seizure lights, they're there for a purpose.

sometimes it's nice to think about life really hard. think about the dying thoughts of a possum as it tried to cross the street. "maybe i should get out of that big things way." you stood your ground possum. good job. rest in peace possum.

i just realized the word "rip" is probably on countless tombstones. probably because not everyone could originally afford to have the words spelled out on the headstone so they abbreviated it, then it became a trend. it seem's like such a stupid word to be memorialized by, even if it does stand for something else. people are just goofy. i think a smiley face with a tear is more appropriate :.) or they shouldn't say anything and just paint tombstones different colors, whatever they feel. make a painting party out of it. rocks are boring and sad, even marble ones. it's mostly a waste anyways.

no that is not a third eye, it's a tear. dammit.

hey girls, i can fake it too.

let's face it, there's nothing out there for us. stay inside.

drastically different

the love is warm but unevenly dispersed. it's full, but not quite how they'd hoped. the end is often full of tears, but they're not dying fast enough. so they repeatedly ask questions, is every person loved one that can't be lived without? meanwhile, their truths hide in the things they don't know that make them want to kill themselves. but even worse are the truths they hide from lovers.

merry christmas.

every year christmas lights and luminated decorations suck excessive energy from the planet. also, cancer is growing. as time goes by we don't necessarily get smarter. in the future they will have other things to worry about. like who loves who. it's funny that why people aren't dying is almost more interesting a question then why they are. love each other like animals do, without standards or apprehension, it's fucking christmas.

miserable lover

i fell in love with her the moment i saw her without a jacket on. the rest of my day was ruined. it's that simple.

the worst artist: a biography

he tried to make some money, but he couldn't, so he lived at home with his supportive parents who were quite well off. he spent years trying to craft his perspective and niche in aesthetics, only to decide later that it had to find him, causing him to wait more than try. "my art captures the flaws and mediocrity of the human condition," he said to a local reporter, who jotted it down on a notepad which was soon thrown out and never printed. when he unveiled what he proclaimed to be his masterpiece, a few people nodded, but they didn't know anything about art. he shot himself in the head and survived. he didn't mean for that last part to happen.

eighty some years is much too long for nothing

blank stares resulting from the receipt of an unwanted gift. struggle is supposed to keep our minds busy. you never hear of the hungry being suicidal. it might have something to do with an obvious goal.

he's writing a novel about the apocalypse

he's about 400 pages into it, wars between devils and angels. it's guaranteed not to justify the dead trees it will be printed on. i kiss her and tell her i love her while jotting on some paper, "this life is not worth living."

i always find myself throwing things away

i've probably had one of the more typical white suburban upbringings a kid can have in this world. this makes me ignorant to other ways of life only in the sense that i may not have experienced them first hand, making those that have not experienced mine first hand equally ignorant. this ignorance to the experiences of others is universal and because of this, should not be considered a burden, or should be considered the burden of experience as we know it. communication helps us to alleviate this burden, or accentuate it. we come from a place we have no control over into a world that already has plans for us before we exist. then we wonder why there's no justice. just because something isn't there doesn't mean it isn't meant to be, or can't be.

¡hey, su pescado está en mi boca, gracias!

art, it's an interesting thing. you can teach certain skills and concepts, but creativity and inspiration? perhaps you can guide it and provide resources for development, but not the way you can instill facts on eager pupils. the art kids go to school so they can make money doing drawings and painting and manipulating images in interesting ways. i bet they'd strangle each other for their ideal job. i might pay to see that, then the remains could be an installation piece titled; motivated artists.

everybody look up in anticipation

you better get a dream fast and then hurry up and chase it. otherwise how will you know if you failed? you'll just feel disappointed and uncertain of life without a reason. it's better to have that perpetual carrot in front of you, so you don't stop and realize the absurdity of it all.

the wall wears it like a smile, a creepy smile

i took first place, but after that i still had to go home and be in bed before 9. mom said so. i guess i was happy, but looking at it now it didn't really matter, and only made things to come seem worse.

mediocrity

to be really good at something, like the best, you have to take your whole existence and focus it on that one thing, then maybe you'll be good at it. focus. like luke skywalker. except don't lose your hand. and never have a crush on your sister. that's gross.

let's move someplace crazy that other people are scared to go. let's do what they won't, they're all lame, look at them. lame-wads.

rockstars are not normal people.

i call 'em like i see 'em

he told stories between the acoustic songs he played. they didn't really go anywhere, but no one cared. they just wanted to feel a part of something more. a world they'd only heard through speakers and headphones. a world that no longer exists and even small traces like memories are becoming more scarce. the extinction of moments is constant and infinite. the thousands of fans he's played for has now dwindled to fifty, and it feels more like an open mic than a concert. getting older can't make it easier, but it doesn't seem to matter. there's an honesty and sincerity behind it that you can't fake. he's an artist because he's trying to say something, and it's obvious. he hasn't given up like those crippled by their own past. he's doing something new and no one can stop him. the world will be a different place.

they say god is a dying man that hates us, with nothing to fear or hold back

i'd like to say i'd do something completely different when faced with the same situation, but the truth is i'd probably respond in the most commonly expected way just because people expect it, to not stand out when i don't want to. there's probably a sociological term for this. something like, the expected reaction theory. someone probably wrote a book about it and is now living off of having written the quintessential book of the expected reaction theory. they now live someplace warm with an ocean view, on a cliff or mountain somewhere, still getting paid to talk about what they think about their ideas and ideas that have come around since. more of the latter, of course.

ok, someone you know is dead. so?

have a drink and stay a while. there's not much better to do. we're making folk songs without a message of hope, or a message at all. i want to see the stars fall out of the sky like electric rain and to run with the screaming crowds toward a non-existent shelter. i want to see their faces, those i never really cared for, those i did, and even more i'd never seen before, knowing we're all going though the same thing. we always have been, but most had their heads in the clouds, until now. now we all see each other exactly the same; fucked.

do you need any valium?

no thanks, i'm good.

but i do need to work on these things:

watercolor cards
a canvas
something for mother
strange gloves
a mask that works
investigate the car's make
just a radio
a bottle of wine
or five
call in sick
a record contract
more canvas might be necessary
job should have come first
feeling better about things in general

people we knew

they haven't killed themselves since you've not been in their lives. they probably don't plan on it either. they're planning out ways to make things better, or things already are. you don't have anything to do with these plans. the plans exist like their creators, independant and functional without you. a boy, with a pole, attached to a hook, sitting on a frozen lake, waiting for the spring.