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.