I really need to stop reading.

When I was in 6th grade i was bullied by a guy called Zeb. I used to fantasize about killing him. About curb stomping his jaw like a heavy boot through a pomegranate. Granted, that kind of thinking I beleive justified. Even today though, i find I wonder what it would be like to cause a traffic accident. What it would be like just so bury my fist into a passer-bys stomach as we pass on the sidewalk. What it would feel like to kill someone. ANd please dont take this as a worry sign, a call for help, because Ive had these fantasies, these cruel scenarios all my life. I've never needed to question the yay or nay of calling them to fruition because Im not crazy, Im not disturbed. Honestly I dont really know what to call it.
The oddest thing, i think, is that i've never even thrown a punch in anger. I've never been in any violent confrontation. Ever. So when I have dreams of hitting someone, they dont react, they dont budge because my throw has no basis for power. They sometimes dont even notice im trying to harm them until I've already turned their face into a pudding with my fists.

Anyway these what-if scenarios arent limited to the sadistic. I'll often wonder what life would be like if I suddenly went blind, by sickness or by accident or by my own will. I wonder what it would feel like to have a knife at my throat or a gun muzzled into my gut. What would it be like if my friends or family were taken from me, leaving me broken? I have a baseball bat and a super bright led flashlight at my bedside just in case of home invasion. I've almost bought knives online, concealable ones just to have on my person as I'm walking the street. Purely for defense. With my imaginary ninja fighting skills. As if the adrenaline will release the jason bourne in me or something.

It reminds me of fight club a little bit. The parts where Jack or John or Edward come to realize the world went soft. The ways of contestual violence was shunned in lieu of pacifism. So everything is dull. All negative reactions and feelings are forbidden. We spend our entire existence trying to be at least satisfied. How can we fully appreciate the good feelings with the poor standards we set for happiness? Until we feel pain and anguish, can we really truely grow as individuals?

This would explain my yearning for wanting to be homeless. For wanting to be grungy and dirty and genuinely gross for a time. So when I pick myself back up, even if its only back to our present status' it will make every day after a triumph.
And i promise, my imaginary journey for self fulfillment will not include any actions upon any second parties. So stop trying to worry. Typing this is the closest thing to lashing out I think I'm capable of, and even this has been pent up for way too long.

Why men and women can't hold each other.

Her bells ring like an angel’s orchestra. A song for a dead time, not too far off from now. It’s Persephone’s funeral procession. Albino concubine boys carry her snowy coffin, stoic deadpan astronauts, lost in meaningless philosophical thought. They open their mouths and begin to speak the pagan tradition to return our goddess to the earth again. These red roses singing amongst slippery snow, collapsing like sound in a vacuum that no one can reach. Can’t hear a thing. After they finish the dissertation, they begin to lower her body into a hole, thundering drums dance over the hillside, back into Pluto’s arms. The arms of force. The secret history of man, written by acid spitting mother goddesses, retold by the samurai brotherhood, back and forth, over and over again until we forget who was right and who was wrong, until we forget why this whole silly war was started in the first place. Why lord Janus, the alchemical androgen, was separated into two beings. Black and White. A rod of power and hips to bear the weight of a heavy, heavy world. The oldest mystic. Jack Smith’s muse. He ran out of time, we all ran out of time. Silver light assaults the senses. The earth trembles as judgment day arrives. Pluto emerges from the earth, his lower half embedded in ice. His body composed of ten thousand suicide victims, his eyes glow of burning heretics. Old Satanael, the hero of man. Unwritten savior, underdog to the carpenter of lies. He holds out his hands and speaks:

“Your path to Dis has been chosen and you may not turn back. It is a path without madness. And yet, it is also a path without opportunity or meaning, and you will still be subjected to the same tragedies that had plagued you before, forever and ever. It is the path of the mundane, a cruel fate for someone like you. Farewell cowardly boy. Die old and senile, regretful and confused.”

The fabric of existence begins to cave in and I realize that I am wrong. As Pluto sinks back into the earth, I notice blood on my hands. Persephone lies at my feet, her neck twisted and bruised, blood spilling out of her lips. Her cheeks flustered, a lusty smile on her face.

Arcade over the edge of Leviathan

I shot her in the face and watched her fall into the sea bellow. Drowning nonchalantly, pieces of her porcelain remains scattered amongst clown fish. The tearful eyed bee keeper hands me a hankerchief and tells me that the sun is going to fall down. Standing in the shoes of my old antagonist, things begin to make sense. I weep forawhile, but I remember that she isn’t dead. They never really die, she’ll insert her coins and come back three times more powerful to strike me down and kill me.

Stage 1: Forest Wrath Zone,

Stage 2: Weed in the Parkinglot at 4:00 AM

Stage 3: Swan’s Blood Promise,

Stage 4: Futurist’s Bicycle Erotica,

Stage 5: Puppetman Orgy Castle,

Stage 6: Arcade over the edge of Leviathan,

Stage 7: Kamen Rider-All Villains Strike Back,

Stage 8: A giant battleship “Mother Harlot 99” is approaching fast!

The weakspot is the head, exposed Cotton Candy brain full of filth. She let’s go and blows away, destroys the final boss, blows me away. I fall ravaged, ruined and dead as salome’s doornail. I look up, expecting to see the broken face of the porceline girl I killed, but instead I see the shoes of my old antagonist. The Birdwoman returns to finish the job years later, ready to take my soul away again. She places the gun I used to shoot her down and insists that we play Russian Roulette. The winner get’s to climb from the wreckage and the loser must stay in the paper city that holds us lost misfits, forever.

I decline her offer.

Futurist's Bicycle Erotica Story

She's walking through this void of purity, solemn spirits on the road. Blacklight shines from the end of the tunnel as she creeps closer and closer. Her dress is made of diamonds, pearl skin, giant heroin inspired eyes. The void vibrates and twists in legendary grandeur. Wind of doll's prolegy, she twists to the spirit of the moon. A trip to the moon, falling, falling falling. We collapse in a sea of sunflowers, moths dance on angel light. Now we're running, it's fierce, it's violent. We are a futurist's bicycle made for two, no four, no eight. Now they're pinning me/her down, they rip open my/her dress and pull out our dreams. My mother's uncle i've never met castrates me and tells me I will never be the same again as we leave the cave. Loki's abyss in the solemn storm, burn down mindy's forest. Now i'm loki. In and out cries of the wolf now you're cliche, swimming amongst the stars. Futurist's bicycle transient, faster and faster chasing her on the edge. Flips the hem of her dress up, cracked and broken porcelain thighs, embarrassing polkadot knickers. Bleeding lips, her arms lock around my neck and I turn to milk, over and over again, the void spills me back out into the pantry with old whisper willow Margret and her 300 cats to lick me back up. Tumbling over ancient mother goddesses, vibrating moon, breaking bicycle, mothers uncle with a headless chicken and riding crop, cracker jack explosion clown panties prolegy sunflower girl mood goddess crying laughing inspired futurist breakdown bicycle for two no four no eight. I open my eyes and the sunflower field is the same. There's diamonds in my mouth and blood between my legs and I am happy.

so i guess im choosing to capture the memory of heaven and hell

and another 30 til i remember how frequently we came.
the ignorant have it easy, those who try to avoid the pitfalls merely by not paying attention. to live without a wallet. I'll have cake all day everyday for a week, since our metabolisms may still work for and not against us. I've seen my future, and in retrospect its dull. predictable. playing for tips in some basement and calling it edgy and spontaneous. never being a father, marrying a nobody whos way too old. dead end jobs and liquid comfort. being unique only in hobby, of which one no longer practices. the chubby cousin of that guy in the office. jim. perhaps i should have moved in with christy and devon. somehow, with all my stumbling, i feel like i did somewhere. we're happy and dull and perpetually young. ignorant of the bills to be paid, or the necessity of monotony. Devon and i would learn eachother's tricks. Christy and i would drive to the same dead end job. I hope heather would join. I hope heather will join. its already happened. it will never be. these worm holes and rosenbridges could make me believe anything, even that there could be a purpose to it all.
buy i pick ignorance. thats why I'll develop concept, scout locations, and spend my efforts on distraction. isnt that all art is? I read that somewhere once.

Falling off the horse we built with mutual feelings

And we walk in like we always do, every week you're driving me over and over again. And we order the usual and you sit back and you say how i'm so positive and friendly and optimistic like you and how there needs to be more people like you and me because you just can't understand how SOME PEOPLE can be so cruel. And I lose respect for you then because it occurs to me you never ever bothered to pay attention to anything they ever had to say, you only read the hate for face value and you can't read subtext, because subtext doesn't matter to you does it? And now we're on the stairs and your weasel girlfriend is spitting knives out at me, and the walls are bleeding yellow. And I just want to leave, but your paper shadow is transient and it's looming over her, and all I can see are those sunken in eyes and that cocky little shit grin. And of course they'll believe your spin on it because you were the only witness. And now i'm screaming because I had the right to be safe and it was taken away and now they're hand cuffing me, again. And i'm being taken away, again.

The Marlboro Man falls off his horse and the children shoot him dead for the very, very last time.

and this is a weekend with no responsibility, family, or routine.

so i just watched fear and loathing in las vegas. after a few drinks. i think thats all you need to fully appreciate that film. I still have no clue what its about. and i dont need to. I was freaking out during the entire duration as it was. and I've lost all track of time. now im just killing it until im not alone online, and its dark out. and i have my gun in case of psychos decide to not call my bluff tonight. and a bat for if they do. and I hope not to wake up at 3 in the morning again. was way too hot this morning. no wonder im tired. combo of being drunk and sleepy. stumbled over the word "and". want to sleep. want to sleep and not dream of waking to family, or being abducted, or being haunted. want to have the money to travel. even just to sabboday falls. but no. its not fair, having just enough to satisfy the greedy bastards at sallie mae. looking for another job, but need a portfolio. to make a portfolio I need a job. DAMN catch 22. But I suppose I should call it a night now, because other things are bound to happen real soon. sleep well everyone.

in a blatant attempt to sound like another...

It was all some sort of grand design. Iv'e already figured that part out. it all fit like a puzzle, one where you must deconstruct the pieces first. but only in the specified order. Fate i suppose. but I hate fate. like keanu puts it, i dont like the feeling that im not in control of my life. but i digress...
sure this is partly my fault. and times do change. people change. rooms change, cups, shirts, bad habits, trends, tastes, humor. but its irreversable now. you've all gone. and even in changing everything, i thought we would still somehow remain connected. hanging on by a memory or something.
and it is partly my fault. like everyone elses. and this is a piss poor method of rekindling, but hell, baby steps.
I miss the convos. the surprisingly meaningful talks. genuine. unbiased and fair but still understanding. And you always knew when to shut up.
I was always thankful for the patience. The tolerance. not just for me, but everyone who thought the opposite of you. you really were down to earth, and it showed. people, myself included were jealous. I hope THAT part of you hasnt changed.
that comic I stumbledupon once right. those who live in the past grieve. those that live for the future worry and grow anxious. those who live in the present are at peace.
so to hell with this past-ness. ive been satisfied with the present for a year now. and even if we never speak again, i'll still consider you a best friend. I hope the present is kind to you, all of you, and i was pleased to have known you, briefly though it was. and if i can wish only one thing for the future, I'd like it to be that some of you will come back to this place. Where we've set aside a small private part of ourselves. Faceless, but more personal than any private collection could be. I'm still hanging on by a memory, you should to.

more coherent than could have been predicted

its one am again. i refuse to drop. refuse to let my lids flap. its just getting that that point of the night where its so silent i can hear my house talk. it doesnt have much to say, its prolly just sleep talking like i do.d none of that monster house business for me. though closing eyes seems to make typing easier and the screen brighter, worth it.
are any of you still out there? its been a month since even i posted last. and another month before that.! It looked like someone thought of trying this out agan but gave in to something else. Its so quiet here. now. the air stale. the voices silenced. raw percussion reverbarates down these moist walls. goosebumps. I can feel my hair. and i know when i open my eyes again it will all be in 2d again. but all i want to see are the famouse ladies like on the big screen. and the natural waterfalls with a good stiff breeze and no bugs. and I want to smell something warm and freshly baked, at a cafe or some other place where the hipsters lay claim. main street tomorrow then it seems. if only mother sould stop cryingm we'd all be happier with being outside. and like my eyes, my conciousness is glazing over. the back of my eyelids are getting flatter. and my hands are stumbling more. goodnight to whomeer may still read.

missing

jpor snipeds and combustion engines rattle off the neverending stories with luck dragons and that werewolf not from london. brattleborough saints, resident evil play for the fun, cause we got it goin on, cause if i were green i would die

its one AM, do you know where you are right now?

did you know that the masons greatest treasure is the idea that we'll someday all agree on everything? Na that not it at al. but it is startling to consider jsut how much our stories are the same. look the the letters we'd never send. Thousands of vignetts that we've all created in our heads. I thought for sure I read my own posts, but alas, initials gave it away.
So if we're all the same, is confidence the only source or power anymore? I read somewhere, via stumble or something, that confidence is the greatest source of personal power available, and its free!
Its one in tehe morening now, and all night I wanted to get drunk and stoned. I never ended up doing anything, which is, in hindsight, the best decision. I find myself pondering as to why I wanted it so badly in the first place. prolly cause it was available. Prolly cause I felt it would put me int he state of mind to write garbuldygook in the middle of the night. Prolly cause I dont have to work tomorrow, and this is the oly time Im free and alone. But whiskey is for occasions. the herbs for friends. and neither is safe or fun alone.
raise hand. change subject.
I helped a delivery man the other day. He was bringing chips to the local cvs, and the wind knocked over his palette, boxes of bags everywhere. As i crossed the street towards him, a couple of guys thought they were being helpful in reminding the man that some of the boxes had slipped under the truck, so he not forget them. without saying a word i slid under the parked truck and retrieved the lost snackfood. His thanks were the most appreciative words I think ive heard in a long time. And I dont think it was because I helped, I thnk it was because I did so without prompting, without hesitation, and without embarrasing him.
I dont know what made me remember that.
It was a "day of peace" today on facebook. an event someone from across the country made up, proposing that we all be nice to eachother today. Pretty sad we need a facebook event to celebrate humility. But I was aware of it all day anyway. I like to think I didnt do anything different, though I did notice I was FAR more willing ot discuss meaningless things with customers. I was just in a good mood. The coffee, the feeling of accomplishment from printing photos, and the simple fact its friday didnt hurt either.
I have nothing else. I really only came on because I havent been on in so long, at least comparatively. So goodnight then.

library 1

it's the way the dust gets all up your blooded nostrils
or at least, that's what i like to complain about (might
really be something else, a whole lot of nothing, a whole
lot of money per hour>this could be your tax payer
dollars at work)

This is where jim carey lost it. When it all stacked up and fell apart for no reason. Not that Im jim carey, far from it, he was nuts. That guy tried to off himself. Not me, and not the real jim.
It was all mental, the whole day I waws tricking myself into remembering nothing was off. nothing was different. just what I asked for. Be careful aboyt that. I say to myself. it may bite you in the ass, or at least itch like crazy till the time punch is up. A time of candy and movies changed channels to penny pinching and micro management. That was differnt. Of course, as lisa always tells me, do something selfish. It will make the rest of the things you HAVE to do that much more manageable. and shes pretty chill, and shes retired, so she must have wisdom, right?
My selfish act was jumping the gun and spending my cash to construct ninjas and submarines! Totally a good decision.
My next selfish act?! lets just say that bloomin onions should be their own food group.
ANd one last thing,
I didnt realize that there was any cake to be found. But i hope its hidden well, I like a good challenge every now and then.

where we live

We live on the river, by the train, beside a cemetery, over a bridge, wrapped in bricks, with threats of floods, little spiders in the windows, granite and slate kitchen, homemade couch cushions, altered curtains, jazz music in the living room.

You can skate on the river. It's solid, we promise, even though when the train goes by I'm afraid it'll shake all that ice up.