thinking differently.

if life feels like a punishment, it's safe to assume you should be doing something differently. when you hesitate at dancing publicly for mere existence, then there is something holding you back. take notes on living from the people you think have done well. if you can't find them, perhaps you need to reevaluate your understanding of life. being successful and making a living is becoming a sort of functional robot that performs certain tasks repetitively and without err. anything can become a habit. i'd just rather have mine be making love and smelling flowers. sunsets surrounded by horizons of endless ocean might be nice, maybe it would get old. depends on the company. desperate for friends, we find ourselves reaching out to those we might not otherwise reach out to. everything is circumstantial. even our existence is based on the circumstances that caused our parents' coital embrace, all the emotional factors, all economical factors, all social ideas pressed on. things could have just as easily turned out different. somehow i feel it couldn't be all that different.

an unnecessarily intricate philosophy, resulting from an overabundance of idle time.

she was skinny, but her face was full. like there's a chubby girl inside she's trying hard to hold back.

"it was better when i was younger." people go for years without love. even decades. will you?

i wish i wasn't doomed to love every love forever.

i wish i could forget. i wish i didn't care. easily turned to suicidal thoughts. love would be easy if we didn't have to think about it afterwards.

every day i wake up, i just think how awesome my life is and that this is the best day ever.

growing disappointed that it can never be exactly as it was. just playing it cool. playing it like a real cool hand. with no direction, no symmetry, no sense of familiarity in a world that's constantly pushing us forward. you've already lost who you've wanted to be a hundred times over. those moments weren't even poetry or song, they were just mumbled abstract thoughts that look ugly on paper or anywhere but your head. and the only thing that can keep them there is a night alone sitting on the floor in the dark with headphones on as the record revolves with eyes closed.

i tried to make it easy for her to fall back in love with me. i moved back. not too far, not hard to find, not out of the way. in fact, directly on the way. none of it mattered though. none of it would help make her love me again. i was just moving back, without her.

i could probably make her love me, but i wouldn't recommend it. she'd likely just learn things about life she'd be better off without. i feel the same way about myself.

it's like i have tourettes whenever i think of the past.

...fuck.

nothing comes so naturally anymore except unhappiness and regret. something drastic should be done.

if he had never gotten laid.

what the hell would bukowski have written about? horsetracks and puking in the morning? afternoon? no thanks. let's face it, if the old man didn't get a fuck, no one would give a fuck about him. people just want to try to understand how, being physically unatractive and socially inept, one can still manage to have sex on a regular basis with what one assumes to be decently attractive women.

thinking about it like this makes me want to start doing something detrimental to my health, habitually.

she talks like she's trying to be normal. she walks among them like there's nothing strange about it. she wants to be just like everyone around her, but she isn't. she's beautiful.

reading bukowski's a lot like an unhealthy addiction to pornography. you begin to alienate yourself socially, because you don't have sex as frequently as you are aware of others having it. and so easily. you must be doing something wrong.

going postal with a fear of brides.

not getting much happier and not doing much about it. when a path to happiness presents itself, i look down the path to consider it. then i close my eyes, spin myself around in a circle until i fall to the ground, get up and walk in whatever direction i am facing. some people may call this stupid. i call it faith. some might say, faith in what, you're agnostic. agnosticism is much too indecisive to contain room for such uncertain concepts. blind faith is a beautiful thing, i argue. whatever you believe. and we all believe in something. for the gamblers and number crunchers out there, it might be just as good as an educated decision. in the end our lives are all we know, and what we use to compare and judge those lives against is our decision. we decide how we view our life, however mundane or shitty it is. we decide if it is of value. but if everything in our life is telling us it isn't or could be better, who are we to argue? who are we to tell ourselves they are wrong. after all, they are many voices and contentedness seems so hard to maintain.. maybe they are right. ok, i'll buy your pills. thanks.

claim to fame.

before he sat down at the table of people he didn't know, he pointed out all their obvious character qualities and the entire dichotomy of the group which was interchanging until he joined. you were the head of the group and then you took over. and you two girls have been going back and forth and you, he said pointing directly at me, you haven't said a thing. from that point on i didn't say but a handful of mumbled words the entire evening. this overt description of individuals worked not only as an icebreaker but pointed out his acute sense of awareness and skilled hearing. so what do you do? we're a design firm, the man replied. i was the one who said they should make the tupperware lids blue. it's his claim to fame, said his date. i'm the cfo of a telecommunications company said the intruder. he went on to talk about milwaukee and how his daughter is looking at the local college. then in a conversation pause he looked directly at me and said, and what do you do? i uh.. um.

the christmas party.

i have to write something good here. i had a horrible night and the only thing that can make it worthwile is some sort of epiphany or insight. i guess we always have the potential to disappoint oursleves. there's no guarantee things will get better, in fact, they're more likely to stay the same or get slightly worse. after you realize you love something it has already become something different. it's easy to look back and say none of it was worth it. not even the beautiful moments.

a need to be heard.

life is not meant for the quiet watchers. slowly taking things in. considering perspectives and pondering. full of both relevant and irrelevant ponderings. letting opportunities pass by and people finalize judgement. they should all be hunted, gutted, and served to the boistrous.

i didn't fuck anyone today, not even myself.

there's a lot of potential out there. everything presents a new possibility. yet most of the time it feels as if nothing really changes or ever really will. a potential constricted by perspective. if there were no music those girls probably wouldn't let boys they don't know touch them like that without a cushion of conversation. all i ate today was bread. it was all i had in the kitchen. i have a bank balance of -0.08 from buying the bread. i should have gotten paid a few days ago. but it will probably happen tomorrow, hopefully. not enjoying life is tiring. i'm thinking of just driving off. what do you do when you're tired of being yourself, but it's all you know how to do. i'm glad no one loves me who doesn't have to. it makes it a little easier to know that i'm not doing very well and if things go wrong it wont matter to more people than necessary. i wonder why people bother saying goodbye. just leaving seems to say it so much better. no note or anything, just the time spent together, trying to interact and relate, maybe. or just being around another person. then not at all.

nothing inparticular.

you could probably sit there forever and never really think of anything original. then again no one really wants or expects you to. some people say that if we stop the war on drugs society would fall apart. what does that say about society? puking and smiling, puking and smiling, fucking like shaking hands. curl up in a ball and try very hard not to feel. a habit of talking to yourself from all the lonely years. a parasitic tapeworm for a pet. don't forget to feed it. they look down on you when you throw up because they don't have to. they'll always love someone more than you.

why they're not alone on christmas.

Because otherwise, who knows what they'd do to themselves. What facing their memories and thoughts would turn them to. In this way, a house full of family is not unlike a psychiatric ward.

i've been trying to understand exactly what it is you do and i find i am unable.

the end of their lives was promptly followed by the relief of not living. she walked around the restaurant looking for empty glasses so that she could wash them out and put them in a tub of recently washed glasses. all the while she looked unhappy. she was the kind of unhappy looking girl, where it was hard to tell if she was just a naturally unhappy looking person, was miserable with life, or just dissatisfied with the position she served as a mobile glass cleaner in a bar/restaurant. the apartment is in a basement. the windows face up towards the world above. everything behind them exists below the world. they live beneath the world. if life is not exciting then we are doing something wrong. we are doing something wrong. everything we love is something we no longer have. this writing is for no other reason than onanistic filling of space. we are creators.

some people want to save lives.

some people never want to do anything like that. obsessive compulsive or busying yourself out of depression. none of it matters. people will still die.

heredity.

we're all just trying to deal with the mistakes of our ancestors until we have someone to pass our collective mistakes onto.

life; you'll never meet someone who thinks about it as much or quite the same as you. you're doomed to isolation in this aspect, as we all are. however, sharing ideas and compassion between these isolated worlds of individual ideas is the only consolation one can find. that or vicariously living through the scripted lives of beautiful people on television so that we forget our lives altogether.

now that you understand, be ashamed that at one point you didn't. man does not carry with him this shame of unknowing most things. he instead prides himself on the small information he has collected and recorded. people look at it and say, "wow". the great accomplishment of man.

everything made with a conscious effort by man has a logic system to it. man has a ridiculous love affair with logic.

i wish she was still that girl who wore bowling shoes.

she's become someone different, who has to rent bowling shoes like the rest of us. i'm losing the things i love about her to who she used to be. the past is eating away at this love.

the bathroom stall

an anonymous pair of shoes underneath a bathroom stall. he goes there to hide. no one will bother him, no one will ask questions. when he returns and they say, where were you? the bathroom. nothing more is needed as an explanation. he sits there on the toilet seat. just gathering his thoughts, just hiding from judgement and responsibility. he listens to the conversations grown men have while peeing, or washing their hands. he shuffles his feet some. unsure if they can tell he isn't really using the toilet. he likes it best when he's alone in there. when he isn't merely an easedropper on meaningless conversations of the world, but completely exempt from it. life and everything that goes along with it gets put on hold, except for an anonymous pair of shoes underneath a bathroom stall.

she never lets him put it in

he always has to wait for her to do it. thinking only of one thing while he's waiting. once it's in, he forgets all about that. he won't think of it again until he's about to forget it all over. his won't be the last. he knows this, but he just carries on and hopes. it's all that's left to do.

confiding is a good way of making friends.

she didn't look at all like the woman i was allowed to love. she looked at me and looked away. that was the last time i saw her.

an explanation of love

anyone at any time can change to the point that you don't know them anymore.

they have to write you letters

to remind you they're not dead yet. in case you forgot.

something about god or love.
or the lack thereof.

to tell you that there's nothing left.

to no one, kept in a private place, in hopes that things wont change, that the excitement of beginnings can be maintained.
beginning with love, ending with disappointment.

making you numb to what you loved about life.

the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy

we fall out of love so easy, only to remember why we bothered in the first place. with everything we try so hard to be, certain things do not escape us. those things we want will not fulfill us, we will want things even after they have been attained. it's endless, it's all we do. wrestless uncontented lives we live. it's best for the elderly to keep busy, without this wrestlessness, there is boredom, emptiness, depression, carelessness, and inevitable death. frothing teeth, pulling hair, getting things done until we stop, not that they needed to be done in the first place, or that anyone will miss them once it's over. the world is not how i expected it to be growing up. it's worse.

it's easier to be homeless in the south

he can stand on just about any corner and no one thinks twice, whatever time of year it is.

typical belief

believing is the whole battle. giving up better judgement for a hallow smile. it's only a matter of time until everything we see tells us there's no other choice. until we believe it is the better option. after having had it shoved down our throats all our lives. we're going to have to make some sort of compromise. every day of my life i realize i'm compromising more and more. until eventually it has to be considered merely caving in. if i would have known this from the start it may have saved me a whole lot of wasted effort, struggling. i'd still feel the same way, i just wouldn't do anything about it. i just wouldn't try so hard not to try.

lunch money for guitar strings

it's all a matter of what's important to you. struggling for a life with meaning. trying to make it count, without any examples to point to. "is there anything in your life that could change to make you not want to kill yourself?" there's probably a chance. he knows all about arguments and analyzing human logic and words, but he doesn't know shit about quantum physics, or even trigonometry. we're all just trying to be part of some whole that doesn't even get much done, except continuously fondle and yank each other. milking with an air of dignity and self-righteousness. power and a sense of control in this life always comes down to someone fucking someone else.

i know i'm going crazy

but i don't know what else to do. with all my time looking into glowing screens. all social relationships deteriorated. we live so we can die. i keep starting over and it keeps getting worse. it seems like sticking it out isn't an option, when it is the only option life has to offer. the good times killed me. the fact that they began to spread themselves out so thin.

he doesn't smoke.

at 36 he owns his own company, has a 25 year old girlfriend, goes on 3 hour runs, and thinks i want to be like him. he has no idea. i'd rather be a crackwhore.

some things don't come naturally

the things of this world that everyone does. i keep find myself having to force them. if left to my own exploration of things in a vacuum of a world, i don't think i'd do them at all. i'm not sure what i'd do. probably just give it all back. here you go, you can take it.

i didn't eat much of anything for a long while.

he was just talking. about the 60's, after his parents kicked him out. he was a teenager. some guy gave him 10,000 hits of lsd. it was easy to get rid of. all those sheets. he was talking about how he used to travel around, living out of his car. some of his story didn't make sense. there were holes and exaggerations which were obvious. i didn't say anything though. he was drunk. it's allowed. sometimes life's better as a story told drunk in a car, on the way to a bar where you will drink more and think back on the people who have come and gone along the way. it mostly seems stupid going through it.

she's unreasonable, so whatever.

they're all doing their thing. sitting at bars, drinking drinks, getting upset and walking home. little battles won and lost. someone will want you, it's only a matter of time.

a question for the elders

do you ever stop having dreams about old lovers?

love = 0

math is logic. zero is infinite nothing. we're drifting around making calculations with our movements, trying to subtract the difference between ourselves and something else. trying to fill the negative with positive by creating something, let it represent us. it is a complicated equation we are performing every moment. we are rounding, creating variables and rules as we go. even so, the distance between ourselves and everything else is always greater than zero.

audrey hepburn

a woman who will do anything you ask... hesitantly. it's the subtle doubt that makes you love her all the more. without that it would just get boring. she could love anyone, the fact that she's with you is pure circumstance. when she crawls on top of you in the dark, you just happen to be the one she's crawling on for now. all those things you said to each other, those are words you can say to anyone, anytime. words are easy to say. love is easy to make. it's only a matter of finding two people looking for it in the same situation, in the right frame of mind. anyone can fall in love. anyone can fall in love with anyone. the changes that happen to us can make us love someone we may never have considered an option. in contrast, it can make us fall out of love with someone we thought we could love forever. we're all just waiting to fall in love with each other, even if we think we already are in love. we're waiting for something else in life to love. the only real love is a new love. like happiness, fragile, fleeting, and over.

trying to relate to her idea of god.

would i make something like this? no.

the accident

she spoke somberly about her scars to the camera. referring to it as "the accident", she mentioned, we don't always have any control over the things that happen to us, but we do have control over how we deal with them. she looked as though she was about to cry when she said this, but the editors cut to some footage of her walking majestically from an ambiguous office building. sometimes we deal with things by not dealing with them.

left of a labido: nothing.

those girls. you know the ones. that only have worries in life so they can feel like they're the same as everyone else. they even force it sometimes. doing things a certain way makes them feel like they have more control over their world. although it seems much more that it was made for them. they did this to me. they're still doing it. the most beautiful of relationships are doomed to wither and decay into barely recognizable artifacts of a forgotten perfection.

going back

i don't know if i believe in eternal return, but it seems to be something to be desired. as a man, always penetrating, always seeking the forgotten comfort of the womb. the mother, every man's first penetration. he seeks out others, he'll try and fail, and settle for something he can tolerate as a parallel to perfection; a reminder of where he came from. for girls it's different. perhaps there is comfort in being the host, a feeling of being wanted, needed, fundamental to a system. but even they have this cryptic nostalgia for comfort which compromises into coitus. inside of her he's a parasite. she thinks about him, he thinks about her. they both think different things. they both do their part to keep things going.

developing a nervous twitch.

"Historical Fact: People stopped being human in 1913."
-p. 95 Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

see that kids, there's nothing more to worry about. we're just one big assembly line. you're just worrying over something that already went wrong. this whole thing.

much too late for closure

throwing away what you meant to keep. getting what you thought you wanted. remembering only warmth and skin. feeling nothing like it.

some don't even have to think about it, some call that true love.

she welcomes each coming year like taking a stranger to bed. trusting each will be good to her, won't leave her worse off, beaten, or lifeless.

luciferian dilemmas and the ease of coping with the coke inspired orgy we had last night.

cheap champagne and hiding fom sunlight. sleeping in the same bed, but not touching. remembering who we were and seeing now that we haven't come so far. using tongue only to remember what it feels like. collectively letting daylight slip into bad documentaries, without saying anything. when they broke up, she moved all his photos from the shelf over her bed to across the room. he walked her home the next morning, filled with these ideas that make his actions right. justifications for marrying a teacher, for having kids, and not having to deal with them.

whoever you are, i love you.

she only gave me a look. it was the most i'd know of love. there was heartbrake in her eye and i knew i didn't need anything more. i overflowed with my very own alienation from love. it was something to hold dear, like a secret they'll never pry into, they'll never even consider. my memories of love take me someplace that never existed.

lonely mistakes

she was alone at a bar and needed a ride home, that's the only reason she called at 2:30am. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

i was only her prom date, that's all i'll ever be. two bottles of wine later, she's touching a russian girl's boob between drunken interludes on the dance floor. she complains about men while we drive off, a little damaged, but forgiving. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

she's just trying to figure out her life like the rest of us. it makes us feel we have more control over our own lives when we help guide others. that's the only reason she's being nice. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

she talks about work through a computer when she gets home. she types about how she's trying to make friends. she talks about what seems to be working, but mostly what doesn't. she goes to church to keep her spirit up. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

you start doing things when you are one person and they become a habit until one day you find yourself a different person doing the habits of someone you no longer understand. habits and mistakes can disappear with enough time.

in the end there's only what we think

she convinced herself that love is what you feel when you desperately don't want to be alone.

things we learn before love

brushing teeth
driving
sex
drawing a straight line
fishing
tetris
the birthday song
not to eat rocks
the difference between good and bad sleep
long division
to tie shoelaces
tv is a good excuse to do nothing
hat hair doesn't matter if you keep the hat on
feed the dog
to make friends
itching makes it worse
to lose friends
money is a necessity
to use the toilet
to say 'thank you'
...for the most part.

the great thing about wanting to be bukowski

trying is already having succeeded.

practicing agnostic

i don't believe in god the way you do, but i don't think we're it. there was a lot of assuming going around. it was pretty obvious.

she never called to say she doesn't want to talk to me anymore.

he smiled a dirty smile as he held the bottle of whiskey, looking straight at us. we didn't know him, he didn't know us. but he smiled as he walked by showing off the bottle of whiskey as if to say, "this is where my night's taking me." thinking the same thing, they sit alone. each of them looking for a future to project their past onto.

so, today it was snowing.

i wish i was better. worrying about things only makes it worse, right? a paranoid life is not a life worth living. fish probably don't often want to be caught, but whatcha gonna do? hook in the mouth. poked and prodded. flopping around in a strange place. there are a lot of people out there who aren't socially adapted. society has failed them. they have failed. they life reclusive lives, possibly shared with an equally reclusive person, where they focus on specific menial goals in order to be fulfilled. it really doesn't sound too different from the socially adapted. it only comes down to dealing with other people, whether it be by choice or otherwise.

she spelled her name wrong, either that or i don't know anything.

waking up tired seems like it shouldn't happen. so pretentious, not like self-righteous pretentious, because aren't we all. not like claiming value where there is none, because who decides where there is value? but to try so hard to the point that things seem to take so little an effort. disappointed despite effort.

rainbows of cocaine white, she bites her lip.

relationships based entirely on self-concept. are you willing to let him think he's someone he's not? is his happiness worth that to you? are you willing to play along? for how long? if you let him think he's exactly who he wants to be, will he eventually become it? are you the only thing keeping him from it?

we use others to construct an idea of who we are. the people around us are constantly changing, we are constantly changing. depending on others for any amount of meaning is futile.

letting the cat lick it off.

realizing if you look hard enough, you'll find people who don't think you're crazy. even if you are. more time spent thinking than doing. trying to only see the world i want. looking at the same things. falling captive to an endless dream. not giving up on the life you want, even after it's over. a bitter afterlife.

dead dog, curiously approachable. a lonely heart diluted with experience, sits in the chest like a fist. he forces them apart, though they want to be together, his eyebrows. life catches them by surprise, like a cake, with a person inside; now there's nothing to eat. if cannibals find themselves lonely, isn't it their own fault? you could probably say the same for anyone.

the life we live is nothing more than something we do.

just when i gave up completely, something turned it all around. it was only hope.

she looked at me like i was crazy.

i should have known then. she would never love me like i wanted. so i asked this girl out. sort of. i was drunk and asked for her number, she gave it hesitantly. a few days later i call. i get the machine.. "..so there's this place i heard of, on south water st. they do thursday night swing dancing, it could be fun. if you're interested give me a call, ###-####. thanks." i don't know why i said 'thanks'. i think a combination of nervousness and the habit of ending machine recordings with "..give me a call back, thanks!" so now i just thank people for listening to my awkward recordings by default. she didn't call. thank god.

chameleon

sometimes we find we've been so many different people that we forget the reasons behind the things we do.

fall cloud, fall

all this planning, all that trouble, trying and hoping and risking it all. only to find that she doesn't even care. just another person she'd rather forget with the past. of all the things i've had to do in my life, of all the thing i've had no control, this one i wish i wasn't blamed for. i don't think this thing i did was wrong, but she'll have me think otherwise. despite the fact that i came back, every reply she makes could just as easily be followed with,
"YOU ASSHOLE, YOU FUCKING LEFT!"

it's true.

can i tell you a secret?

it all blurred into one meaningless orgasm. i was ready to give up because of the lack of meaning. everything since i left has been a sort of afterlife. afterlives probably have less meaning than actual lives, only you can't take them away. i've been going crazy. i think it has to do with sex. binge and purge. never in moderation. we can't go back to who we were exactly, we just take something from it with us. we like to think there are certain things we can't lose. i lost it. fuck up. i've been watching walls fall in. just sitting and watching, not doing anything about it. i was unhappy, but everything was better.

hedonist despite.

he's likely to never know the pain of masturbating when the one you love is, has, or soon will be making love to another. it's a horrible feeling. it's something he'll miss out on. predatorial habits evade some, some avoid them on purpose. some lives are like flowers, preserved in a greenhouse growing to perfection, allowed to die of old age. we never know more than what we've experienced. people die for less.

pretty bitter

when i think of love these days, not much good comes to mind. i guess i'm pretty fucked up. though i know this doesn't make me special or rare. it seems to be common these days. expecting things to end. best case scenario, one person will be glad that it's over. now when i talk, i'm lucky if i don't say something horribly insulting or humiliating. i should be happy to just get out a good "hi" with a fake smile. they should be happy to get it. they don't even know what's going on in my head. love is what happens when we can't tolerate existence as it is, lonely and indifferent. love is a reaching outwards. love is a cake with two people holding hands. love is something to be admired. to love someone and be loved without knowing what love is, this is naive, this is lucky. i have forgotten how to love and yet, this assumes i have loved in the past and that it can be learned again. as if love is something that comes and goes. more often going. coming only as a reminder that it will go away. one day we will be without it again.

she explained and justified, but it still seemed so irrational.

she came up to me while i was reading alone. she looked and acted a little crazy, like she was seriously stoned. she asked if she could join me. i said sure, after all, i was there to meet people: i went to a coffee shop, ordered a drink, sat against the wall by myself with my head in a book, to meet people. so this girl was sitting across from me now. i don't remember thinking her ugly or pretty initially, but definitely strung out. this became more apparent as her words and personality exposed themselves to me. she said something, then i said something, then she mentioned she was in a band. what kind of band, i asked. rock, she said, as if there were infinite other kinds of bands she could be involved with. then she mentioned some musicians, one i'd heard of, one i hadn't. she asked me if i'd like to come back to her place and listen to music. i hesitated, but ultimately agreed considering the lack of harm that could come from it and maybe she'd get me high.

so we get to her apartment which is surprisingly nice. spacious or empty, depending on how you look at it. she had a keyboard in the middle of her living room and not much else. it should be noted that on the walk over she explained her name and the names of her band members. her name is artemis, or will be once she has it legally changed from candice. her band members follow suit with names of various greek gods. so she put on some music by some chick who sounded like she was trying too hard to be lou reed. because i noticed this, i mentioned lou reed and she got all excited. it seemed like she had to be on something. so since the keyboard was there and she said she was in a band, i asked her to play something. she didn't hesitate to oblige. she played the massive keyboard sitting like an elephant in the empty room and sang. she could play the keyboard, for what it's worth, but the singing left much to be desired. inbetween songs she got up to blow her nose and did so facing the door to the balcony, away from me. cocaine, i thought. i bet she's on cocaine and faced away in fear her nose would bleed. she sat back down next to me on the couch. i wondered if she was trying to seduce me. if this was all about some nympho- adventure. she asked me if i had a girlfriend. i said no. good, she said. then she showed me her band's website and some books. it's around this time i realized her shirt was transparent, exposing her entire upper torso except the small area concealed by her bra.

we went back into the living room and sat next to each other on the couch. there was a feeling that something was about to happen. a feeling like something had to happen. just then, something did happen. her phone rang. "come on up," she said. it was a friend of hers. he came in carrying a small plastic bag. he set it down on the floor next to a chess board which was apparently already set up. we introduced ourselves like gentlemen. his name was not that of a greek god. his name was matt. matt and artemis almost immediately sat down on the floor and began a game of speed chess as if it was all they ever did together. as if it was understood that this is what would happen. they played a fifteen min. game, which was over in 5 min. because artemis lost. then i said i should probably go. but she wouldn't let me leave without hearing her favorite poems which she performed in front of matt and i. there were three and while they contained nice words and explicit content alluding to intercourse and misconceptions of love, they were typical. i walked to the coffee shop and sat down, hoping to meet someone. no one else approached me that day. no one else came close.

i just want to buy a car and not feel like a sucker.

with my world view this is probably impossible.

15,000
15,500
16,000
no? eh?
16,800?!?
oh. jez.
14,200?
please?

i never liked sex...

i never liked sex as much as being able to have it whenever i wanted.

i was exactly who i wanted to be and then who i wanted to be changed.

in college, you study some, go to parties, try to get laid and whatnot. experiment with drugs, do the college thing. you try to do the things you saw in the movies, on tv, the things people expect you to do. you try not to disappoint. the world is a frightening place when you don't know what is expected of you. all our lives we know exactly what they expect of us. they tell us through their stories, through various media, in the way they represent us and teach us and make subtle suggestions. we are entirely familiar with what they want from us. but what do we want of ourselves?

make love like a texas chainsaw.

taking yourself seriously is what being an adult is all about. it seems so clear now that all our education is in order for us to become comfortable at the idea of sacrificing our lives for something considered productive. happiness is power; having control over your perceived world. control over outcomes. godliness. a smarter person would have reason behind every action, or at least be able to justify it.

my answer to everything uncomfortable: run away.

92 colors was tempting, but i settled for 48.

they're not much for motivating, more for demotivating. sometimes i think this world cultivates a certain amount of insanity with its constant buzzing and flashing. sometimes i wish everything would stop for a second or two. sometimes i wish i could stop the things i do that make things worse. if i do leave here, i wont ever return. people don't pay attention to most colors anyways, it's just something they're used to.

casual day.

sometimes i like to get dressed up to go to work, just to pretend i have a job that requires me to be dressed any sort of way. every decision i have made in my life was based on blind curiosity. aimless and thoughtless discoveries only leave you an observer of an indifferent world that you have little to no effect on.

looking for something to eat in the medicine cabinet.

thinking back on the best of the past few years, you cringe a little. giving a small awkward chuckle, for yourself, since no one's around. the only people who talk to you anymore are strangers and you never say the right thing back. though you never realize it until they're gone. with just the right amount of idiocy to function on the same level as everyone else. realizing you don't fit your own standard of normal, not knowing if anyone else does. acknowledging an amount of it has to be the everpresence of self-dillusion. think about the people who think they're good enough, or better, more worthy than everyone else they've ever met. rich kids think the world owes them. we're all living in a world that doesn't quite fit. like a really bad puzzle with all the pieces dented and torn. it's not even supposed to make a picture. the contest is only to see how much of it you can make fit right, or at least think you made fit right.

you're gorgeous hon, don't worry about it.

so i sat there all morning, i hadn't eaten. it was about 11:30. i wasn't really doing any work, there wasn't any work to be done really. so i went out to lunch. i told the girl who works with me i was leaving, not that i had to, or that i had said anything else to her all day. just to say something. walking down the street at lunch hour, you see a lot of people. different kinds of people. business people, non-business people, weird people, ordinary people. i walked by a lot of these kinds of people on my way to get food. i saw two girls, one of them was stopped, looking at herself in the mirror, like she was fixing her hair. "you're gorgeous hon, don't worry about it," i said. i don't know why i said it, i normally am not so forward and outgoing. she just looked at me and awkwardly grinned as i walked by. i mumbled "it's cool" kind of as an awkward default statement. i don't know why i said it, it's like it came out of my mouth as the thought entered my head. i don't know why i said it, and i don't know why it bothered me for the rest of the day. also, i haven't shaved in about a week. so i'm looking pretty grizzly. i don't know what that has to do with any of this. but it should be noted. i don't put a razor to my face without motivation.

it's standard.

keep your standards and "the way things are". i want to know a good reason. a reason to do things like you do. one day i stopped having fun at parties and bars and just doing things in general. things seemed to change around me, even though i knew i was someone different. someone who no longer wanted the things people around me want. none of it. searching for an example of a life i consider worth living, not only tinkering.

"you have a blessed day, mam."

she only said it when she was really pissed at someone. they often said, "you too," with a scowl on their face. our memories of people become caricatures over time. it is no wonder we have love affairs with the past. we only remember the parts of their personalities that stood out. it seems like such a cartoon when we think back. like everything had meaning and purpose, not like now at all.

some people want to have nothing when they die:
having money is not happiness, maybe spending it is. maybe just not enough.

you should have tried harder.

some things are easy to say without considering context or pretty much anything it involves. most people may agree, even you may agree, but it doesn't change the result. not counting the losses, just pick up and move on. go where they smile and mean it. don't forget to zip your fly. the pretty ones are where you want to be.

he sits there, all ass-wise and sure, and yet..

he's never fought for anything in his whole life.

maybe he would have killed me.

maybe that guy would have killed me if the couple didn't happen to walk through the parking lot just then. or maybe he would have just pestered me until i got irritated and went in my car, maybe then he would have tried to use force. maybe i could have reasoned with him and told him i was a really nice guy and that he shouldn't do anything to hurt me, maybe that would have worked. or maybe i could have told him that i didn't care if he hurt me, that it wouldn't make him any richer and that we're all just suffering through these lives together, maybe that would have made him think twice about things. maybe he had a knife and just would have threatened me some. or maybe he would have stabbed me somewhere so i would be injured but still live. or maybe we would have had some sort of fist fight there in the parking lot. not that any of this matters, because that couple happened to walk by just then, and he left.

GODDAMN YOU, YOU FUCKING SLUTS! an ode to strange forgotten friendships in a series of unrelated questions.

where did they come from, where did they go, how do you get them back. stupid question. the past. you don't. when you judge yourself primarily through others and your relationships with them, what do you do when you don't have any? and how do people judge themselves if not through others? through personal successes? social ranking? those confident fat slobs raking in piles of cash, banging trophy wives. people want to be them. is that enough? if i sit at a computer day in day out, if i can't see my own penis without looking in a mirror, does none of this matter if we are given a little respect? a little power? one might say, none of it matters if i can have what i want, when i want it. does anyone really have this? or they just change their idea of what they want to fit what they know they can have? or to fit what others want? they came from inside me. i left them. you don't.

i don't care what anybody says

there is an objective reality, and it mostly sucks. why did you make those decisions you made? they changed your life. it's a safe bet to say you have issues, maybe serious ones. you probably couldn't even know it if you wanted to. it's sad when you look around and could pick any person at random and imagine a past for them that would lead to them being great, by anyone's standards. because they're not. so, why do miserable people go on living when they don't enjoy it? because it's easier. living is easier than dying when you are perfectly healthy, there's always the possibility of surviving any attempts at self inflicted death. no matter how miserable a person is, they probably don't want to be miserable and paralized. then they're just fucked. the irony is if they were unhealthy, it would probably give them some sort of motivation to persevere. either way it's tiny pointless goals. take those away and you're just a monkey on a rock, scratching his ass, looking at things, maybe wondering why.

the last time we spoke

she seemed a little crazy. i don't know what that was all about, but it's nice to know i'm not the only one.

she doesn't want much out of life.

she sits there on her computer. she talks only when spoken to. some weekends she goes to the beach. it is uncertain who she goes with, or what she actually does there. even when spoken to she doesn't ever have much to talk about. she won't answer the hard questions. she just says, "i don't know" or avoids it in some other obvious way. she has a boyfriend, i've met him, he's not too different. one could say they are perfect for each other. some people are contented easily.

sitanddonothingbox

most of the time we're just sitting and waiting. we don't often know what for.

they have their reasons.

he knows if he goes back to her now, she might not take him back, it might not be the same.

his boss tells a joke about what his parents got him for his fortieth birthday, something about a gym membership or a hair implant. like all his boss' jokes, he knows it wont be long until he hears the joke told again, word for word, to some captive listener on the phone. It's as though the jokes stay in rotation for a couple days, then retire.

she fell in love because it was the easy thing to do. she doesn't know any more about happiness than him, but she doesn't think about it near as much.

if he would have gone to paris his life would be different, he wouldn't have married her, he wouldn't have divorced her, he wouldn't hate his job, he wouldn't mock everyone when their back is turned, he might not be bitter. he also wouldn't have his daughters, they're the reason he puts up with it. to him it's a good reason.

she's learning to go out in the world and not have to worry about loving or being loved. she's learning life can be ok like that.

he's trying to sell himself the idea of things getting better, but he's not buying it. he's giving it away.

something good to remind yourself about everything.

i'm just visiting, this is temporary, one day i won't be here.

need to get the fuck out of the south.

this cabernet sauvignon is a breath of fresh air. needing midwest customs like a fish needs water. like life needs reason. everyone's gotta be good at something, right? how many millions are just as good at the same thing i am, if not better? let's take a train, let's just pick up everything and take a train somewhere, then take a boat, then land on an island, then who the fuck cares! we're on an island! fuck all man. island.

the difference between bitter and spiteful.

i look around and see a lot of lives i would not choose to live myself. a lot of people doing what they have to in order to stay alive, whithout much good reason.

that month when i was sick, i think i had mono or something, that took a lot out of me. i could have gotten my life organized otherwise, perhaps.

the only direction we can move is forward. it makes one wonder what all the fussing is about. things are different already, we should see this. it doesn't mean improvement, it doesn't mean more understanding, or smarter, it just means no going back. not in any true sense. we're stuck on this conveyer belt away from what we know and love. if you don't go along with it, it will just drag you along anyways. the happiest people i've met still complain about things. maybe i haven't met anyone who's that happy, or maybe even happiness has its problems. people are always full of advice for the lives of others, especially when they have no answers for themselves. it's easy to be objective and point fingers from the outside. let's not go to bed, let's open some wounds; there are certain people, certain moments, certain memories, that although they're gone, you don't want to get over. it's time to have kids and start focusing on someone else for a change.

reenacting the war.

is it fun for them? is it like a game?

someone to praise the pretentious.

as long as someone buys in, that's enough. if you look long enough, someone will buy in.

there are two types of salesmen. the salesman who wants to sell and the salesman who wants to find someone who needs what he's selling. they are both trying to make money. they both may or may not be successful depending on various factors. both are likely to sell to someone eager to buy without any need for the product. salesmen are ubiquitous. we are all salesmen to some degree. even if we don't mean to be, and are bad at it, which normally go hand in hand. the life of a salesman, we're selling our worth for all we can get.

$15/hr.

god's country.

if one can be happy anywhere, if it's all in one's attitude, then why doesn't everyone just move to the slums and shut up about all the bullshit.

he cries so easy.

a small kind of constant distortion. tendency to shut oneself off from the world. not shaving. not eating properly. scarce interest. disturbing feelings of social obligation when around others.

resolution is a path that leads somewhere else, part 2

things won't be the same, but there's a chance they might be better.

resolution is a path that leads somewhere else, part 1

his father asked sincerely in front of him, where did i go wrong. nothing was resolved that day.

1 speed bike - limp penis.

1 When I Was 12 I Used To Skip School (5:07)
2 Just So I Could Masturbate All Day Long (1:20)
3 I Used To Think About This Girl At My School (2:57)
4 When I Was 20 She Took Me Home (5:58)
5 But I Couldn't Get It Up (3:55)

idiotbox.

people's reactions to him could only be justified if he was a complete idiot. he realized this. and thusly, he realized he was an idiot. perhaps not always, but enough for other people to think so.

forget your ideas of god and love.

what's life to you? what makes it worthwhile? interesting? not just a series of small goals?

god dies in the fine line.

everyone knew the motive behind each action he took. just as her motives were commonly understood. the two of them weren't all that different really. they were both drunk on wine and what they wanted of each other. the next day, one will leave them hungover, while the other leads them away from who they are and towards who they'll become. we're always going in a direction towards or away from things. away from the things we know, towards the unknown.

if the few people you interact with in your lifetime happen to consider you odd, and treat you as such, you might consider yourself to be odd, possibly causing you to act more odd out of insecurity. the other people in the world might have considered you perfectly normal. the loneliest, strangest people have only to meet one right person to be a little less lonely.

god dies in the fine line, sleepwalking towards truth, forgetting how to act, focusing on the temporal nature of things.

opening doors.

he opens doors every chance he gets. he wants people to know he's a good person, just in case. when he's alone he thinks of the past and says, "fuck" aloud, as if scolding himself. he looks around to make sure no one's there, more disappointed and embarrassed, he carries on with the task at hand. one day the past will be worse, he's sure of it. he's just not sure what happens after that.

the truth of the matter.

i don't really want it. i just want to be able to say it out loud and mean it.

practicing conversation

locking things up for good. no one does this expecting it to stay locked forever, just until it doesn't matter to them anymore. it should also be noted, southern sushi is served a little different from midwestern sushi. a bit haphasard. "she probably knows how many calories are in this, she's a nutrition major," a boy in the other booth said. we're listening to their conversation. learning conversation. when you listen to people a lot, it helps you know what they want to hear.

there are certain things she doesn't want to talk about with anyone.

she said she doesn't like watching tv. her sister watches it all the time, for three days in a row, she said. she'd rather do things instead of just sitting there. i asked her what she does instead. she plays teacher with made up people. she teaches them to read and do maths. she wants to be a teacher when she grows up. that's a good thing to be, i told her real respectable and purposeful. sincere kids can make everything seem ok for a moment. it's a kind of hope.

life doesn't mean anything.

love.

he smells his hand afterwards, just to bring back old memories. it only lasts about half an hour.

i am hip hop

i used to keep a journal. i stopped writing down the things that happened to me when they stopped happening. the world seems to be composed so that, if you really want to, you can reason your way out of existing, exposing the stupidity of any act. justifying indifference with jaded awareness and bitter experiences.

he cut himself apart like a social lobotomy. nothing of him lasted much longer after that. waiting, just waiting for a nice person to say 'hi'. because we're no good at doing it ourselves.

how are you?

i'm sorry, what i meant to say is, "what are you doing and why?" and just because you answer quickly doesn't make you any better than those kids at the store who wont shut up about a stupid video game their parents don't want to buy them. they'll grow up to preach philosophies of nihilism and contradiction, because it says something about not having to justify things. not that this is who they are, but something they aspire to be. people sit alone sometimes, and sometimes, when they are alone they think angry thoughts. sometimes these thoughts are directed at other people in the conceptual incarnation of violence or death. society makes us suppress instict to an extent.

the sun is too loud.

it hurts. knowing things we wish we could forget. they had sex, she was pregnant, he's a different person without her, she won't know more of love. and yet, feeling most alive and close to dead are not so different. giving up is easy. all of this is easy. things never get better too soon. forget it.

(it yells beautiful memories of a past that might not have happened)

chemical boy.

chemical boy is barefoot always.

finding things again.

happiness; walking down an empty street, smiling. if you keep on walking, eventually you'll find a pretty girl. just keep on smiling.

the transcendental waterfall

i do nothing except think about the past. this empties any future. maybe if love wasn't settled for so often. a change will come, but not necessarily when i want it. doing the things i want to be good at like a nervous habit, in hopes that one day i will be 'good'. i hate worthless small talk and fluff conversations, expecially when i start them. it fills me with a feeling like the awareness of falling out of love. i'm being stubborn, i don't want to change even though i should. i'm hoping for a compromise to present itself. this hope might only be waiting for life to end. less a hope than an aimless wandering.

solution: hang out with friends, day in, day out, making ideas to pay rent... t shirt designs, illustrations, modern folk art. people pay good money for these things, just sell them on your greatness.

a very indifferent mothers day.

if it wasn't for her, i might've just been flushed into oblivion like all the rest. um... thanks? the only life that might ever grow inside me is a parasite. "tape worm host day." man, i would love to see a card for that.

of all possible outcomes; nothing good.

pranks and jokes. when nobody laughs you're supposed to have learned something. growing up we're supposed to have learned something too. you can't prove existence to some people. this is probably just stubbornness, but even so, it shows a lack of universal evidence and substance to our understanding of the very nature of being. some people don't think about this kind of stuff, but i'd like to think most have at one point. ruining a person's day is easy. a life is just a bunch of days. some will be good, some will be bad, most will be forgotten. old people who need surgery and can afford it get it. children who need surgery and have parents that can't afford it don't get it. are we to assume that the people with money are more deserving? or that it doesn't matter one way or the other? then again who says that old people with money shouldn't get it merely because they are old? is greed a natural and fundamental characteristic of man? things are going somewhere, but i'm not sure i want to see it.

poor boy long ways from home

goal #1: win
goal #2: gloat
goal #3:
goal #4: sleep

one at a time kiddo. let's just skip right to the end. look back at the others and laugh.

hating the self's otiose

the "cultured" try to learn more about the "uncultured". it is what allows them to think they're better. reality packaged, filled plump with lies, like the truth hidden in sarcasm. everyone knows, it's just easier not to acknowledge. we all live in our own skewed version of reality. like them. i've never seen them so close to death, that's nothing new. though it could happen any day now, that is. and their conversations, their conversations aren't any more relevant. though they carry on like it's the best of all choices, or even better, like there are no other choices. acting as though they're in the right, always.

you hope it isn't true.

not many people care about the things you care about. unless you care about things you have no control over.

he's smart, but he doesn't know everything.

the boss was treating us to lunch. at one point, to unsettle the silence caused by a gap in age and hierarchy, he asked us about politics. i don't normally like talking about politics, but i commented. he said i was wrong. maybe i was. he's made condescending comments about everyone in their absence. it would be stupid for me to think he doesn't do the same to me. talking politics and ethics from atop a pedestal, it's something to see. as he rang up the bill, the waiter stared off at the wall, not smiling, like he wasn't sure if life is worth it. i could say some things here, and someone could probably argue against them, but does it really matter?

everything has changed

you've gotten better, he said to me. from the days you would sit and think about nothing except bubble baths and razor blades, better. not much has to change for things to seem different. i still think about those things, he just doesn't know it.

what isn't?

outside it was raining. i stood in the hall, next to the locked office door, reading my book. a man walked down the hall, in his late 50's, wearing a suit and tie. a week earlier, the same man had asked me to help him forward an e-mail. he always said hi and made sure we knew whenever the board room caterers had leftovers. as he walked by he looked down at my sandals and commented, no socks today? no, i said. it's always more about culture for you kids, isn't it, he said as he went in his office.

the way you want to be loved will change.

over time things become unrecognizable. we hope this brings us comfort.

fucking rockstars.

it was a birthday party. the family and friends were there, the friends mostly for the food. it was her seventh birthday and all the kids seemed between seven and fourteen. one of the girls was very pretty, but had a large belly which seemed out of place, yet curiously attractive. her mother was also in attendance, though a worn looking woman, much younger than she appeared. the parents at the party were busy keeping the kids organized, which seemed to go against their breeding.

it was time to cut the cake. the birthday girl sat in front of the chocolate cake that had her name spelled out in candy. everybody sang fake, then the wind blew out the candle first. her mom had to light it again, so she could make a wish. then it began to rain before presents could be opened, so everyone ran inside.

uninterested parents looked on as the seven year old excitedly showed them the seven dollars she recieved. minor conversations took place in the small living room. the mother who had been in labor only seven years earlier, bragged about how much more self-esteem her husband has had since he got his new teeth. he was on the other side of the room talking to another parent, not listening to his wife's conversation. then one of the parents asked the curiously attractive girl, so you're married? yes, last August, she replied. and then we separated in march, two months before the baby's due, she said loudly, as if telling a good joke. the expression on her mother's face didn't change, as if she saw this all coming a long time ago.

the rose bush

there is a lonely rose bush hidden from public view, behind the chamber of commerce. my only chance of finding something beautiful is if everyone else has overlooked it.

the joys of cutting grass

petting the cat, it struck me how delicate things are. with his head in the palm of my hand, his neck would snap with a vigorous twist. it's both empowering and humbling to know something can trust you while you imagine it being destroyed.

heads growing bulbous and heavy to the point of discomfort

the problem with getting smarter is being aware of it. also, losing sight of how insignificant your intelligence is. otherwise waiting for an idea to hit like a static shock. i'm sorry for this.

$90 just for thinking eight hours.

meanwhile, overseas, people work sweaty miserable days for pennies.

a bottle of cabernet sauvignon aged perfectly to regret.

those people from your past, who you don't talk to anymore, and don't think so much of you. you've probably been think too much of them. not that it matters now.

remember sitting at the park bench, while children ran around us. then one stopped to ask me, "is she your girlfriend?" i think we both laughed then.

everything is far away. as life goes on this becomes increasingly obvious. we die no closer to anything.

fishing poles are a weapon.

the philosophical burnout of a deserted college town. it only felt like home in the summer. not because of the weather so much as the memories that came with it. the only concept of freedom that withstood the turmoil of the 'I' that is adolescence. the dionysian splendor of sunshine and not knowing necessity. it seems a travesty that such a thing exists to ruin people.

romantic visions of the apocalypse

it might not end so soon, but sometimes it feels like it's already gone. nothing of us lasts forever. it's not so commonly accepted as one would think. it's more like a birthmark we've tattooed over long ago. to have it pointed out makes us quite naked. naked and beautiful despite or because of its meaninglessness?

wishing away the past 24 years.

same problems, same laughs. years to come it'll still be the same problems, same laughs. frequency and magnitude, that's all that changes.

no stories to tell, except this.

they busy themselves so that everything's a wash. at the end of it all, they look back and think to themselves, i really lived. somewhere in there, that's what living is.

on becoming socially awkward.

i find when friends are unavailable i substitute them with the arts. i drown myself in personal culture and literature when i am alone. if i should die a well read man, it will have been because i was lonely.

remember social obligation?

pretending to be interested in things you aren't. caring what others think of you and acting accordingly. pretending most of your waking hours, just to appease people who don't have to. family gatherings, educational facilities, work atmospheres. it is probably one of the first things we are taught as children. limitations and conformity. without them who knows what would happen?

wednesday at the public library

the old men play games on the computers, the young ones look at porn. no one wants anyone else to know.

vicodin and things catching up with you.

he was sleeping, sprawled out on the floor, under a web of computer wires extended taut across the room. his cell phone was next to him, open, next to piles of papers and books that littered the floor around him. how he managed to fall out of his chair and land under the wires, onto the only relatively empty floor space available, would remain a mystery. a few hours earlier he was driving. a pretty girl caught his eye on the side of the road and he honked his horn. "hey where you going, you need a ride?" he said to her. "hi. no it's ok, i'm just heading over here," she said pointing across the street. "well i can't drive you there," he said, laughing out loud at himself. "you need to call me," he said before he drove off through the already green light. she smiled and sort of nodded. when he first met her she was strung out on cocaine. she told him she heard she could go to vegas and make $700 a week as a prostitute. she wanted to know if he thought it was a good idea. he didn't. he would later joke to strangers about how much more she could have made with how pretty she is. joke, in a true, depressing kind of way. he was sleeping, sprawled out on the floor, under a web of computer wires extended taut across the room. when he awoke, he blamed some medicine he took. but maybe it was life, just wearing.

digital bird chirping.

i love you more the less often i see you.

hard like wood.

some people just have better lives than others. some never even think about things others worry about daily. even within our own lives we can realize a deviation between life being good and bad. when it's good you don't worry about things as much. when it's bad, that's all you do. but even when it's good, it doesn't make any more sense. you just don't think about it. so shouldn't the key to happiness be not worrying or thinking too much? that sounds easy.

life, the experiment of potential

the modern world demands immediate satisfaction when something is needed. supply to meet demand. basic principles of capitalist economics. our mascot: the boyfriend who gets it regular but still needs to rub one out to porn now and again. it doesn't mean he doesn't love you, you're just not always convenient. jerking off always seems to be the path of least resistance and a ubiquitous metaphor in the modern world.

i'd seen people more feral, worse off.

i knew he was talking to no one before i approached him. he picked up a gravel rock, the size of an egg, as i made my way toward him on the sidewalk. he kept mumbling, as i passed without making eye contact. while i kept walking i heard the only audible words he spoke, "yeah.. you don't fuck with me, i don't fuck with you." then i heard him drop the rock to the ground. as i walked on i thought to myself, that seems about right.

there are infinite versions of experience, unfathomable to each other. the way you know things might make sense to you, but outside yourself, you're likely wrong.

she's about twice my age now

i asked momma what that smell is. she says the air's cleaner. not so polluted as in the cities i'm from. says it's better for me. i don't care, i miss the dirty air i'm from. i'll make friends with smokers, just to breathe a different air. just to keep the cleaner air from telling me of everything that's gone. i told momma it doesn't seem worth it, working most your life to stay alive. she responded like the thought had never crossed her mind. but you can tell, she's no happier about it than me.

a drawing of a banana in a sandal.

hope is born out of ignorance. the fact that we don't know what's coming, it gives us hope. that isn't to say we don't have a reason to hope, who knows, something good could happen. it just means that we don't know, so instead we hope.

i hope for impossible things. i think people that hope for modest, realistic things that grow on trees, they might be more optimistic in general. i hope not.

i'm not much for trying, more for champagne.

the new people you meet will never be the people from your past, no matter how much you want them to be. things are going to change. one would hope this means if things were bad they'll get better, or even if they were good they'll go bad, just for something different. but it's more likely to just change into a different version of the same old thing. the future is uncertain, but that doesn't mean we don't have a good idea of what's coming.

so i tricked some guy.

he's giving me money to do something stupid, which i'm probably not qualified to do. i'm still not any happier. a celebration is in order. i'm going to bed.

stupid cream cheese.

this cream cheese has gone bad. i just had some the other day, but now i can see there is mold growing on it. perhaps i'll get sick. then again, i've been relatively unhealthy for some time now. not from any cheese, but sick of this dance. the whole dance. every move, every thought, every non-act saturated with fairy-tale hopes that even when met, end in disillusionment. this cream cheese has gone bad, like most things here.

celebrity

this numbers game is catching up with you.

turn for the worse

she's unlucky in love. she doesn't even know yet, but for the rest of her life she won't ever find someone who makes her as happy. still, she is looking very hard, though she'll end up settling for something less.

one day

she stands outside alone, practicing her golf swing. one day she hopes to beat him.

hope in spite.

a magnificent world is in front of you to tear down and start over. there's really nothing you see that can't be changed or questioned infinitely. man is obsessed with destroying and building again new. he feels it is the only way to really change things. it's the only way to do anything.

he was ugly and he drank.

some people don't care about anything except making life work for them. sometimes it isn't that hard. now and then you can't help but laugh at people, knowing exactly what drives the silly ways they act. and yet, you're always just guessing the world makes some kind of sense to them, whether or not it does to you.

the smoker

It was coming up. The arrangements had been made, this year it was going to be different. Every year around this time Tau Kappa Epsilon throws a party to seek out new pledges and perpetuate their legacy. Every year it’s the same thing, guys sit around drinking, smoking, and watching porn. But this year, Brett had a different idea. As head of social board for the frat, Brett decided to go for the real thing.

Though there were certainly some closer, the only place anyone in the frat knew to hire strippers from was about an hour away, so she had to be picked up. Since it was Brett’s idea, he volunteered, which didn’t make his girlfriend, Susan, too happy. “I don’t want you driving for an hour alone with a stripper.” “Fine, so come with,” he said. She agreed.

The couple arrived at their destination to find a girl and two men. The girl was an obvious knockout, even through layers of clothes, with a tight figure and soft welcoming face. She was a sharp contrast to her male counterparts, one in his forties and the other about Brett’s age, both large and unhappy looking. “I’m Mel, these are my bouncers,” the girl said, “they’re just going to make sure things go smoothly.” “My name’s Jim,” the older man said as he shook hands with Brett, “and this here’s son number three,” and pointed to the younger one.

Meanwhile, at the frat house, the guys were getting riled up with drugs and porn, anxiously awaiting the real entertainment of the night. The atmosphere was dingy and, to the elders of the frat, nostalgic of smokers they’d held in the past, with added excitement in anticipation of their guest.

The five of them squeezed into Brett’s small car and headed to the party. “It should go over real well, we’ve got a stage set up for you and a dressing room and everything, the guys are really excited,” Brett said to Mel. “That sounds fine, I just have a few rules I want everyone made aware of before I begin, Jim will make sure of it.” Jim added, “Me and number three will make the announcement, then we’re just going to hang out by the stage to make sure.” Brett glanced back at the two men through his rear view mirror; number three just looked out the window as if nothing interesting was going on in the world. Susan sat next to Brett and smiled fake, obviously uncomfortable with the company. The road was dark, poorly lit, and the silence that came with the drive unwelcome.

They arrived at the house to find a herd of drunken horny college students drooling at the prospect of a naked girl. So Mel changed into her little out fit in the dressing room the guys had made up for her. Jim gave his speech, while number three stood next to him, indifferent. Then Mel came out, to some music she brought, showing off more of her unimaginably perfect figure. She danced and flirted with the guys, accepting tips in her g-string and between her firm breasts. “Take it all off,” the guys would shout spontaneously from the crowd. Jim and number three just stood on opposite sides of the stage, watching her, still unhappy looking. Finally she was standing there unclothed and the guys cheered and hollered at the sight of her exposed body. She danced around the stage some more shoving her butt and breasts in their faces for approval and money. Then in one swift move she spun around and whipped off the wig she had been wearing, exposing a clean bald head. The wig was caught by one of the guys in the crowd, then immediately dropped to the floor. The mood in the room briefly changed and silenced like the skip of a record, then gradually resumed. A few days after the party, one of his frat brothers said to Brett, “she didn’t need to do that man, it really ruined it for some of us.”

the fortune cookie said: a mans best posession is a sympathetic wife.

maybe if i would have said 'i love you' one more time, then she'd still wish she was with me. maybe if i could have that one more touch i dream about, maybe then i'd be happy. maybe if i try real hard i'll get everything i want. everything but that.

open fields

driving around in the country, you see a lot of open fields. almost to the extent that people being stupid anywhere else in the world can't be justified. they could all just go to the open fields and be stupid and start things on fire, blow things up, or just stare at things. open fields are perfect for stupid things.

in the evening news.

it's echoed throughout our culture, in every facet of humanity. you just have to look for it. we live for stupid reasons.

divine intervention.

he spoke of me objectively in my presence.

a civilization of clowns doesn't understand why their lifestyle is undesireable. it is all they know to be, and their only method of value is humor. one day a clown will be born who realizes, humor doesn't matter and clowns are a joke.

i have a plan: follow

they're ok with it, i'm not. i've been moving in a different direction for some time. the world is full of people focusing on the task at hand. a task often at hand: things get worse before they get better. there are a lot of things we haven't realized yet. some things we never will, in fact most. if we looked at everything from impossibly far away, it would probably just be black. probability tells us that there is a chance. but let's not gamble our lives away on the chance that one day we'll find a little more hope. a little more direction, not with a destination, but direction away from a place we know is gone. dreams die hard, but they die none the less.

...and the rich jerk off long into the night.

a world long forgotten, a world of god, sport, and caring, particularly about the future. some things always feel wrong and uninviting. growing up wont change that. it doesn't really change anything except what people expect of you. tiresome experiences.

farewell to thee

i'll pass through your world with ease, like wind blowing through the leaves.

they were friendly and welcoming,
but it seemed neither the time nor place for it.

in a world of constant change the act of salutation is eternal.

idiot stumbles upon pre-existing watch in perfectly good condition.

take something you own, anything, the more complicated the better. now take it apart. now try to put it back together. i feel that's what we're doing to the world. i feel like that's what i'm doing to my life.

humanity is stupid

they only smile for the camera, especially her. with misplaced emotions and unrealistic expectations you're pretty much fucked. i can't believe he said that, i don't think anyone could, they all looked to someone else for verification that what they were thinking was ok. for that moment no one said anything. "the important thing is the obvious thing that nobody is saying," bukowski said that. he was a drunk. crack a few jokes, get on with it. people would rather laugh than think and much rather fuck than cry. dance and put on a show like you're not always thinking of the worlds stupidity in the back of your head.

baby got a dreambox

"this train smells like shit,"
is the first thing i hear when i open my eyes. the guy next to me is on a cell phone, probably has been the whole train ride. i look out the window onto rotting real estate drowning out trees. i can't smell anything, which makes me wonder if i'm the one stinking up this crowded train. he's leaning away from me on his phone, i'm leaning towards the window. he hangs up with whoever he was complaining to and calls someone else. maybe the smell is me, i wouldn't be surprised, it's gotta be four in the afternoon, i've been wearing this suit since four in the morning. i haven't eaten since two in the morning, unless you count a smoothie i gulped down before getting on the train. i'm probably rotting just like the scenery, it happens faster without care. the train stops and some people get off. he moves across the aisle to two recently vacated seats. thinking back upon the day, i remember determined distant faces traveling in herds, looking up to see patches of a cloudless sky between monumental buildings, nature distorted, as perhaps it always is. across the aisle, on his cell phone, he discusses the best way to get there as though every destination has one perfect route. he's planning to take the belt-line, it approaches the city from across the lake allowing one to view the horizon's geometric misshape in its entirety. i always preferred going straight through the city and watching the capital building jump out and approach like unavoidable disaster. "i'm going to visit a cute girl," he says to the phone. the train stops and everyone gathers their things. standing in the aisle of the train, i still can't tell if it smells. i get off the train and walk away from things.

wearing a suit in a crowded place, with a bunch of other people wearing suits.

i always feel like an asshole/fraud.

cultivation

i feel like i'm constantly explaining and justifying life to myself, the way one would to someone who hadn't experienced it at all.

isn't there something better we could be doing?

things i wont miss

she would play that flute forever if she didn't have to eat or sleep, that's what it takes to get paid for it. it's sure to be more of a nervous habit than joy.

tolerating the mundane only to appear successful.

living for them behind their backs.

no longer taking important everyday things for granted.

listening to al green alone.

pretending people of my past are dead.

wondering what ever happened to them.

not caring.

a primer for thought

study. read. memorize. he's got it down. he knows the books and their theorems well enough to make new ones. others, long after he is dead, will build upon these. as will generations after them. man explores the world in which he lives in a struggle to understand it. he plays with numbers and ideas thought of long before his grandparents walked the earth. he claims, "it is my will, it is my destiny, the ultimate manifest destiny". so he spends his days. toiling and grinding at a fragment of a puzzle which only appears larger with every found piece. day in day out, he pressures his mind to its limits of conceptualization.

when he looks up from his work one evening, man notices, while many brothers and sisters are toiling at the same underlying puzzle of everything, many are not. instead he sees them engaged in games and contests, not to learn and share knowledge, but to compete and hoard. not only are they ignorantly playing and engaging in forms of lackadaisical intercourse, but they utilize luxuries of the systems they care not to understand in these matters.

man is intrigued by this lack of interest in the greater knowledge. after consideration, he realizes that his preconception of man is wrong. man is not an eager pupil tending to the questions of the universe. instead he is a simple child, needing only to be preoccupied with the glittering emptiness of a daunting task. the animal of man, with his enlarged brain, does not find himself with any greater purpose than his ancestors, but only the common need to expel its excess thought processes on empty emotional experiences and mundane tasks. a synapse fires and man is contented again, for now. the button pusher, creating an easier way to push buttons so that he may push two buttons at once, or eat, or fornicate, while pushing buttons.

man finds this restructured comprehension of himself and his place in the world unsettling. now he is entirely aware that life as he knows it is merely, keeping oneself busy. this awareness came to him crisp as the bite of an apple, displaying the void of ethics in such a world where men are slaves to thought. moreso even than his ancestors, who appear to not reflect on or consider their habit and insticts. with this knowledge a new man is born, a free man, who choses his destiny without consideration for those who may never see things as he does. the new man, who does everything with clarity of purpose, a grin slits his mouth and a blade his arm.

anything at all

the homeless man, with a past full of memories and nothing. what's he holding on to, what's he hoping for?

man is the animal only and entirely.

an element

he drinks from a bottle in the bathroom, then sleeps until he wakes up or gets thrown out. drinks again. preferring sleep, bitter, he looks around in the cold air, thinking, judging with eyes not unlike those on him. even sleep has a point of oversaturation. idle consciousness is spent reminiscing of freudian slips and immoral bouts. junctures in a life of opportunity. he cares not about the future, only of regrets in a past of impossible hopes. without hydrogen he wouldn't be here. none of this would.

instinct

one day you'll forget there's nothing more to life than staying alive. no one keeps that up forever.

the important thing is gone, all is gibberish.

hard working people, most don't want to face reality, so instead they lalalalalalalala.

certain people would live forever if they could, they're the same people who wouldn't hesitate to doot do doot doot doot.

all some people look forward to in life is bwat n do dat n bwat n do dat.

boom ba doom ba doom is all you're missing out on.

with blamalamalam blamalamalam you could have anything you wanted.

you have been lied to about something you wish you hadn't, because people baa baa bop shoo bop shoo bop.

the future will be blam blam ba blum blum deedily dee.

happy valentines everybody.

bad idea from the start

true love, love at first sight, and hopeless love. attempts at recreating the past. pining over photographs of better times. saying "i love you" when you don't. acting like you care when you don't. crying for a good reason. getting drunk alone. telling them it will work out. meeting new people. meeting old people. losing control. kidding yourself. sleeping all day. reproduction. sex in general.

his name is synonymous with genius.

her? no way, i think she's engaged or something. they've known each other their whole lives practically. they've pretty much gotta end up together, or if something goes horribly wrong, with people just like each other. doomed to belong, it's like fate, only basically self inflicted, so stronger. at least they'll miss out on the heartache most get, as well as the wondering where their first love is. no nightmares or suicidal thoughts, just naive comfort without the exploration of alternative possibilities. it's probably the best thing someone could do for themselves. if only we all could see time and space the way they really are.

crazy, but not without reason.

elvis is a whore.

famous people, they're not like other people. they're more important and they have way more sex. how many women do you think are currently walking the earth that have had sex with elvis. it's probably more than that. maybe someone you know's mom. maybe your mom. suits and uniforms are just costumes. humans just eat, fuck, and kid themselves.

you and me,

we'll never see life the same way.

let's go around breaking hearts.

i say, "lets sit here and wait to die. we don't need to run around from here to there like they do, they don't understand." she says, "there was one time, he was so sweet and gentle, it's all i think about now that he's gone." i say, "you're not listening to what i'm saying, things could be better." she says, "i remember everything he complained about before he stopped returning my calls. it was mostly about how i'm not someone he wishes i was. i wonder if it's someone i know." i say, "..." she says, "i wish i didn't have sex with him. normally i don't have sex with guys unless we're in a relationship and i'm sure he loves me, or if i think i can make him love me." i say, "..." she says, "when he said he loved me i thought he meant it. he was so considerate most of the time." i say, "no one will ever love you."

let's take care, let's just take and take and take and never return, never give care. save that for the caregivers the disgusting herds in malls, in cities, in cars spanning miles on the highway. let them give care, let them care all they want. not us, we won't give any. we're taking it all. like great collectors, hoarding it in the smallest of places so that if we were to die, no one would find any care for years to come. the care would sit there, unused, unloved. there wouldn't be enough to go around, the world would starve of care. we'd laugh, because we've taken so much, we've got care to spare, but we wouldn't share any. not even with those who need it most, because it's ours. this care we have, it's all we are.

a self fulfilling prophecy

the girl at the coffee shop, she was just being nice, making conversation. don't get carried away kid. who reads quantum physics for fun anyways?? when she asked if it was for a class you probably should have said yes. now think about it too much while reading, walk home in the hail, and spend the whole night writing a sad song alone. also, don't talk to anyone.

ok.

we made a healthy, informed and democratic decision to get back on heroin as soon as possible.

let's love this, all of it. let's watercolor, let's fill time with things that make us smile all the time. let's get married, let's take drugs, let's just do what we want when we want and fuck the rest. the bookstore is empty now, because everybody reads. i feel like this isn't exactly what they want. someone will buy anything. so what? so if we do the same thing long enough without getting sick of it. so then people will pay us? i feel like millions have already realized the fallacy within this. i'd rather not join them. welcome to nowhere fast.

the prettiest dream of dying alone.

take what you think you know of the world and leave it behind. devote your life wholly and unconditionally to something, it's the only way to create meaning. just pick something, it doesn't even matter. let's face it, most of us aren't good enough at anything to make a lot of money, so we might as well have fun. most of us aren't even doing that. what do you feel when you feel happy? nevermind, i don't want to know. when i think of all the people i could have been, i want to vomit. this could mean several different things depending on how i view my present state. take your pick.

my brother is vegan

Their children would have been beautiful, no one would argue. And it's not because of one parent more than the other; instead both would have been equal contributors to each child's perfection. The success of their children would have been a given as well, to the extent that their children’s failure would not have passed through the minds of anyone who knew them as a possibility. But then again, nothing works out as planned.

Heartbreak is strange because we can love so many things. As people disappear from my life and become more of a dream than a past, their existence elsewhere tends not to mean as much to me. But, if I fall in love with life, what is to be done when it disappoints me, as all things we love one day do. I still have to wake up everyday next to her. I still think about her all the time, because she’s right there with me. She’s everywhere I look. I can only hope I don’t dream because she even permeates those. If I could just be certain that death was an eternal dreamless sleep, then I’d know there’s hope. But for all I know death isn’t like that at all. The concept of an afterlife makes me frantic for a way out like someone suffocating on oxygen.

Power, money, and babies are often enough motivation for people. If they aren't then life seems to become a complicated quest for meaning or purpose, one that probably won’t ever be resolved. This is the nomadic result of the absence of belonging. I’m thinking helping people somehow would fix this emptiness, but the truth is I don’t give a fuck about other people and saving all the babies in the world would only cause more elderly to starve. I can’t understand everything I want to and I don’t often like who I am. This world is unacceptable and if it weren’t for the fact that suicide takes a great deal of motivation, I would have killed myself already. I know there’s meat in this. No, my brother is vegan. I’m nothing.

viewing things from the current perspective.

"i'm turning to god."

he'll help you as much as i will, if not more. the further back i remember love, the better it seems. maybe she's just what i need, maybe we're just what each other need. perhaps she's just a wild fuck and a good night's rest. maybe the future doesn't matter if i could be eternally happy for now. without enough motivation for suicide all we have are ideas and stories without any moral value. god would condemn us either way. everything since mexico has been ugly. one day we might stumble into something grand. let's hope this time is soon, otherwise things will get just hideous. i'll make love to her, and she'll think we're getting married, but more likely i'll run off to china and seek out the last remaining opium den to wallow in the oblivion of solitude until one day there's nothing left to take. then i'll know as much as anyone gets to know about things.

it's been too long

everyone goes there for brunch. all types of people, from all walks of life. they don't have to work on sundays, so they eat, drink, and talk. what else is there to do in this world? they make themselves stupid/happy with gluttony and communicate poorly. apparently it makes the rest of their tolerated slavery worthwhile. they each get paid enough to support their lavish lifestyle. i refuse to believe that each of them is far more intelligent than those in starving countries. it's impossible to be very intelligent when your frequency of interest in things is slowing down to zero.

she erases people from her life better than i do. wow.

i never come home happy and drunk. i'm not sure if this is because of the drunk part, just coming home in general, or the world that i come home from. if i used to go someplace happy, that place is far away and different now.

it's a fucking joke.

look at what you spend your time on. like it makes any bit of difference. no one's better off. selling things people don't need, teaching things people don't care about, wasting time. one day, i'll think back on this and laugh. and i'll be happier. let's not hold our breath. it only makes us want things less. living is wanting more. consume.

Dr. Phil is a cucumber in the shape of the virgin mary

i never thought i could be this happy. i can't remember ever thinking this, though i might have. if so, i wouldn't ever know how to say it again, and really mean it. they talk like they're excited about life, and maybe they are going places. so, you're not very successful? they'd think to themselves after asking what i do. no i'm not. perhaps success is not a priority of mine. perhaps there's a better priority to have. what could be a better priority in life than success, they might think out loud. i don't know, but i'm trying quite hard to find one. not that it matters. life is just a bunch of shitty justifications anyways. any reason you could list of why you're alive could probably fall under this category. i don't know why i tell the truth sometimes, often i feel i'm more truthful than most. i'm not that honest. this is a quest, this is a search for meaning, for reason, for doing something that doesn't make me want to stay in bed every morning. a quest to live a life not merely tolerated, but enjoyed and understood. this is impossible. this is what we are up against.

in the spirit of mr. DeLanguillette

someone should make me a wikipedia page worth having. though, i'm not sure i deserve it. i don't know what it would even say. here he is, he does... um... i'm not too sure. that sounds about right. people flip out for stupid little reasons all the time, the only thing that will sedate them is wads of cash. stick it in their face and they'll let you rub shit in their nose. just ask around, it's true.

Mirror neurons work best in real life, when people are face to face. Virtual reality and videos are shadowy substitutes.

we fall in and out of love so easy just like a dying light bulb, not sure whether it's on or off, beating like a slow old heart. it casts shadows on each beat to keep rodents at bay. fear is often considered more basic than love. i don't think one can exist in a world without the other. humans mimic through empathy, we love through empathy, we fear though it, we learn with it. it may be the single most important human characteristic. our overdeveloped empathy. our imagination and consideration regarding that outside ourselves. when man ceases to consider that which is outside himself, he loses his most human characteristic. selfishness may be a part of human nature, but it is not humanity's alone. in fact it may be the most primal and prehistoric of his traits, not something to be rewarded like our society teaches. who do we wish to honor, the asshole or the considerate? sometimes i just don't know about people and their ideas.

i think i'm smarter than everybody, it's true.

ethical structure as a blueprint for happiness. something with a statue and candles, like a shrine, only without preconception. love more naturally tears away in the coldest of places. hospital rooms, retirement homes, and empty bedrooms. don't feed on the logic of people you don't understand. they're feasting on the epistimology of people they've never met, but assume are better than they, since people they've never met assume the same thing. because someone once knew someone who thought that someone had a good idea and told others who may not have been very intelligent, but we all know intelligence does not coincide with influence, so the influential did their thing and here we are with a system of operating in the world that most people don't question. they probably shouldn't, there's not much they can do. learn to love the machine, one day it will save us all, save us like fish in a bowl.

i tried to sleep alone, but i couldn't do it.

the things that make them all happy would just make me miserable, i just know it. nothing to learn from or grow on. just reaching, blind. without the intelligence or inspiration to achieve anything other than lazy existence. i'd like to believe i'm making everyone's life better. the way a teacher does and then leaves them to do better things. like some self righteous hero parting into a sunset after the world he knows is dead and cold, i'll leave you all behind. it's only a matter of time.

go find yourself religion son.

a new perspective like a brand new shirt. stubborn moralist would rather die for his cause. a cause he doesn't know. like going to church every sunday. grown men cry because in their hearts they know things are wrong. it's true. but not for the reasons they perhaps think, those don't matter. great or nothing. dad was always a preacher in disguise but he's only made of energy like everything else we know. after focusing on trivial problems and mundane tasks for so long, once one catches their breath and looks around there's not much at all. just people focusing on mundane tasks and trivial problems. expectations. our outcome only depends on what we walk into things expecting. i often think i expected too much; anything. sustainable despite unhappiness. it's a thing most people lose track of once they're busy enough. a different approach towards life, like knitting god a scarf on my lunch break. i guess i'll use it until he shows up. i wonder what size shirt he wears? let's not get caught up in details.

i'm in love with her but i don't love her.

evolution isn't happening so quickly. we're just better at learning and remembering as a community than most other animals. this is our biggest difference. when they learn things they don't share and build on their knowledge to the extent that we do. however if we make changes that are entirely detrimental to all previous developments, then we really aren't much different at all. this seems to assume that the developments humans have made are a sort of progress, by what standards i do not know. i don't think we're much different at all. in fact, if we could swing from trees like most other animals everyone would probably be better off. evolution is considered positive or negative by the success rate of the proprietor. however, it's only change, a new characteristic. it's success should not be judged while the species is still in development and it's success rate is still microscopic in years compared to many other existing specimen. everyone loves a monkey at a typewriter. own/control everything, that's what they want. seriously. what is that?

may we all cut our thumbs

one day we'll understand so much we wish we didn't, or maybe it's barely enough.

walk away like you have a purpose

i used to be ok with being miserable. i used to think it was good for building artistic character or motivation. now it does nothing but simmer. people watch pornography for sport. like it's a game, watching other people have sex on camera. entertainment. let's get together and sit around on my sofa and watch the tv and maybe people will be having sex on the tv, i don't know. whatever happens to be playing. perhaps we'll have condoms in the candy dish on the table. no promises. this is what people do for entertainment in the modern world. watch porno in groups that maybe burst into orgies. one can only hope wishes come true to such an extent. but maybe they don't and people just sit there watching other people have sex, maybe with hard ons, maybe not, depending on how desensitized they are to these things. eventually they wont be able to count the hours/days they've spent watching other people have sex. it might equal or exceed the amount of time they've had sex. one day they'll wake up and won't be able to decipher the experiences. one day they may find that nothing makes them happy, but they know exactly what makes them less unhappy. let's turn to this certainty in the face of a world which we like to have so much control over. maybe communism is wrong, but we need to be more specific regarding our definitions.

we're not doing so great

they're doing just fine without us. everybody we used to know. they're tinkering and meddling with other people's lives. we're just trying not to bother anyone. instead, everybody bothers us. they're building and calculating, we're sitting and thinking. things could be better.

habit

i didn't want to get out of bed. hours after i had, i regretted it. even as i go to bed i wonder why i bother leaving. i'm told one day i'll miss this. i feel like you could say that about anything which makes nostalgia worth nothing.

nothing ever works out as we want it to so why are we here?

i wonder if she still believes that.

she wanted to tell stories

i hadn't seen her in like five years, but i didn't say hi. hers is a story i'd rather not know. when a human body is submerged in water for extended periods of time the skin becomes water logged and slippery. if someone tries to grab the body the skin can slide right off. there's a term for this, but most people wouldn't ever know it. i forget what it is. i wonder how many days an extended period of time is. probably two or more. i overheard some guy saying it. he said he heard it on tv.

it wasn't what i wanted

we can play faster and more calibrated. this means better. war machines cover the ground with rubble. i was a great king. that's only part true. no, not even part true. everybody wants an excuse to get their money back. always

a tint of green

radiation goggles don't protect us from anything, they just allow us to enjoy the view through a tint of green. all those people out there in the city. they're starving for capital. they're gnashing their incisors to the flocking of paper in their direction. i hope they get it, i really do. they sure seem to want it awful bad, dressing up in silly outfits, parading around like kings. it doesn't matter how nice they are. friendliness is a weakness of character and a communist trait. it suggests you will concede easily when confronted. capital favors the furious hungry, scratching and digging for copper and gold. ones willing to pry it from cold dead hands with no sign of remorse. after all, no one deserves it more than them. our culture deems them superior.

i think i miss her most of all, because with as little as she knew of me, she had a better idea than anyone of who i really was. and she still liked me. i don't even think she realized.

fertilizer

take what you love and have it every day. life's not much worth living without even such a prospect. we starve ourselves, sit patiently outside a powerful smelling restaurant, and wonder why we're hungry. maybe we'll get some scraps at the end of the day. i'm not talking about food. maybe i am. we end up food for the worms and plants we step on. they found him frozen on a himalayan mountain top gripping his erect penis. some people care what happens after they die. their investments outlive them. it gives motivation to live life to the very last moment. seeing our investments well off. not that they'll do us any good. it's a matter of pride.

fuck this

sad is the new happy

she doesn't know what i'm like when i'm happy. she's never seen it. eventually what she knows of me will become my new happy. sad. that's what happens when we forget any other way of being, we're left only with all we have. let's write a fucking story:

once there was a little boy, naive and ripe with affection, as most little boys are. he was curious of girls and did nothing about it, knowing very well what movies said about such things and how to treat someone you cared about with utmost attention, care, and sincerity. little did he know that this was the closest to mastering the art of love he would ever know. as experiences were had girls were had as well. the very first love he never really had. the second love he lost to another. the third he wouldn't let himself deserve. many more were thrown away to the oblivion of indifference. and now i sit alone with a bottle of wine, i swear, there was a time when i would have made a wonderful lover. but that time has passed.