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.

i can't believe it.

i had to show someone who is computer-stupid, but has a wonderful smile, even when she's wearing goofy glasses with a big nose and mustache, how to do this. this girl is employed, but not for long. she will never work again, instead she will probably find some guy to marry who lets her live comfortably and write in her excessive free time, maybe even allowing her to become good enough of a writer to get paid for telling stories about things that might not exist, like love.

criticizing is easy.

there are problems with everything.

some words of wisdom from our friend Matt Sharp

"Life.

The big issues.

How did we get here ?

Is there life after death ?

Does God exist ?

O. K. ...so, let's not talk about the big issues.

Starting over.

Day 1 ...dear diary

State of the union, emancipation, proclamation.

We The Rentals are back.

Why ? ...mmmmmmmm ...fuck off ...that's why ...we're back!

No, really ...that's not so nice.

O. K. Think. nice. Ah!

Tangential thoughts.

I wish a cool breeze would pass by.

Think.

Starting over.

The big issues :

#1. How did we get here ?

Well, it's been a strange and twisted year.

A new solo album, delving into a new collaborative partnership or possibly retiring and opening up a small tobacco store in a remote Spanish village, all of these options have been equally bouncing around on the dining room table of my mind lately.

I was even entertaining the idea of rejoining weezer as a fifth member for a little while. They approached me about the idea sometime around the last Super Bowl. The idea started out with a bang. Bang!, bang!!, bang!!! Each one of us filled up the balloon with our own individual pre-conceived notions of all the endless possibilities ...then, pop!, pop!, fizz!, fizz! ...oh, what a relief it is!!! ...the idea quickly came, went and collectively fizzled.

I have a dusty department store where I keep all those weezer memories. When we started talking again, I started re-opening those doors, passing through the sporting goods department and revisiting that era all draped in cobwebs. As I passed by a wax figure of Al Delvecchio, off in the distance, a little to the left of women's shoes, I spotted a pretty little shimmering thing, a flickering little light, laying underneath all the weight of this behemoth, titanic, monstrous Orange amplifier and there she was, my last functional moog source. Although, looking rather ragged and worn out and somewhat like a vintage McDonalds cash register, she still had a little sparkle left in her oscillators and with that, she gave me that love bug look, she revved up, winked and wanted another ride. You see, my time with weezer and my memories of The Rentals are inevitably, invariably linked somewhere in the brain, to entertain one, it's nearly impossible not to entertain the other. So, I'd guess you could say, in some strange way, I have those fellows to thank for leading me down those rusty tracks, onto this train of thought, jumping over and onto that lonely old caboose.

But, when I started to ride ...I realized ...to what ? ...to where ? ...this yellow brick road is a dead end.

Images in the mind leading to this ...to what ? ...nothing ...briefly entertained ...but blank ...totally ...blank ...impossible ...then ...forget it.

A moment later, out of nowhere, freaking, bling, blam, bloom, as these miracles will happen (with C.G.I. ...& everything ...that's how we roll here on the eastside of Hollywood, that's how we roll). Bling, blam, bloom, with all your ex-girlfriends waiting in the wings of the big dance, bling, blam, bloom, all fixed up and looking for a swing, all fixed up and looking for a toss (I'm not sure what this means). But, while everyone was racing off to the mega-blockbuster techno i-pod after party. I met a few people across the street, sitting outside on the sidewalk, just sitting there on the curb. I met a few people that for some reason or other made the whole idea seem possible, it made the whole damned thing feel tangible and it filled me with confidence that there should indeed be a new day for The Rentals.

Sometimes, with the people you meet, it just seems to all make sense.

That's the long and short of it.

I have always stayed away from this idea, because I could never see how it would be possible to approach it with any sense of honesty. But now, with their help, I can see a path and I know that our best days lay ahead.

#2. Is there life after death ?

When we first brought up the idea behind closed doors, the people who are closest to me snooped around with our little secret to see what the interest would be. Much to my surprise they found a level of enthusiasm, anticipation and excitement that I really didn't think would exist.

And god damn, Honestly, I miss being around that sense of electricity ...it's exciting and I really look forward to the day when we can bring that excitement to you.

As I write this, we are just starting to put the pieces together. We are in a formative stage and we are starting the group from the ground up. It's a bright new day. It's a bright day.

Will it be explosive ?, will it be atmospheric ? lo-fi ? ...hi-fi ? ...I don't know.

It depends what seems most natural to us as a group.

The essential elements of The Rentals will be there. Our fascination with vintage synthesizers, violas, violins, female harmonies and all the rest will continue. But, I'm guessing, we'll most likely veer off the path that would lead us into the realm of becoming our own tribute band.

We will be, who we are. The Rentals evolution will come through our collection of personalities.

And in good time, we will introduce everyone involved.

In the meanwhile.

#3. Does God exist ?

I'll leave that up to Tom Cruise to answer.

Is there life on other planets ?

Well, we've given Kyle Conkright the keys to our flying saucer, so be nice to him and he'll let you know.

Is Celine Dion an alien ? ...well, I'll answer that. ...uh, yes. ...and she's riding shotgun.

Sit back and enjoy the show.

And we'll see you soon"

Matt Sharp
THE RENTALS

i still think numbers did us all in.

another year passes and everything still feels like the direction of down.

nothing to capture interest, nothing but fake smiles. tired hopeless mornings and everything's close enough to the same forever and ever ad infinum. cycles of pleasure and discomfort that all blur into a feeling of basic regret. i've probably been unhappy/depressed more than 70% of my self-aware life. this is not a cry for help, just a statistic. for all i know this might be below average. numbers did us all in.