of human perspectives. this is dulling down the mental environment and leading to polarized shit viewpoints. human beings have a good deal of ability. i do not wish to invoke the notion of potential, because it is not clear if there is any sort of goal that an individual or a society could set to even use as a measuring stick for a legitimate notion of potential. but i do think that the abilities of human beings should be spread across the spectrum of actual possibilities. the possibilites stemming from our cognitive/perceptual apparatus... not the possibilities that we realize through the societal lens. this isn't about fighting the man... or the machine. this is about investigating our existence enough to know if the machine is fit for handling our capabilities.

you are so right

oh my god.

everything is so bad.

I am projectile vommiting and shitting all over my bathroom. i am a human waste sprinkler. i think i ate a devil muffin. i went down on the wrong chooch this time. she done burned me. blast my cunt-loving tongue. rats. and. dash-it-all.

my cat is adorable. and i hug it so that my deep deep hurt might possibly be diffused by its cute and unaware, otherwise useless, aura. yay animals. yay vomit and shit sprinkler. yay scrip pads. self-medication. ending.

my utensil

in response to a casual job offer;

oh... well... you know. don't really have any ideas for a story right now. i am too wrapped up in myself. the only things i would be able to put out would be muddled shit about my somewhat unidentified problems. the possible sources of my suffering. things like that. it wouldn't be dynamic enough. it would just be preachy whiney bullshit. unless that's what you want. i think i am going to pass.

but certainly call me for dinner. maybe we can get some drinks. i have been consuming a steady stream of beers while sitting in front of my computer. only the finest brews. i cry. i piss. and. i wait for something to happen. doesn't matter what the something is. maybe a heart attack. maybe someone will call. maybe another war will start. i just check my e-mail and write comments on other people's writing. i'm just a lazy shithead. you don't want me in your work circle.