the atlantic

Is more beautiful than anything ive ever experieneced in my entire life. No girl or women could even compare. The violence of the waves and the crashing of life's dreams speak of freedoms that are foreign and forgotten in most lover's arms.

on monday,

kayaking and cycling will be had among the busy night of central florida.

exciteddddddddddd.

let it be known

To all of the world!

I have the best friends in the UNIVERSE. And today was the best night of my life.

Jasmine.

sweet scents and sentiments amid the sarcasm of chain smoking deviants.
places betrayed and flowers made of passed paper planes.
lets share and toss these crumpled works of pesticide, poetry, and compliments.
blah blah blah we say and fly, fly, fly we aim;
for the uncharted skies we crave.
if only they were real,
if only we weren't worn out in the arrangment of letters or the entanglement of fingers.
we are great in this little world built by stop-motion mimes with more time than lines,
every frame captured as the essence to this massive illusion of confusion and crime-an environment filled by jasmine walls and pollinating stars.
there's no vacancy for the sad world between bars.

On the Road.

Tiny drumbeats on an olive canvas floating down a river of coffees, from sea to swamp. I miss my hair and the way it kept the rain from my eyes, dripping upon my lips with the taste of clouds and leather instead. Who knows why. Now it storms down upon me, pattering across scalp and cheeks. The birds chatter as they shower from branches overhanging tannin stained roadways with depths unmatched by man-made lanes. Fuck the signs and dashed lines that followed suit I want lawlessness. I want freedom and truth. Am I strong or has domestication given me the illusion of strength? The trailing edge of the paddle slips from the calm waters into a battlefield of dumb bombs and bullets that shatter fragile skies , even if for a brief moment. The river drips from the plastic propeller, craving to leave such a ferocious environment back to its muffled mansion for dead leaves and relics of ages past. It’s had its fill of war. They all have. I crave the conflict and keep moving as if in a trance. I match the pace of nature’s snare. Heaven is hidden-we beasts are too shameless to watch as we carelessly kill, fuck, and drive ourselves to madness. Doesn’t bother me one fucking bit. Shadow puppets held by swaying arms cast their story upon the impact area below, distorted and fleeting images followed by the voice of god-what a fitting narrator-scenes of mass murder, angry and merciless soldiers raining down on the willing and unwilling. The fearful and the nihilists. I can’t relate. I move on in to a void on planet earth. The trees entrenched and intertwined above and below. I am in the womb. The waters narrow and all light escapes me, the sounds of the outside world fall on deaf ears and as I start to feel soft sand gracing the underbelly of my vessel I decide to walk onward, leaving all else behind. The ground sinks and hugs the soles of promiscuous feet. Palm fronds run their fingers cross my arms and chest. They whisper, “Don’t go”, but I must! It is my one and only wish to be reborn in the fertile waters of this all-knowing, forever flowing cunt. I stop as I feel a solution of sand and piercing cold water tickle the arch of my right foot. The end must be approaching. Who knew? My next few steps land me smack dab middle of a massive crater for quicksand and spring currents. Not Nobodies. In the darkness I felt for a bottom while fear and fine soot engulfed my body. The ground is going to eat me. The solution rushed from a bunker of limestone grabbing ahold of my shoulders and ankles. I sank to its soul and closed my eyes. If I were a fish I was eaten, if I were an alligator I was eaten, if I were human I’d have laughed until my lungs filled with water and sand. Thank God I’m Nothing and Nowhere, none of that shit really applies. Phew.

they call me

Baby chico.

B{

:p\l/

my ride to class :D

for Micah.

A craving for acceptance
In a closet full of corpses.

A lord they praise
As he takes their child away.
Does she care?

Is this fair? To judge?
For death rolls nearer
To a troubled girl who fears her
Presence is not clear here
She's a ghost among peers
Dead infants in tears.

Say cheese.

maybe I should....

be fake nice to girls-or at least not expect so much... that way I can avoid being left at hotels, public outbursts, and (my personal favorite) "the silent treatment". Plus, this morning I told an 11 year old that professional sport teams were identities adapted by normal people to belong in groups (which is true), to which he simply replied: "you need a girlfriend".
sonofabitch.
I hate not being normal, but hate normalcy even mo'.

Hmmm. Writing definitely puts things into perspective.

Also I've been thinking about my intentions on publishing thoughts publicly. I mean, why?
I think it might have something to do with my own narcissistic personality. Or just some other reason that makes me do hypocritical things.

where the world ends.

saint snobbery

"Japhy and I were kind of outlandish-looking on the campus in our old clothes in fact Japhy was considered an eccentric around the campus, which is the usual thing for campuses and college people to think whenever a real man appears on the scene--colleges being nothing but grooming schools for the middle-class non-identity which usually finds its perfect expression on the outskirts of the campus in rows of well-to-do houses with lawns and television sets in each living room with everybody looking at the same thing and thinking the same thing at the same time while the Japhies of the world go prowling in the wilderness, to find the ecstasy of the stars, to find the dark mysterious secret of the origin of faceless wonderless crapulous civilization."

"'All these people,' said Japhy, 'they all got white-tiled toilets and take big dirty craps like bears in the mountains, but it's all washed away to convenient supervised sewers and nobody thinks of crap any more or realizes that their origin is shit and civet and scum of the sea. They spend all day washing their hands with creamy soaps they secretly wanta eat in the bathroom.'"

why am i such an ass?

who knows. Who CARES!
:3

dovepie defense

I saw a missile today. It flew right over my head.
And I'm partially deaf now.

2 am

Gotta get ready in a little over two hours. Insomnia is killing me. For the past week I've been in the field, training for gun truck missions. Its taken a lot out of me.
From 700 to 2000 was a cycle of loading and unloading radios, machine guns, and hundred round ammo belts. This week will be the same-since we failed to qualify. I'm so fucking tired of this.
In other news, my girlfriend left my ass. Can't say I blame her. I live about 70 miles away from her, and a misplaced bicycle was my only reliable means of seeing her. Plus, I do stupid shit. Fuck my life again and again and again.

once upon a time.



revenge of the last mohican.

self defense mechanisms

are a bitch.

scooter squids.

domestic confession

I've only been with one person that I was content not having sex with-but when she left to italy or idaho or wherever, I didnt care. I think I laughed at her on the phone.

in most of my relationships the only time I ever tried to make it work was after it ended. once they were back, we just had sex until it got old and then I stopped trying again.

I always test people's limits. morally, mentally, and physically. I act like everyone is some sort of object for my amusement.

it's possible I only love myself.

I don't have any goals or aspirations, except for having fun.

my only passions are food, music, and wandering around endlessly.

I pretty much could care less about the poor, disabled, or diseased.

most of the time I feel more alone being around others, because I can't be myself.

I lie and manipulate words, situations, and people in order to get what I want.

contrary to popular belief, I hate men and women equally.
1. most women aren't good for anything
2. almost all men are only useful as expendable war assets.

I have no Idea how to use proper grammar or punctuation. I'm doomed to a miserable existence because of this fact. apparently.

I got pissy like a little bitch at work today, so now I'm mad at the world.
doesn't change the fact that no matter how nice, carefree, or loving I may ever seem... This is who I really am; a pacifist psychopath. how much sense does that make?
sigh.

I need muh hoe right now.

sun screened snake poo.

tired eyes meet tired skies
there is no moon or stars tonight
just man made lights, flaming bright.

this time of month, our moon is at rest while the sun ventures west
its a much needed vacation for a mirror in the shadows.
being tucked in a void of a closet
means less time as an amateur prophet.

while a witness to an orgy of famine and fashion
our wayward friend must cling to one last bastion
of hope-of irony-for a winter solstice greeted by frozen corpses.
no life, light, walls, or time
a world where she'll be fine
never again spectating a show of pain and woe.
who knows-maybe when the sun explodes?

but until that day, or night
she dreads the shame shed from every blistering ray.

though I must say, the stresses and struggles of everyday life
wouldn't be if blue footed boobies ended up eating your wife.
is that ever gonna happen?
meh.
probably not.
I guess you could give it a shot...
maybe...toss her in a zoo exhibit...to test?
but I think it'd be best to place bets with the moon
since I'm sure we're blowing up the sun real soon.
in the name of skin cancer, no less.

Pretending to be a mermaid.

my day has been made.

gots me a letter in duh mails.... ANNND the bike shop called and said they're gonna replace my frame WITH A 2011 MODEL ANNNND A FREE CRANK!!! :DDDDDDDDDD

I'm so happy.

FUCK! TURKEY GERBILS!

my bike broke.I am one sad, sad scuba shoe.
the bike shop said it would take 1-2 days for "services" to process the request for my bike to be shipped for warranty evaluation and if it's accepted, it will be 4-6 weeks til I get my new bike.
dasss uh lottah forrrz.

and that.
 is a looooooong time to be without Bicyle, my frand.

on a different note, I find myself very conflicted on the effect advancing technology has on our lives.
you know, whether or not the "positives" outweigh the "negatives".
the romantic in me wants to believe the world would be better if we tore down our buildings, scrapped our cars, and burned our clothes.
the pessimist believes modern civilization, although it will surely destroy the world's pre-civilization environment, has persisted for a reason: it works better("higher standard of living", lower mortality rates, longer life expectancy, blah blah blah)-for the collective- and since that is a true fact, it is impossible to topple it as a minority.

look up "ship of fools" by theodore kaczynski. its a good lil story.
ya know that brings me to somefin else...
he (kaczynski) tried to change the world. he failed. know why? because he was STUPID.
he mailed bombs to people as a political protest against technology and to get leverage against media outlets.
"air my manifesto or I kill more people."
and although I found it very informative(industrial society and its future), why did he care so much as to try and force people to accept his belief system as superior? all he ended up accomplishing was being labeled as a psychotic terrorist AND life in prison. angry people do angry things. nobody's perfect, I suppose. but its funny how some hate authoritarianism but they themselves preach it. violence to end violence makes no sense. WHEN WILL PEOPLE SEE THAT!?


rayray-san says: don't fight current, 
but don't give up and float away, either.
the river'll flow with or without you in it.
rayray-san says: follow along its banks to your destination.
It'll make your travels much easier and efficient...

-end jibber jabber.

this makes no sense. nothing I write makes sense.

reminisce of tear filled shadows
discarded in broken street lights and passing cars
unwanted passengers on a two lane disaster
where's your master, who left his trash as my treasure?
"It's a pleasure," says an angel at my side, "for love is bountiful between my legs."

carbonated thoughts burn through throats
and maggots line the inside of my coat, censoring your canvas of moral decay
with skin smelling like lilies in may, open sores should not be displayed
we'll blow kisses to wounds from tomorrow's infection
to show our affection for rust clad whores.

so once more, a heavenly creature festers at the seams
she's a dark roaring ocean that'll tell of our dreams
with tacos, tantrums, and cyanide pills
fourth meal is calling, come get your fill.

I know I will.

a love that is fashioned from raisin bran and melting stars
it is ours to forget in a busy world of busy bees
us larvae lost in a southwest sea of tortilla reveries
no metamorphosis of memories, you see.

sevens to eighths, with firsts in between
all time spent was perfect to me.

I

can go wherever you want.

and more.

Toro y Lechuza

ONCE UPON A TIME....





There was a toro.

A toro who, in his free-time, liked to drink hard liquor and wander around in life harrassing everyone he crossed. He'd throw bottles at babies, chuck bats at old ladies, and steal candy from the corner store(which he was very good at, I might add).

His evil deeds went on and on, starting on the day he left the prison walls of a chinese torture facility(back in '06), to his untimely demise...
But we'll get to that later.

Toro had no friends. People didn't like his drunken banter, nor did they like getting whomped by bats or pelted with candy poo. Toro had lost hope in people, and himself. He had become the person he hated most,





Barbara
Streisand.

Toro woke up one day, hating life more than usual, and decided he wanted to die. He dreamt a super stylized suicide like it came straight outta Hollywood-or Afghanistan-either way, it was of super-epicness proportions. Atleast in his mind, ofcourse. He had it in his lil toro head that he was gonna stuff himself with as much nitro glycerin he could steal from the army men, run from their tanks and stealth airplanes, throw a noose over a tree in a quaint neighborhood park (disguised as a pinata, no less), and let the kids whack away. then they'd all go boom. Toro sighed in satisfaction as it played over in his head. No doubt Toro wasn't doing too good. Some might suggest he go see a therapist, but Toro would never hear of such things. He'd just scream and hack and scream some more in his dizzy stupor.

So as Toro started writing the last hate letter to Ms. Streisand, a knock sounded from his door.
Toro rose from the chair and turned to face this surprising distraction.
"...Toro? TOROTOROTORO!!!" screamed the bewildered little toro.
The knocks did not stop.
Toro, thinking that maybe there really were people that read minds for a living and that they had found out about his master plan, started teeter-tottering back and forth. Were they now here to take him back to his old dungeon abode? He shuttered at the thought. Toro stumbled about trying to burn all the evidence of his illegible scribblings in mureeka's fishbowl. mureeka didn't mind too much since Toro thought fish just ate their own poo-like he did. As he continued to stuff the little blazing bowl, his door opened enough for a beak to peak in.
"whoooOOOoo?" an eerie woman's voice called out.
"....TORO?!?"
"WHOOOO!"
"TORO!"
Toro had not noticed but...
He was on fire, and not like denzel...in that one movie, but really REALLY on fire.
Toro teetered and tottered some more, until his mysterious guest flew over him like a rescue copter and hosed him down with a bucket of mop water.
Toro now sighed in relief and looked up at his new found friend-his only friend in the whole wide world-and thought to himself, "Love..."

So from then on it was no longer Toro, drunk and alone; it was Toro and Lechuza, living free and together.
It's all they needed.
It's all they wanted.
Toro gave up the liqour, random violence, and forgot all about his Hollywood post-mortem movie deals.

Remember how I said Toro died? Yeah, well, That part's comin'.






So after a much needed visit to the optometrist(for the longest time
Toro couldn't tell the difference between tequila and olive oil),





Toro y Lechuza decided to head on over to the local REDBOX to rent a nice movie to cuddle to.





They arrived outside the HEB down the street, wondering what fantastiful movies
were held for them inside that fabulous red box.





Unfortunately, there was a line. So Toro waited patiently, and took a seat on the bench.





HURRAY! HUZZAH! The moment had arrived. It was time to make a selection.
After clicking through many of the different titles, Toro came to a conclusion on what he would pick: nothing. Everything was either about dane cook being a manslut and changing his ways or an 80 foot anadoo (half anaconda, half dugong or manatee or whatever the fuck it's called).





Toro felt a familiar heat rage through his veins.
A heat that built in his heart and whizzed out his ears.
A heat that fueled a fire that spread like buttered butt cheeks.





As Toro's returning anger flooded his mind, he glanced over at Lechuza, sitting peacefully in the truck.
Toro collected himself and got his head right. After all, he had love! They didn't need no stinking movie.
Once again Toro was a happy-go-lucky little toro. He loved babies, old ladies, and even retards.





And with that he headed to his sweet pookums, awaiting his embrace.





Then a Ford Explorer ran Toro over.

The End.

kindergarten kings

 mississipi sounds from the crinkling of white sheets; a search for laughter, to quench an angry thirst.
me first.
giggles escape, along with wasted air; spending tokens from the edges of bleached ocean. from punch to slap to tickle to kiss, the smiles will never fade.
so promises were made.
hands grasped hands that were after slender thighs and an innocent natural high.
I wont lie.
I promise-if that means much at all. for a call to arms, that bend 'round breasts, is not a useful plea.
so now it's your turn to lead.

IT'S OFFICIAL!

1. I'm married now. yay! omgzzz :D
2. finally broke a bone...

sorta.
stupid toro.

anyways,

3. GOING TO NTC AGAIN, WOOOOO! YEAH! fuck my life.
4. also going to the field for a month. WOOO! YEAHHHH. no.
5. my turtle got away :c
6. I'm not really married. that was me being stupid.

pariah's pulpit

licorice twists numbing tongues and hired thighs
welcome the flesh we hide behind a veil of fireflies
"sand dollar streets stare down the time", the signs will faithfully say
eggshells underneath a line for preachers who'll pray,
"mother forgive me, god forgive me. my soul you shall forsake!"

and destined are souls to greet thin ice, high and with a smile
just spin the dials, touch the child-for christ, we're here to save!
authority storms from east to west, "come judge a fearless knave!"
"for my whole life I've loved a land, and a savior that I have claimed,"
"but hypocrites, whores, liars, and thieves have robbed me of my name."
"so now I take a new one; now I start anew. "
"an angel of bread beneath my breast and god beneath my shoe."

coincidences

thats all it is.

I'm an isotope of tasty cantaloupe, girl-won'tchu be mine?

something wonderful is happening in this world. every moment, molecules work in harmony to no decision or thought of their own. they create a vivid and vast environment that we are all apart of.

 they clash! they split! they fuse!

they embrace. 

and we are apart of it.

the gods are our creators, creations, and creatures!
we are our makers!

 a vast vessel made of tissue and sinew,

 filled with highways for a flourishing community of cells made of happy little fellows.

we all see the big picture, I don't think that's a problem. its hard to say if I can empathize with atoms of adams from eves in a garden of particles. the screens keep gettin bigger, but the pictures not gettin any more clear. what a shame. sham. shoop.

shwop!

I fucked a mermaid.

this was stencilled from posterboard for my friend, grace. her longing to be a mermaid made me think of how that TOTALLY presents a problem with riding bicicletas... and not to mention the possibility of being a freak! who says merpeeps gotta be pretty?
anyways. I need to find a better material to make stencils on so they'll last longer.... since its my new hobby. I've gone from drawing, sewing, painting, writing, to-well, stencilling now :p

I hate it though, anything that requires imagination is almost impossible for me to take part in. the army is an inescapable blackhole for anything beautiful, brittle, and thoughtful. sonofabitch. I never realized how hard it is to just BE inspired! AHCK!!!

I've made a few stencils, but they all just seem to lack...well... everything. they're just images that i think look cool or are too simple & bland. mebeh somethin'll come. hopefully soon. I've felt stuck for a bit.

family ties

gramps on the left, cousin in the middle, me on the right.
you know, my cousin might get into a lot of trouble and be thought of as a burden by some of my family, but I think he's one of the most normal and intelligent people I know. lego master. chess champion. computer guru. humble philosopher. convicted felon. it sucks what happens to those that society refuses to accept.

dad tryin to look cool. like always. now you just look dead, nigga. cos you IS dead.

marie. she'd do anything for the crack rock. she mah sistuh from anothuh mistuh. I love her tuh deaf. no matter what's going on she is always there. when bitchez be fuckin with a nigga's feelins n shit, what does she do? hook a brothuh up wif some hoez, THATS WHAT! when my money's all gone and there's no hope? its okay. she doesn't have any either. we just sit on the corner and holler at bitchez. it's saturday night and we've got too many gay dudes around? don't worry, we're goin to pulse. WHERE DUH THESBIANS AT? i love bitchez that love other bitchez! I think I've made my point. I'm an ass, but so is she. <3
ohhhh jurse. jurse purse curse worse nurse hearse verse blahblahblahblah.
actually, its jess. but for a while I made it a habit to make up names for her cos I kept forgetting her real name... WHICH I HAPPEN TO DO TO EVERYONE, thank you. ANYWAYS, jurse seemed to stick, on account for I like the way mad black women talk. but yeah. she's exgirlfriend turned psycho lover turned bestfriend forever turned step sister I had/have sex with-you know, like that one movie. but not really. her enitre family hates me because I stick my pee pee in all their relatives. but its okay. I don't mind. I love her and not even she can make me leave her alone. cos I'm just as psycho as she is. thank jeff!
just look how much she hates me!

but we have a retard love child to look after. hey, gotta have sumfin.


and den durrz momma.

I don't hate her no mo'. she's a nice momma. a good momma.

chrono-synclastic infundibulum

Woke up with a foot on my chest.
Wheres my clothes?

wheres my clothes?
who are you?
an amused admirer.

Her eyes pierced and pryed as she held me down, the dirt grinding into my chest, releasing its earthy aroma. the wormhole of fast paced greens didn't seem to distract her at all.

where...are we?
home. don't you recognize it? don't you recognize me?

Toes were dug into my ribs, as if I were an ash tray to put out her fire. I grabbed the skinny soot stained ankle and sent it up, up, up-

AHHHHHHHHHHHHOOWOOP! -WHY'D JOODO THAT?!

I sit up and realize what planet I'm on. The trees burn and ripple in the wind, showing off their best dance for a rarely present audience.

do you really have to ask such a stupid question?
YOU'RE AN ASS!
you're an idiot, but I'm still likin' the fact we're naked.
SHUT UP!
what time is it?
I'm not talking to you anymore.
okay. who'r you going to talk to then?
maybe I'll find some squirrels or oppossums that'll show me a bit of respect?
...you've got leaves in your hair.
so? maybe I like them there? they smell nice.
you're weird. really weird.

Her cheeks were riping tomatoes, showered with a coat of dirt that covered pale breasts and a growling stomach.

I'm sorry, I was just kidding. you hungry?
...yeah.
well, why don't we see if we can't find something to eat?
I already ate all the blue berries... and the grapes.
wait. we have food?
...did-I was hungryyy!
its okay. you're the one that's starving.

I surveyed the halls and walkways, a natural orchard of social giants that we seemed to be dropped in the middle of.

all I see is rows and rows of trees in every direction...
its funny.
what is?
this. the fact that you ignore me, and your home.
what the hell do you keep talking about? I thought we were looking for food?
you just don't get it. we've been here before, you and I and everyone, everything that exists and will.
what do you mean, everything that exists and will?
what do you want right now?
honestly?
obviously.
well, you-I feel oddly comfortable and completely aware of how rediculous that is-this can't be real-
where'd you just get that?

There in her hand, grasped firmly as she studied its texture, was an apple. Crimson to vanilla as she bit into it.

isss kwite gud, yuh knoww.
where'd that come from?
uhhh-uh. I just know its tastyyyy. wanna bite?
this isn't real. it can't be.
how do you define real, boy? from senses? if every experience of a touch is a memory, how do you know that it isn't a figment of your mind?
because I am touching something now. that is present time-it isn't a memory.
now it is.
that doesn't make any sense!
neither do you.

I close my eyes and plop on the ground. The ants scurry along my base and along my toes. I forget my surroundings and concentrate on the anxiety of the moment-are the damned things gonna bite me or what?

...are you okay?
leave me alone.
now look who's the pouty one...

The smell of oak and cinammon invades as her hair brushes up against my forehead.

I don't even like tomatoes.
HUH?
and cinammon is completely overrated.
what-
if you're some kind of, like, part of my subconscious then why are you, you? why aren't your boobs bigger? why-
SHUT UP! I. AM NOT. A DREAM. I am real, thank youuuuu, and THERE IS NOTHING WRONG with my cup size.
I didn't say there was, I was just pointing out that-
you are the dream, boy.
whuh?
you are a part of my mind's creation. you know as much as I do and your history, likes, dislikes, personality, all of it that you are aware of is only as much as I've begun to spin. you are my clothes to wear. to keep me safe and keep me warm. you are all I want and need. do you understand? you won't accept it because I won't let you. so, its okay.
you really are crazy.
you lost your virginity at sixteen.
nope.
yup.
lucky guess.
women hate you.
well that much can be assumed by our interaction so far...
your father died at somepoint, I haven't decided when yet, so ofcourse you don't even remember when...
how-
hmmm... what else... oh you're obsessed with gerbils, chinchillas, and the like.
how did you know about my dad?
you really are thick. I told you. you are what I want you to be. an ass, an underdog, a rebel, a liar, a slacker, a coward. you're human, the way I see it. just the way I like it.
if I'm not real, how can I be human?
come on now, human is a term that transcends species. its on par with the likes of a god. you don't have to be tangible to be human. infact, I think the best ones are those of dream and fiction. and all your percieved feelings and senses are past interaction based upon my experiences. now do you see?
your back doesn't hurt?
nope.
you've been like that for a while.
NOPE. nope.  nope. shut up.

Her nose was pressed against mine, radio transmissions were passed from pupil to pupil. From smile to whisp to breast to kiss, my peripheral had become a blur. A drugged-like state of heavenly smells and tastes brought on by a peace embedded into my essence. She finally sat down infront of me and took my hands.

everything's gonna be okay now, you'll guard our coconuts till the end of time.
cos I'm your spacewhore?
cos I'm your spacewhore.

bad dreams

I woke up this morning with a bad taste in my mouth and a hard feeling in my chest.
all the happy things a write about you are nothing more than a delusion. nothing I feel or want is real, and as I write them, why don't I catch it? I don't know, I don't know... I'm too caught up in the idealist bullshit that I used to believe in unquestionably. it always takes the dreams to remind you what is real.




I feel like drowning myself in the ocean.

"he told me that he had never came when a girl went down on him-I thought to myself... I could be that girl."
"I was just doing him a favor."

your tendencies are showing
and my memories are rushing.
he'll fill your mouth with cum
and your mind will choke on lies.
along with your twisted lines,
plastic eyes,
and absent life.
how could you die?
you drowned with your beauty
in the bottom of that broken bottle.

"I love you, and I am empty"
yeah, well, at least its half true.
-2 October 2009



awkward dream

ahahahahahahahaha.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
laugh.
fucking laugh, you piece of shit.
the blade is in.
will you twist it,baby? I wanna feel the edge
singe my organs.
it feels good. makes me come.
makes me feel.
it makes me feel.
repetition, repetition; we'll keep turning the wheel.
its the best this world's got to offer.
its the best we have to offer.
so play your drums and sew your lips
the suture wont heal the wounds from whims.
-12 January 2010



you shook.

"you talk a good one, but don't want it."
-mobb deep.-21 january 2010



aerial archaeology.

vertical highway along a coked up sidewalk.
chalk-chalk-chalk lined lips, don't talk to me.
watch the keys fall as my heels touch down.
the distance is there, the feelings all frown.
believe me yet? you'll trip on lies
til you take your head out'the skies-just watch the cracks.
watch the cracks leading up to our end.
you keep saying there's much to defend.
how is it? that you live it? this lie that we've tamed?
-for you've framed me in this perfect picture to snippet.
-18 April 2010



karma collisions.

everybody says I'm better.
maybe they're right-in more ways then they ever meant.
-28 April 2010



randomstuffIwritefromstaringatthegroundtoolong.

dried photosynthesized souls of a perplexed youth.
kill my dreams, fears, and fooled files of reciepts.
dandelions pressed between teeth-eyes filled from beauty underneath.
ants cross canyons, their path predetermined from forces unknown.
hate to say, but I told you so.
hate to say it, but I told you so.

trapped suns from gaze to glance, shadows fall and blend.
this rule will never bend-nor break.
a love which you can fake? hah.
we are no fools.

we are no fools.
-20 May 2010



Paguroidea.

A Million Little lies-no longer on paper, but in a calcareous complexion.

"I stare at her, let my smile fade it won't fade inside. I have never felt so safe or calm. This hard, damaged, drug-Addicted Baddass Girl sitting in front of me with her black hair and her braided pigtails and her clear water blue eyes and her scars her scars the scars on her wrist naked beneath a plastic watch makes me feel safe and calm."

a story absent of quotes and reality-true to its nature. but not you.

you are but a parasite, taking refuge. an outcast. a fat girl. an unloved daughter. you adapted an identity to feed off of to feed off of those around
-it.

it, thats what you are. thats what you've become. sold-out for the safety of others-those that care less about you, but atleast pretend to. they build the walls of your cancerous shell.
you're no deeper than the puddles of blood, that litter the dark alleyways of this mind.
try as you might, those who care to peek, shall see behind the lies, the pages, the lines. behind the surface scars and see what really hurts.
who you are is not wanted. who you are is never you. you exist to live as others, in others you need to see-that maybe someone will love you accept you-no interest in how you're vain.

its almost empty, you know. your tank is running low. which identity will be next? which victim will you perplex-duplexed in how to free the mind of a constant crippling rhyme?

why...lie?
why...lie?
why...lie?

I might have called it selfish, boy, how I was wrong.
you'd have to know IbetterthanThey, to posess some sort of self.

so read what you desire to be, absorb the typed syntax, adapt its DNA-to display in your house of wax.
-30 September 2010


I must always remember what is.
don't think I have much use for this blog anymore.

I'll follow your lead

we lay under the acacia tree, hiding from the midday sun. the shots from the M16s echo through the valley and thrust themselves up to the clouds. an orchestra of amatuer percussionists, firing notes off to an audience of paper silhouettes. the scent of the agave blooms overwhelm my senses as your eyes pierce my throat. the ants weave through the small hairs on my back, but I pay no mind. you've trapped my life in the gaze of your soul. and when the scent of evergreen finds its way to me, when a field of summer flowers surround, when a crowd overwhelms and your perfume is all that sounds. I know. I know you aren't there, but.

 it doesn't stop me from turning around. 

whisked away

I'll fluff to your heart's content.

through thick and thin.

last minute, as usual.

I'm packin up for a lil bit of fun. supposed to be leaving for a field exercise in a few hours. I'm soopa excited since we never do anything... I find its instinctively satisfying to be out in the middle of nowhere even though everyone else finds it miserable. the first eight hours are gonna suck ASS, though. BUUUUUT, afterwards I'll just be layin back and enjoying the sunshine(hopefully). please no rain. or murderous birds, coyotes, pigs, deer, etc.

transatlanticism

"I was not proud, for I had calmed a deep woman by making her shallow. I had blocked the underground rivers that connected her to the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans, and made her content with being a splash pool three feet across, four inches deep, chlorinated, and painted blue."

a changing season

brings pretty poofpoofs.

a prayer to parks and bathroom fucks

a horizon of green stands alone to differentiate a river's slow waters from the sky.
their beauty skin deep, filled with dead leaves and a perch for a watchful eye
parallel universes asphyxiated by rain and childhood envy.
such a senseless war.

we stand at the base of a demilitarized zone
a decision's been made; a crossing shall be braved.
carefully, up and down smooth bark we tread
flashes of crude acrylic paintings told stories to the clouds soaring by.
a hand was raised for balance, a hand was held for spiders
watch your bombs and fly high, we said.

step by step, the wandering oak walked upon our mirror
instep, off key, two rythms intertwined by two pairs of feet
cheek to cheek, we'll circle 'round on repeat.

the end stared out and up.
water dripped from busy branches and hungry leaves.
we straddled the worn tree to observe these sworn enemies.
held close, her body felt strong and safe from this test
all the while shadows danced as fingertips played from under her dress.
such a wonderful tune to lighten the mood, is what we should've said.

what we should of left.

:O

so I spent my late birthday at the "beach".

and got to' up than a muh fucka.

and before the sunburn, I got attacked by a tree while makin my way down some rickety ass mountain trail. I was wearing my bike shoes and didnt unclip fast enough when I hit a HUGE pit of rock. so i just lay all tangled in shit in the branches. it was great. I'm just glad it wasn't a patch of cactusesesessssssssss. wish I had brought my camera-all I had at my disposal was my lil camera phone. bwoop bwoop.

burns and scratches aside, I love sitting around in my maxipad shorts, they give the SWEETEST tan lines. foooooo shoooo.

:'[

so. I've had a recent issue pop up(sort...of). I have ended up in an all too familiar position.

love love, hate, miss, replace, love love, hate, miss.

what the fuhhh. WHY DO I ALWAYS DO STUPID IMMATURE THINGS THAT END UP FUCKING UP EVERYTHING I WANT....!?FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.
its funny. I'm immature, it annoys her, which makes me upset, silent fight ensues, insecurity of feeling unwanted rears its ugly head, hatred brews, inscurity rises in her as a consequence, then she doesnt want to talk to me. yet. why? I don't know. I dont understand people. you either want to talk to someone or you don't. you either love someone or you don't. people have to make things seem so complicated and dramatic and its SO fucking overdone and painful. people always talk about being an adult and such... but I've never seen people act-whatever thats supposed to be, regardless of age.

I just wanna go home. fish. visit some places. get drunk and have sex with people that will end up hating me too and turn all my friends against me and make me hate florida. again and again and again and again and again. hopefully not that last part...its getting old. some day soon this tired cycle of shit will end. I'ma take my bike and money and go find something besides empty hands.


I guess some people are just doomed to fail at everything structured. romantic relationships, school, jobs, friends, family, blah, blah, blah. atleast I'm good at wandering and just doing whatever.
whatever whatever might be.

good morning.

step by step we marched, many keeping their pace.
I just walked and stared at the stars.

not in kansas anymore

they say she murdered men made of straw.

her words picked slowly at the buttons of his ragged shirt and her hands tore at his packing, in search.
the workers stopped their machines and gathered round. whispers and laughs of shameless interest polluted the currents that wind through the maze of golden fields.

a tarnish to be picked, processed, and forgotten.

he wept upon his post, crying out in silence for help from his fellow men; all too intoxicated with their midday treat. crows circled above the public execution, waiting for the moment their long time enemy was dead.
the workers hollered and whooped as the crazed lady thrashed at the broken man, encouraging her to set fire to his post.

decaying flesh lay scattered about as the search for his soul continued. to kill the will of the man made of straw was the distraught girl's wish. he deserves it, she said to herself.
over and over.

he deserves it
seasons come
crops are grown
money to be made, work to be played, and food to be ate.
many lover's toil and innocence may be saved today.

a matchbook escaped her pocket.
the breeze took care of the rest.

and you thought I was joking

that there's cold hard evidence, yo.

reality TV

whoosh. whoosh. whoosh.the blinds keep blowing in my face and everyone keeps yelling at me to close the window. whoooooooooshhhhhhhhh. I really don't mind it though. I find the constant crinkling climb of the office caterpillar kind of comforting. whooshwhooshwhoooooshhhhhhhh. its like face planting into a giant bowl of crispy celery.
aahhh.
now, take that however you'd like, but that sure sounds dandy to me.
whoosh WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHH!!
that gust was perfect. just fucking perfect.



my days are perfect.
I wake up, look out my window and think of the different extravagant ways I'd land from three stories up. tens across the board, I'm sure. my morning showers are a display of flopping genitalia and elegant squeals of folk legends long gone. I skip to work at a tempo fit for a funeral procession. the blue skies come out from hiding and the trees flaunt their newly awakened beauty. remember zippity doo da? with the crazy old bastard with no teefs? story of my LYFFFFFE. except the birds attack me from time to time. you see, in texas the doves and magpie interbred and now theres these ferocious mutant dovepies that lurk the shadows along the sidewalks. one must always be ready. for anything. why, just the other day a dovepie kamikazied into a street pole. birds are just falling outta the sky these days. whether it be because of their inherent blindness, or insatiable blood thirst...I don't think texas is ready for the answer.

anyways.

WHOOSH WHOOSH wooooosh. back at the office I make a cup of coffee to start off the day. as I stir the cream in with random office supplies, I try to think up different ways to waste my 9 to 5 away. most of the time it involves pretending to write memos or hiding in conexes. sometimes though, I get wrapped up in other peoples's'sss escapades. last week I was involved in a failed attempt at rock climbing. they tried to throw me on the roof to get an antenna down and I only made it three quarters of the way. up. ever seen a cat climb up a wall?
yeah.
well.
I can't do that.

nowadays, my life after work is a cigarette haze of musty vaginas, smirnoff ice, and ibuprofen. speaking of vaginas, I'm starting to notice how I have a tendency to turn every woman into a printing press of hatred and uh. um. slut-nessy. its weird how I'm secretly a misogynist even though I always end up rambling about women's rights and beauty when I'm drunk as hell. some of you know what I mean... I just wish for ONCE I could be less of a narcissistic, stubborn, manipulative piece of shit. I wonder if that's even humanly possible? maybe I gotta chemical imbalance-or some kinda childhood trauma? or maybe I'm just too free. maybe I just do and don't care. I used to say that was the definition of a slave; just a person that has no input or choice-but who knows WHAT to believe these days...

I certainly don't. and just plainly don't fucking care.
I'm part of the Hopeless Generation. we got a bleak and wonderful future ahead of us.
better get your 3-D glasses for the finale.

history lesson

we
all
have
one
to
preach.