Monday, February 27, 2012

Best Birds

If you were a bird, would you let me clip your wings?

She said, "You wouldn't have to, I'd stay by your side."

2tru fags.

Friday, February 24, 2012

5 Gravves, 4 Swigs, and 2 Favors

The other day I got closely acquainted to a chunk of space brownies and I've been alright. On my first day, I spent it spoiling myself with a few of my favorite things. I carried around a pillow (I love buying pillows) and I must've looked something funny because I can't even recall much of what I was doing. I spent hours on the candle aisle. I think I smelled every candle there was. $15 for the best candle in the world sounds like a great deal. It's my new favorite thing in the whole world now. Trumps my fur hats and everything. It's called Bonfire Nights, it smells like heaven, and it makes crackling sounds like a mini bonfire. It begs to be my favorite thing in the whole world (for now...but perhaps for always). The other night, Mikal and I decided to take the candle out with us, with the warmest blanket that my car had to offer, and we sat down in the Dugout to watch the day end. We buried ourselves in the blanket, lit the candle, and listened to the crackles like two tru fags. We had a really good week though. That's probably all that matters.

Also, in addition to the joy that my candle brings me... A good nigga of mine decided to be a great ass niggas and give me a bass guitar. Yeah, yeah, commitment issues. But I'm trying and I'm willing for now. I have to take this wind... this fucking wind because I know I won't have a second wind, and go with it. I feel unstoppable lately. I think. I'm apprehensive about everything. Goddamn.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

For The One I Love.

Don't come back.

Monday, February 20, 2012

He Cried After We Trashed His Room


Bon Fire Every Night



Kansas City Barbecue, San Diego




High Somewhere Under A Tree


Cemetery Weather




Judy Nishiyama



Me, My Valentine, and Our Life


Crumby Sleep


City...Hall?



We Get Lost, It's Inevitable


Valentine's Rush


Flower Shops


Lost For An Hour




Tall Things




Bay Bridge




At This Particular Moment In Time


Fires In Cars and Honey Buns


She Gives Me Flowers, We Have A Smoke


Sometimes


Notorious Cult Parties

Within the dreary ambitions of my youth, I'd lie awake at the deadest of hours and find the greatest dreams I had ever imagined.
They dwindle and wither.
They sway with the tortures of fear.
I unclenched, and removed my bite. The marks fading and untouched, taunting and mocking.
It's the godlessness and the dying. It's the money and the greed. It's the false sense of success and false sense of security.
Happiness is the straining of our necks and misery is the sound of them cracking.
There are the days to trudge forward from and there are nights to sit and sink. Imagining the end of consciousness and learning the right twists of the right rope. The later the hours, the further down a search in darkness. The search for new doors. The search for new roofs. Or the search for squeaking chairs to take steps up the twists of that rope.

San Diego

We found weight in the end. It's a big city filled with people feeling big. It was the parallel of what we know except better. Or whatever that means. And we didn't belong. Even witnessing how lively it was, we didn't find light and we didn't find whatever it is we were looking for. We never missed home so much and we never have so deeply acknowledged the greatness of home.

We spent every day and night at the beaches, lying near the ocean where we could somehow feel something more. Lying by all the fires we created and imagining things better. Somewhere along the trip, we'd forgotten to play the part. We forgot the play the part of how you're supposed to feel in a different place. We just thought we'd escape for a while. But it followed us straight there. Just the three of us, driving to a promising idea and realizing we found nothing in a really big place. The sadness behind their eyes against those fires... I don't think I can forget them. And leaving a friend behind, and feeling the desperation of wanting to drive him back home with us... It all got really heavy somehow.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Prayers For Sleep

I knew something was wrong once the car door pulled open and I felt It's hands grab me out by my ankle while the meter sped at a hundred. I exited like a pinball, dragged on my side down the sharpened road. I looked up and saw the car disappear into the darkness and I cursed it all till my voice cracked to the dry hoarseness of silence. It dragged me till the skin on my sides were smeared down the road like It wanted to create a new traffic line out of me. It's face smirked one-sidedly. It's horns curled at the tips. It's nails dug into me with the passion of a beastly dog chasing a car. It had charred, fleshy skin that dripped black and red at It's every crevice. I looked down at my side and saw me bleeding and burning like a charcoal. I was fleshy and dripping black and red. At the sight of my injuries, my heart stopped its beating. My body limped into submission, and I knew what was next. It stopped, It unclenched It's grip on me, and It flipped me onto my other side. The feeling of air on my dragged side burned and I recognized what I was looking like. I looked at It right in the eyes and saw the helplessness of an unstoppable and vehement desire. Then the inexplicable rupture of empathy calmed my entire body. I laid still on my unburned and un-dragged side. So still that I felt the discontinuation of my heart beat turn my insides to stone. Unmoving and compliant, the beast began to drag me again. And in the matter of a few moments, I knew I'd be as charred and as hungrily empty as the fleshy beast that pulled me out of that speeding car.

I Could Never Get Lost Driving There

You make me want to drive without my seat belt on, 20 miles over the speed limit, and pretend the break pedal fell off while my Schizophrenia and Parkinson's take hold of every bit of my existence.

Every
fucking
time.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Typography

When I get too lonesome and can't find the right person to talk to, I reread my own posts to correct spelling errors, grammatical errors, and other typographical errors. It never feels like there's the right person to talk to anyway. I go up and down my contact list and gamble on who could possibly tell me something that could help me loosen my back or even just nod to. Instead I just count on finding my own mistakes and attempt to correct them.

Like a tru faggot. TRU.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Loving You Is A Mistake

I won't do it anymore.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Beach Bastards.

Living Room

I remember laying still, hoping not to wake you. Your breathing slowed and evened, and I waited until I found the pace of your sleep. The TV groaned its loneliness and you groaned to a sigh. Just as I knew I would and just as I always do when I heard your sighs, my hand lifted up to your hair and took hold of it. I shifted to fit you in me, and I breathed you in. I thought, "I can take it. I can take it as long as we're here." Then it came for me. The nibbling suddenness of picturing the squint of your eyes to me. By habit I pictured you awake and smiling, digging yourself into my neck and paying me a visit. My body froze so I closed my eyes to pretend I was asleep with you. When I opened them again, my lips found your forehead like they always do, and I thanked the couch for letting you settle for the night. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts of you. Because once you awoke again, I knew I had to crawl back under the blanketing truth of you, and me, and this living room that never lets me sleep.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

I Can't Find My Spectacles

I spent Valentine's day with my bestfriend Mikal because although I hate everyone, I hate her the least. Nah. Truthfully it's because I love her most.

I'm disconnected from the days again. I kind of thought my head was clearing up. But I'm still in this drone. As per usual.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Not Like This

I can't walk around with my chest thumping and hopeless. I can't do this much longer.

ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)