helter shmelter

I think this thing makes me seem dumber than I am. Like a little girl. A stupid little girl. Fearful and narcissistic. Maybe it's fitting. I haven't said or done anything tasteful in ages. I get angry a lot nowadays. Or I get really smart. Or insensitive. Class A asshole. And I also get very amused with my lousy behavior. I think those gargoyles got me now. The ones I found staring down at me that one night I wailed in the dark, on the floor, singing in between sobs a pathetic song I couldn't even hit the note of. That night I swore they'd never have me on my knees again. Or at the very least, see me on my knees. The difficulty level ranged, soared and sank. Now I feel like I might've plateaued to this dreary and desperate deception. The kind they might be whispering about. The kind that fools no one, but I've convinced myself anyway. I'm embarrassed anyway. Embarrassing myself anyway. Unapologetically graceless anyway.

:(

Thinking about how much I hate everyone and why I hate everyone and how I can stop hating everyone. Should I though? But also half the shit I say to people are lies. The other night a buddy of mine classified me a liar. Slime and cold blood liar. Euthanize me. Put me down. Shut me the fuck up. I should be a ghostwriter for your favorite emo band.

"If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddamn closet."

All my words and all, I want us in the closet. And you'll never get us out unless my body was dragged out and you realize none of them mean anything but the means to be clever and a phony.
I always kind of felt like a phony. To put it dully.

Last night

I sat in my bathroom for an hour because there was literally no where for me to sleep. My room has been occupied. The couch was already crashed with Julian. The sunroom has my now second set of parents. I sat in my fucking bathroom and thought about how tired I was. Five in the morning, I stared at the enormous pile of clothes on my floor, literally the biggest pile I've ever piled, and considered sleeping on it.
My insides are withering.

mouthful tales ii

[concrete evidence for mouthful tales]

antsy shit

she swiped my wine from me, my sister. i hadn't been drinking much lately because i decided so. i don't know why, something about my well-being or something. i just wanted some space from my habit. however, tonight, i wanted my wine but my sister swiped it from me. she's been getting well acquainted with my booze, while i'd been getting reacquainted with being stoned. it's just that i've been writing stories lately because i'm too busy not blacking out every single night of the week. i even considered a stack of stories i abandoned all year. really have a handful of potentially great stories. i'm still just getting my hand back. i'm always so determined at the end of the year, it's almost sad. i feel a whole lot better than i did several weeks ago. but i also feel more alone. not that i mind so much. it's inspiring really, being so emotional. but i prefer it over that sort of sloppy depression i so endearingly submerge under. that one is exhausting. this is just idle, 'with flashes of brilliance,' i so confidently said. 

keep your fly down

I realize that I spent most of this week in my car. Those eight grueling hours while we were in dead ass Fairfield changed the game for me. I still don't have my bed to myself. I stay awake till five, or until I find a place to sleep. This, by far, feels like the most exhausting few weeks of my year. I don't want to be bothered. The flies are stalking me again. I'm lifeless and unappealing, but I'm still flyer than you. There's probably something you should know about me, but this way pleases me more.

Phoebe

"Do you find most things depressing?" 

Well yes, I'm depressed. 

cringes

• my family from the Philippines are staying with us indefinitely. 
• i've been sharing my room with my cousin. and by sharing i mean, the first night they arrived, i drank enough to black out and we both ended up sleeping in my room. the rest of the nights, i leave my house to sleep elsewhere because i literally feel like puking having to share my room like that. 
• my house is a ten person household right now, including jsmke. 
• i hope this doesn't last too long. 
• really feel homeless. 

bathroom blackout

not my birthday, not my bathroom blackout.

mouthful tales

One afternoon, Ace and I went to Le Petit Cafe and ate illegal amounts of crepes. After we finished one, we ordered another. And another. And the voids--the black ravenous voids within us could not be satiated.  I think we were meant to be eternally hungry.
One night, we were stoned and driving around. Brilliantly, we thought we should have some pizza. So we went to Little Caesars, ordered our pizza, drove to some unidentified parking lot and ate in the car, in the dark, in silence (apart from our grotesque chewing).
When we were much younger (Ace, Vagger, and I), we used to stay up watching stupid shit on my television, then make an enormous amount of top ramen, add everything in the world as toppings, and slurp peacefully through the night. Those were merely week nights. We called those nights Thanksgiving.
One evening, Ace and Drodan came to my house with clam chowder, bread bowls, and sparkling cider. We watched a movie except we didn't because we all fell asleep.
One late afternoon, Ace and I went to get burritos at some food truck. We sat on some bench and ate happily. Plot twist: we were wearing practically the same outfit that late afternoon, and we looked embarrassingly gay.
This passed summer, Ace and I would attend some party any party, get wasted, she'd drive drunk home, and we'd always drive thru either Taco Bell or Jack in the box. One night, we were guzzling crunchy tacos in the car in the parking lot, had a four hour conversation which involved a lot of drunken idiocy, chewtalking, choketalking, salivating, and crunching. When we finally decided to go home, we blinked back to reality, realized we'd been entranced in yet another vulgar session of eating, and drove away belly-bloated.
Once in San Francisco, we split a burrito. I'm almost certain we both wished we each had our own once we finished our half. Bet my money on it.
In Portland, the first thing we did (Ace, Mak, and I) was get in line for breakfast burritos. We ate peacefully by some building under the sun. It may have been the quietest we'd ever eaten, but after a twelve hour drive from our homeland, a breakfast burrito was the only way to glorify in the moment.

Shit I'm starving.

no one

I hope you never take it out of your wallet. I hope you haven't taken it out of your wallet. I dont know why I'm hoping because really I'm just a sorry ass.

bet it stung

it must've stung.

hallospleen

For Halloween, my buddies and I attended a party in some storage unit. I dressed up as Duke from Fear and Loathing. Aiz was Black Eyed Peas. Jaws was Marshall Lee from Adventure Time. Jacon was a cowboy (whose hat was eaten by his horse). Jul was the masked bandit. And Vagger was Tom Cruise in Risky Business. All our costumes were quite simple and were easily executed. Except for Vag. She went out of her way to buy tube socks. And when she came home, her first instinct was to place something inside the socks (ie flats, flip flops) to give the effect that she's only wearing socks without making her feet filthy. Mind the aforementioned fact that we were at some storage unit. It was a dark and sweaty and certainly filthy party, but my pals and I arrived whiskey-wasted when the lights were still on and people were sitting around. It was the kind of douchebagginess that only a killed bottle could manage. The bar there (it was hardly a bar, more like a pouring table) was serving shots for two dollars all night. Now when drunk, the taste in your mouth clouds to an unidentifiable recklessness. The six of us took turns screaming "shots in five minutes!" after we'd just taken a shot less than three minutes ago. This part I state without exaggeration. It's almost as if we were chanting "shots in five minutes!" The blur hit all us at different times, but it certainly all hit us. It began with the bathroom breaks. The girls would gather and crawl towards the restroom where we always found ourselves taking shameless pictures. I, for one, have such a collection of piss pictures. Me wiping. Me with my piss face. In the bathroom is where Vagger exposed her puke-made tube socks. As you may notice in the photo, her flip flops both gave her feet a platform and prevented the dirt from absorbing into her feet. 

After the bathroom breaks, we'd take another shot, and I always found myself disappearing for a smoke (eventually I just smoked inside the storage unit). Every time I walked back inside the unit, I was more drunk than the minute before, and it seemed to me that the place was mutating. The sitters were on their feet. The place gained a crowd. My pals were scattered doing our thing. We would reunite every once in a while to scream "shots in five minutes" then disperse to fuck with the masked crowd. And we fucked with everyone. When one of us notices that one of us was excelling at a troll, we'd immediately join in for a double team. For an overkill of trolliness. One guy, I remember specifically, fought within himself to be as patient as he mortally can while we pestered with incessant and infuriating questions. Anyway, my blur came after the twelfth or whatever shot. It came fast and it came hard. They told me the lights went off eventually and the music turned up. They told me I didn't leave the dance floor for quite some time and all I was screaming was "turn the music up." I can't recall my pals. I disappeared from the photos. The next conscious thing I can recall was waking up in my bed with an enormous trash bag beside me. As I mentioned, I lost my wristwatch. And I also lost half of what I was wearing. I mean my costume. Don't be so dirty. The next morning, Vag and Jul and I reviewed what happened during the night. 

-Jaws and Jacon frittered away their money buying us shots. 

-There was a girl with the same costume as Vag. Aiz said they'd either be best friends at the party, or they'd chunk it. The girl twerked on Vagger. So. 

-Someone gave me a twenty and I began to take solo dolo shots.

-Jaws went under the beer pong table and announced himself a troll. 

-Vag and Jul were side by side throwing up in the parking lot. 

-Aiz and Cody made out on top of their vomit because the rule of the night was, if anyone can guess her costume, she'd make out with them. 

-I lost my wristwatch.

-I ran out of the storage unit and onto the streets, screaming at the top of my lungs, looking for the cops. The younger sister of the host told me she had to chase me down and bring me back to shelter.

-Vagger allegedly lost her phone and everyone went completely out of their way crawling from the parking lot to the storage unit looking for it. But really, she had it in her hand the entire time. 

-Jacon drove deliriously drunk. 

-We were dead in the back. 

-Jacon had to carry me inside my house.

-Vagger and Jul threw up on our lawn.

-I placed an ordered of two sunny-side eggs and sausages to Aiz, demanding it. She kindly made me food, and I knocked out to oblivion. 

That morning we found Vagger's socks in the living room. It smelled like Satan's sphincter. It looked like Satan's sphincter. And she refused to clean it up. Later, she mustered all her courage, picked up the socks with a plastic bag, and chased us around the house with them. 

This is the story of shamelessness, triumph, whiskey, and post-regretful shame. 

kwichurbichin

Hey Ace, when are you ditching Paris again? Tryna fsu. Also no whatsapp. Gayboy, am I right? Alright.

Birthday black out

One morning and several days after my birthday, Mak found photos of us in her phone that neither of us could recall. By photos I mean selfies. By selfies I mean the kind we never take together. Cheers to my favorite person in the world for blacking out with me.

stop touching yourself you fucking asshole

i'd just had lunch after debating whether or not i should have lunch. it was dreadful, if you must know (which you mustn't). why do i even cook. i made coffee. too black and too hot. my stomach is churning. there's a bad taste in my mouth. 

there's a bad taste in my mouth.

there's a bad taste in my

mouth.

there's a bad taste in

my 

mouth.

there's a bad taste

in 

my

mouth.

there's a bad 

taste

in 

my 

mouth.

there's a 

bad

taste

in

my

mouth.

there's 

a 

bad

taste

in

my

mouth.

wasted weekday

Jaws, Eyes, Delaghetto, and I have been spending our Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays getting hammered and getting very lost in the sauce. Not the weekends though. We don't like each other that much. Except for that one storage unit party. That one was just literally the most insane FSU we've done. It involved a lot of shots, a lot of cigarettes, a lot of puke, a lot of getting down, a lot of screaming at the dj, a lot of wall sits, a lot of piss, a lot of suicidally running down the street looking for cops, a lot of rude conversations with strangers, and a lot of blacked out assholes aka us because we all died. But I digress. It's been nice with these turds. We get separation anxiety, and we all say very gay, very soft serve things to each other. It's nice.

good job at trying

it's noon and i'll be late for work. my mother greeted me this morning with my responsibility towards my well-being. she told me i need to get a flu shot. it put me in a bad mood and i don't know why. which made me feel guilty because it's not her fault i hate myself. i'm typing on my laptop, which is a first as of lately. i only use my laptop to watch youtube videos of people that only partially entertain me. but i found that it entertains me more than netflix or watching any shows or movies. i haven't been too insane which is great. i wake up in the mornings which is great. i drink too much coffee and drink too much wine which are both great. probably. i'd been keeping a journal again which makes me feel both younger and more pathetic. i want to say i stopped chasing my youth, but i'm still not over it. at least in my mind. this weather makes me calm but also makes me sad, but really, i am always sad. i'd rather be calm, i guess. i miss hanging with ace because i'd been doing outrageous shit lately, and i usually do those with her. not really too outrageous because everything is boring. it's so funny to read old entries of mine or my friends' and notice how fucking sad shit has gotten. so funny that the only word i can use to describe it is sad. i overuse the word sad but it's the most succinct of all the words i can use. fucking SAD. it's hilarious how sad shit got. in fact, i'm hysterically laughing right now at how fucking SAD. is it ok to whine? it's probably more ok if i didn't keep acknowledging when i'm whining. my bitching is my bitch and i'm its bitch and we function like a unit, drunk or sober. it's you and me, bitching. i'll be late for work today and i don't even give a fuck. i should quit soon so i can stop being pathetic there and be pathetic somewhere else. i won't get a flu shot, but i'll tell my mother i did just to ease her mind. it's alright. i can take it. i can take being sick. sick of me. sick of you. sick of this. let me be sad. i don't want to be happy. even happy seems fucking stupid. let me be sad. i don't want to be happy. happy seems stupid. when did i become like this. 

inner demon outer baby

I have exceptional manners and a filthy diction.

Oh I think they like me.

red-faced scatter brain

I always forget how terrified of birds I am until I encounter them. This morning, I arrived at work to find a brood of turkeys attempting to cross the street as I was pulling up to park. Four hideous abominations blocked my way. I had to wait till they gathered to one side of the street. I thought, these bastards are ugly and stupid. When I finally parked, I was too afraid to step out of my car. Entirely paranoid by literally any moving creature, I opened my door and jumped at the sight of a cat across the street from me. Incidentally, we both jumped at the sight of each other. And I thought maybe he saw the turkeys and was also instilled with the same fear I was suffering from. The cat and I, in that moment, were one and the same. But still, after we pissed ourselves, I slammed my door and listened to my heart beat out of my ears. My head swiveled to my surroundings, snapping my neck. For the love of Satan, I nearly prayed for my life because I pathetically dreaded stepping out of my car. Bravely, I mustered all my courage (while steadying my shaking knees) and opened my door. I bit my jaw down, still swiveling, and ran towards the door. I fumbled with the keys because their backyard is a forrest floor on its own, and I was afraid that another flock would be waiting for my by the door. I finally unlocked it, but for once in all my shifts, the chain was locked. So I knocked. With failed composure, I knocked frantically while my eyes darted to anything that moved. Coincidentally, four squirrels were playing with each other by the pool. Slightly pissed myself. Just slightly. I was much relieved it was just the squirrels. Justin unlocked the door for me, then I rushed inside, hyperventilating from the crap of terror that struck all my nerves.

The bastards. I am most hopelessly petrified when they're around. This irrational, stupid fear almost made me late for work. God damn.

sickly

I miss my wristwatch and all the other shit that I have lost because too drunk to live.

Sad sad is t

I am most irrelevant to the person I care the most about. How sad is that.

Damn that bastard

Why do you plague me...

four am

I spent my four am downloading The Raven then reading The Raven aloud in my most accurate accent.

do apple juice and whiskey go well together?

The answer is no. Where is my ginger ale?

My ginger ale, actually, is in fact under my desk. But considering it is nearly two weeks old (if not more), I refused to mix my drink. Today I cried for my bird for literally hours. I avoided going home because I refused to see my dead bird. But eventually, the night became unbearable, I went home, saw my dead bird, and cried some more.

I am not quite sure why I have been weeping so much. I am suspicious that it is because it's been a tough weekend. I just spent five hours watching chick flicks. That is what I get for having Jawsh back in my life. It's literally as if he inspires me to be a sap. I don't want to be a sap. It's annoying and it makes me sad in a soft way unlike my usual bitter and hardened way.

It's four am, and I don't believe I'm quite done drinking yet. If there's anyone who can make me feel badly about being an alcoholic, speak up now. But considering I shit on myself harsher than anyone ever, no one can touch me. So fuck all of you. I'm sad, but at least I'm not a slut. (There'd been a lot of slutshaming lately. Most of which [if not all] are by me).

(This weekend, I spread more rumors than I ever have before. Someone be proud of me).

PS. Season your meat well.

PPS. You don't want them to spit it out.

truth

I terribly want to cuddle my dead bird.

casualties of the weekend

my wristwatch
my dignity
my liver
my throat
my pride
my bird

I'll cry if I want to.

I disorient them when I'm stern. Only because I'm most likely a joke.

scoundrel

my hobbies include

Rumors
Beep beeps
Kneesock
BLTs
Nachos
Uncorking wine
Gum
Getting irritated at the sound of my laugh
Wild style
Wearing some clothes
Bitching about my hair
Conversing with myself aloud
Being embarrassing
Denying boobs
Sleeping

Am I dying yet?

I feel
like
all the liquor in the world decided to reside in my right eye. How does that work? I wake up. I don't know how things went about. And I awake sore in my right eye. Someone got me a bag beside my bed which made me think about the last time I puked. Then I realized I can't recall when I last did. I'm not sure that's a good thing. Haven't got anymore cigarettes.  Jawsh told me I'm the most terrible influence. I think he might be right.

dark night poem (uncollected)

“they say that
nothing is wasted:
either that
or
it all is.”

-Bukowski

unheard

If I were to lie with a song, I'd lie with Do I Wanna Know. I'd been getting stoned lately because I can't write drunk. Drunk gets me to abandon my thoughts. I haven't quite gotten it yet. But if I were to lie with a song, at this very moment, I'd lie with Do I Wanna Know.  Last night, I heard it unlike I have before. And I've listened to it enough times to think I'd beaten the greatness out of it. Last night, I listened to that song and let it seep into me like a fucking virus, in the most pathetic way possible. The whole time, I just kept thinking, it must be gory being at someone's disposal. It must be murderous to choose to be at someone's feet. Only moving if they move. Only speaking if they speak. The worst part of it is realizing that you are at their disposal. That everything you have been doing, planning, or saying had every bit of that person in mind. That's the song for me. A series of nearly in disbelief questions about how unrequited and how pitiful things have been, and finally realizing it. It's a confessional really (the entire album is). It takes the creativity and cleverness of their past work and presents itself in very big, bold letters. It's saying exactly what they intend on saying without getting too funny. Now through out the song, the composure sarcastically remains, even with all the embarrassing admissions. It's hopeless but smart and pissed off. At the end of it, the last few lines, he asks (with guts, with mockery and absolute cynicism), "Do you want me crawling back to you?" I lost my shit. I saw my life like I hadn't before and heard this song like I hadn't before.

It confesses.

It inquires. 

It realizes. 

It wants to say fuck you, but might possibly crawl back after all. 

I slap this shit every times it plays, without hesitation or exception. 

These are my embarrassing admissions in a song.

and I'm not the kind who tries to

Been a shithead
Been pissing a lot
Been pensive I guess
Probably
Been writing weird shit
Been alright for like a minute
Beanie
Everything becomes a fucking beanie.
I get to feed Kneesock with a little guy.
Been thinking about walking everywhere
Pretend I don't have a car
Like I used to do
Talk to myself on the streets
Make shit up.

Electronic liferuiners

I just watched Vaggy uglycry through the reflection of her crashing laptop as I attempted to salvage it. One of the best uglycries I have seen in a while. Hats off to uglycrying. Now she's redoing her paper from scratch on my laptop while I sit here thinking about the last time I uglycried. Can't remember. Probably the last time I cried since all my cries are ugly. Hats off to bitches who can pull off a prettycry. That is something that 90% of the human population could never execute. Hats off to hats because without hats, beanies would probably have never existed. Hats off to beanies because beanies are good. Hats off. But I won't take my beanie off...

soar eighty

I fidgeted at some point during my drive. Sunglasses before sunrise. I kept looking at my wristwatch, seeking reassurance. The weather fought with me for a second, or maybe I fought with it. I don't know. We kind of just tried to avoid each other, trying not to bump shoulders or look up from the tiles. I cranked the heat to abnormally loud, but rolled my windows down anyway. It had to be done. I had to be done. Anyway, I soared eighty on an empty road. Raced motorists who chose ten below me. I felt agile and competent, and I kept waiting for one really good moment. Like the last time I was conscious of it. There's this album I played. This album, most obviously myself. I'd never done it before because it frightened me. Weakened me. Then I realized after, that I'd just been absurd before. Immature about it. Like a stubborn child. It went on and I sat still, passed what I tend to believe is a natural trip. My voice wasn't hoarse, like I expect it to be. It was clear and strong, and I listened to it like the first moment of meeting myself. Like a very familiar voice of a stranger. I can't remember now much of what I had been thinking about. All I was certain of is my oddity of thoughts, for that particular morning. I do remember thinking about Ferlinghetti, and how perverse he must seem. How he wrote a novel that simply could might as well be a masturbatory story. "I was bearing a white phallus through the wood of the world, I was looking for a place to plunge it, a place to surrender it." That's the first stream of the book, and it has always stuck with me. I always like to note the difference between poets and novelists. Especially when poets write a novel, or vice versa.  This guy is obviously a poet. He lacks the certain conciseness of story-telling. Right now, I like it because his obsession (I expect), will guide me through his self-loathing and narcissism. How relevant for me. Apart from Ferlinghetti, my most distinct thought of the morning was to write it down. When you get off 24, write down what you can remember. Because you never write it down anymore. And you never make sense of things anymore. And you used to be secretive and selective of anyone else, but at least you wrote about things. I can't recognize anymore. So write it down. Before you forget. Before you arrest to caring again. Write it down.
Write it down.
Write, until it gets hards.

play the home song

I blacked out after my party. Nothing unusual. Not too early, but I still died. Mikal told me I tried to run down the street at some point and I had to be chased down. She told me to enjoy this time because we don't know when everyone will be together like this again. I responded with "I don't give a fuck." Nothing unusual. Normal behavior. I remember waking up at 5am after that party, alone in the dark of my room.

The other day, I was told that when I died that night, all our homies crammed in my room with me while I was passed out. The family squeezed its whole self in a tiny room when the party was dying. Vagger described it as very packed and very humid and very smelly. Smelly, drunk turds dancing on my bed while I'm dead. Sometimes, I just really love my buddies. Wish I was alive for that moment though. To be honest.

I'm happy for you baby. But I don't wanna know.

garlic

I think the only reason why people give me a sick feeling in my stomach is because I give myself a sick feeling in my stomach. Hate everyone cause hate me.

Self-loathing game strong.

It's time

If I don't take a trip soon, I'll be solidly tripping for one whole month.

obsessed with sleep

Five minutes.

Thirty minutes.

I'm never leaving my bed.

I'll never leave my bed.

Damnit I need to piss.

sneeze

I got home from work. Ate a bowl of leftovers. Laid unmoving on my couch, clutching on Guillermo, for roughly an hour. Anxious. I put on a jacket. Walked to my car. Now I'm in my car, and I realize I have nowhere to go. A man walking his dog just passed my car, giving me a very slight fright. It's weird having nowhere to go.

list of my October favorites

inspired by all the damn youtubers

1. I can wear a beanie without melting.

2. Cigarettes are like little sticks of heater. Except it doesn't actually warm you.

3. Thinking about Thanksgiving, and dying of overeating. 

4. Kneesock, my most beloved creature on this very planet.

5. Watching Kneesock eat other bugs. She's cool and calm. Seeing her prey on other creatures turns me on, Idc, I said it.

6. Mashed potato.

7. Endless amounts of alcohol from previous parties.

8. Orange.

9. My bench aka my most constant birthday company.

10. Shower stoned.

11. Vandalism. 

12. Wishing I was a lesbian.

13. Wishing I was a black widow.

14. Falling asleep to playlists on youtube.

15. Thoughts about holding Kneesock in my right hand and finding another black widow to hold in my left hand. Then laying supine with both my hands enclosing those beautiful spiders, waiting to get bitten. It sounds like it'd be quite a trip.

16. (Death by a spider).

lossser

I woke up at seven this morning because someone cranked the heater all tge way up to annoying. I am just starting to enjoy the presence of freezing. Waking up in heat makes it irritating.

[Insert the perfect mixture of a melodramatic statement / sarcastic confession here]

For about an hour now, I've been staring around my room, wondering how long could I possibly lock myself in here for, while popping my shoulder blade in and out of its place. It sounds like someone chewing on chicken cartilage. I ball myself deep inside my bed, wondering when was the last time I woke up without wondering why I'm still here.

I'm in a bad way.

^ my ultimate understatement. 

can't think about getting slammed

because I'm too pissed at the sight of my face.

I'm fucking pissed

I'm pissed because I am stuck watching drag queens look fucking amazing unlike my scrub ass self. Earlier I thought about stabbing my face with all the pens that I own. Do you know how many pens I own? Sick of being hurt. Cry.

Oh well

Oh well.

ripped roll

Kneesock cuddles with all her victims. That's why I like her. I have one goal after death, qnd that goal is to be reincarnated into a black widow. How ever I'll go about that.
The other day, my pal and I agreed to sell our souls to the devil. I don't think my soul is worth too much, but I can hope for the best. If I can at least be half as bad as Kneesock, I'd be alright.

PS
I am mourning the very fact that I can't dance well enough for seduction. If I could be a gay guy, maybe life wouldn't be so tough.

early-twenties hobbies

drunk dancing
drunk breakdowns
drunk eating
drunk drinking
drunk chunk-it
stretching out beanies
stealing beanies
swooning over beanies
loving beanies
hate-crying
hate-eating
hate-drinking
hate-living
collecting spiders
collecting pens
collecting a liver disease
collecting sadness
collecting non-memories
blacking out
falling out
coming out
protruding out
selling out
crying out
over-eating
over-drinking
over-dramatic
over living
pissing
shitting
swearing
slurring
dying slowly
trying slowly
living lowly
writing nothing
reading nothing
watching nothing
listening to nothing
listening to no one
eating everything
drinking everything
hating everything
sorry for everything
sorry for nothing

post-sunday shits

I am currently shitting for the planet. I am shitting everything that I ingested this passed weekend. It felt like explosive diarrhea and I haven't had that since Ace left for Paris. Now I'm beginning to think that I had explosive diarrhea due to her summer homecoming. I have a bottle of Jaeger that I will become one with for tonight. Try and forget about the next few days to come. Still shitting for the world as I sign off now...

post-shitface

minor hangover
morning hair is banging
proud of my talented follicles
woke up with the bieber posters torn to shreds and a few new and unfamiliar objects in my room.
my house looks like it's sticky.
the floors make me feel like I should bleach them.
woke up alone in my room and was sad when I didn't see mak here.
went to the living room and she was curled up on the small couch.
she told me I got bad at some point last night.
she said I tried to run down the street.
I thought it was familiar of me.
there's still a bowl of gin and juice on the counter.
at six am, I scarfed two plates of spaghetti while laughing, watching Boy Meets World.
I am Eric Matthews.
I repeat I am Eric Matthews.
an alcoholic, cynical Eric Matthews. 
now I am thinking about getting another plate.
probably will
cody kept calling me fancy pants last night.
so a slew of defiantly deep-voiced drunkards sang happy birthday to fancy pants.
my living room said unhappy birthday.
yes
unhappy birthday.

Bieber Pong

They also gave me a shirt. I wore it for roughly an hour until I couldn't think straight anymore. Fernan and Ryan think of literally the most intense birthday presents....ever...

Punctuality

Vagger called that he'd be the first guest. And what do you know, he was the first guest. Also he got me a card SO. Haters back off.

schweppes and seagram's whiskeyboy

it's been a terribly strange night. i finished the first season of ru my drag pu pu's. it was very tense and i very much enjoyed it so i think i'll start on the second season soon. i unearthed a bottle of whiskey from the back of my car, from that night when xavier and i got plastered beyond our faces. he threw up on the grass, and i nearly slept in my car. i had plans tonight of tidying my room and posting things on my walls but instead i got very distracted with snapchat and my snapchat pals and now i've begun drinking and am far too lazy to do any tidying. maybe tomorrow. or whatever. as of right now, this very moment, my left index finger is the only finger of which i have trimmed because by another fault of laziness, i decided i don't care if my nails are long. they're a bother, but i don't care if my nails are long. i'll remain ungroomed and unhappy for as long as i possibly can. if any of you fuckers know, any which of you fuckers who bother to read whatever this page here has to ever offer, i am nearly turning twenty-poo. twenty-caca. twenty-no. twenty-why. i hate myself and i hate this life but i'd really like to celebrate this prolonged and uncertain hate life i've got going for me. whether or not i'll be alive for a celebration will be all up to my silly and impetuous whims. my shoulders right now have insanely stubborn knots that my very stupid hands cannot untangle. it pains me and i would like to hire someone to handle my problems for me. tonight i kept thinking about 505 and how i am quite terrible with what i invest my feelings in. so far, i'm doomed and fucked with what i got myself into years ago and it will continue to destroy me until i finally man up and let that shit go. nearly convinced myself that this is what will kill me. but i'm certainly not that lucky. for the love of god, i need to unleash these knots on my shoulders. i've only had one glass of whiskeyboy and schweppes and i'm growing quite bored again. but really though, all i'd like is a steak. medium rare with a side of godly-seasoned mashed potatoes. 

pour

another.

v anal about ipod organization

so anal that it's dp

I literally spent thirty odd minutes taking pictures of myself as if I was having sex with myself
ie. here's a pic of me pretending I'm looking down at me during (or right before) intercourse. (or it could be a pic that I took of me while me was on top of me).

"I'd probably
still
adore you
with your hands
around
my
neck.

Or I did last time
I checked."

my emotional attachments are very fucked up

Kneesock, my one and only concern because nothing is terribly important to me.

sweat

I hate the very word, but everything seems very awkward right now, somehow. Like a terrible, dirty dream, under squeamish circumstances. Or those parts in pornography where things get too out of hand, and you just have to turn away. Don't be a pervert. I only mean it seems that way. My life is not a dirty dream, and my life certainly isn't pornography. My life is very awkward right now, and I can't even turn away.

ru

I am v much in love with drag queens.

drunk at a coffee shop

I feel better here.

nearly 2am

i just spent an hour trying to figure out how to open a wine bottle without a corkscrew, because like all my simple problems, i lost my corkscrew. on the upside, i think i perfected the use of a steak knife to open a bottle. deep red, cabernet sauvignon tonight, with an inadvertently chosen design bottle of a fox in a vineyard. it's called foxmoor.

there's a fly in my room, but i'm too tired to be annoyed. i'll try and read the book i purchased today until i fall asleep. and i'll try to write down my last thoughts of the night. and i'll try and make a new list in that very tiny notebook. but i can only try. chances are i'll just pass out with my face smashed into my mattress, drooling to some video that makes it passed the sleep schedule of my laptop. the wine is soaring in my head now, but even i'm sick of this. is it possible not to get sick of anything? good thing it's sunday tomorrow (or today, i suppose). even if that doesn't mean anything. 

what shit

Don't fucking trip. Everyone bums everyone out anyway.

My car is probably the safest place for me. Ironic because I most often dream of crashing it or driving off a bridge. I need wine, it's one-fifteen in the morning, and this is deafening. I'll try not to think about what day it is or how the weather is or why I ended up here. I'll just think about the drag queens, and the spider and the wasp that it trapped, and how I want to blast the fan on me till I melt to the middle of the next day.

idiots

Apart from the entire premature deterioration of that which I call my life, missing my friends would probably be saddest and most childish branch of it. Not just my friends, but the moment where everything fell into place for a very, very fleeting moment. For one, I am heavily inclined to falling back and wallowing about things that have been the past, so being in this perpetual state right now does not come as a surprise, for anyone. Secondly, my youth wasn't perfect nor was it wild and unimaginable. But it was, to me, perfect enough that for a second there, I literally did not worry about a single thing. I was careless, and free, and happy. That may have been the last time I was happy for longer than just a numerable moment. So yes, I'm inching to twenty-two, and I still get very sad thinking about them. I feel like I was very addicted to them. Or to us. We could all barely go without each other for more than a few hours. All summer that summer, for however many consecutive days, we'd wake up, call each other up, meet up, keep meeting up till we were all absolutely together, be together everywhere we can, split for our family dinners (if that even), then reunite again till the very early hours of morning. I don't remember feeling horrendous about anything, ever. (Not that there weren't bad times, it just proves to me how insignificant and mundane my troubles were because I can't even recall them). I know it's foolish of me. But I'm a stupid fool anyway.

Just the simple gesture of them remembering my birthday makes me...emotional almost. Not almost. Definitely. Birthdays are shit, always. But when my homies go to their way to ask me what I'll be up to, well it's nice. And to assure that they'll be there no matter what, I guess it makes things alright for just a second. I guess I don't know what I'm bitching about. They're great.

I was watching This Must Be the Place earlier (le film), and once the scene where "This Must Be the Place" plays (la chanson), my dumbass started welling tears to the brim. Too much white zin. Someone is snoring too loudly next door. And the lamp in my room is far too bright. I need another glass because I am terribly bored.

my thoughts while laughing freely aloud

"stop. why is my laugh so annoying. stop laughing."

regretful everyday questions in my head

"Why did I eat that?"
"Why did I say that?"
"Why didn't I say that?"
"Why did I get mad?"
"Why am I so embarrassing?"
"Why did I leave the house?"
"Why did I go home?"
"Why the fuck was I born?"
"Why am I still alive?"
"Why didn't I stab it all the way through?"
"Why did I go out with that guy?"
"Why did I have sex with that person?"
"Why was I friends with that idiot?"
"Why did I let her do that?"
"Where did my money go?"
"Why did I leave my adventure shoes in Yosemite?"
"Why didn't I give a shit?"
"Why don't I give a shit?"
"Should I have gone to college?"
"Should I have left?"
"Why wasn't I drunk for that?"
"Why did I get that drunk?"
"Why am I still drunk?"

But my favorite regretful question of all:

"What happened last night?"

scoundrel

the other day, I received a pair of fancy trousers from jul. it's been lightening my mood since. in fact, I have yet to even remove them. this shift seems longer than usual because ive truly a lot on my mind. actually, now that im here, im not even sure why.

ive been alright, honestly. for now.

post-am depression

The first thing I do when I wake up is put the album on loop until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee.

I got it bad.

One for the Road

The mixture hits you hard
Don't get that sinking feeling
Don't fall apart.

frantic

it's insane stressing about money. It keeps me up worse than any shitty break up or any shitty shit with anyone (it's 9am and i am already so eloquent). Most of the time (particularly as of late), whenever I am home and am getting nagged at about my future and/or any forms of responsibility, I just quietly imagine myself to be quietly dead in ...mmm maybe three years? And I swear on all that may be unholy, I stop panicking for a quietly dead second and am suddenly at peace/out of my mind/unresponsive.
Is it so abnormal to be so morbidly indulgent with the thought of death? Incidentally, last night im sure I said something about death being my wet dream. But in truth (most honestly), death is my ULTIMATE wet dream. Not just any one night wet dream. The ULTIMATE. Cream dreams of dead freaks. I swoon, I fucking sway.
But I keep in mind (I think?), although one may be irresistibly inclined to and have a jarring affinity for death, it doesn't make one necessarily suicidal. In my case, yes, it probably means i am. But it may also mean that I am merely and annoyingly (not to mention embarrassingly) melodramatic. What's a blog without the drama???

It's 930 and I cant fall back asleep. Maybe I should watch I Melt With You.

finally rainy

Chasing the night
to make it right
oh and you had it
caught like a rabbit

 told you to wait
but it's too late
you got your man
rinsing him down

turning your head
to mine instead
gave me the eyes
burning like light

pleasantly and unpleasantly plaguing

i hadnt expected what i heard. like an embarrassing, flattering, and bewildering casual confession. as if i was neither meant or not meant to know. i repeat it in my head. i awoke this afternoon, gathering my thoughts for the sole purpose of being able to waste some time on it. i feel childish and foolish.

it may have been both the best and worst thing anyone has ever said about me.

(particularly the best).

sleepy, smiling stoners

THROWBACK THURFURHUR  FO YA ASS HOLE 

overtime

it's awfully exhausting to be this sad.

the lull is maddening.

i yawn unhappily.

i shouldn't have to apologize for it                          ?

ticks

even the spells are coming back. i most often try not to sit beside the door because i find myself struggling not to open it when we enter the freeway. i most often try to sit in the middle where i'm forced to deal with my mind. so i can man the fuck up. but like that drive from san diego, my dreams of jumping out of cars are trying to sway me again. i should be worried. but truly, i'm very indulgent about it. like the sound of my wristwatch is estimating me. quantifying what i have left inside me. appraising the whole of me and if i might just feel like relenting. they're like very persuasive old friends. the kind that get you to do things you didn't think you would do, or ever dare to. but you fall into their hands and the rush takes you. and you fail to recognize who you thought you were before the things that you did. only to realize that this is who you are now, and you wouldn't change it even if you could. and you wouldn't be able to look at mirrors, or any kind of reflection, because you are both too arrogant and hateful (and probably disgusted) to do so. 

you see, lately, i have been falling asleep thinking of a few disturbing things, and i've been waking up to the very same disturbing things, as if i haven't slept at all. and it's very frustrating. i am not meant to be bothered because of my inclination towards destruction. so for hours on after waking, i lay in my bed replaying the same disturbing things until it tastes good in my mouth. until it becomes some daydream i curl up to. until it's comforting to think of. and thinking of anything else (apart from my disturbing images) becomes disorienting. and i get very upset because i remember what reality is suppose to be. 

i'd like to say that i wish the spells would stop. but in contrast to how malignant they take my mind, without these spells, i don't think i would be able to walk a step or say a word without convulsing to a virulent episode. 

i'll have to give it up

i can't fall apart for another time. i feel sick. but mostly fucking dumb. sickly dumb i'll have to give it up till i get my shit together. if i ever get my shit together. but i have to give it up. maybe i won't be happy any time soon, but i should at least be able to control my shit. i'm afraid to make a sweeping declaration because i might not follow through. i'm afraid i'll remain a lush. an idiot lush. it's like the days i'd been a very heavy stoner. i told myself i'd quit for months on, and i always failed. but i suppose eventually i accomplished that. eventually i kicked that habit. but alcohol is monstrous. it's not just spacing my brain. i feel completely paralyzed to losing my shit. to being very stupid. my self-loathing has officially invaded my sanity. i think i'll start my own AA group. a group that involves only me because i'm gonna fix myself up. all by myself. AA!!!!!!!! 

there's no good note. i'm mostly very angry with myself. and i'm rather tired of waking up not knowing what stupid shit i'd done the night before. only to be informed of the stupid shit i'd done, then i'd feel that same pitiful and pathetic sinking feeling that occupies most of whatever my feelings are. i can fucking do it. 

house show, portland

Hey, who are you guys?

"We're Dads."

You guys want a donut? 

rainy day

I think I may have been truly loved before. But I don't think I had ever believed anyone. I don't think I could ever believe anyone. 

She might know what I mean. She usually understands me. Even though I'd been feeling strange lately. 

late

i am currently obsessing over the posthumous works of some of the writers i am most interested in. this is the most time i've spent with my computer because who ever uses their computer to that extent anymore. we've all got phones. but every time i destroy a phone, which is starting to feel like a biannual occurrence, i end up researching things that i never get a chance to think of when glued to my phone. yes, yet another rant about all the time i'm getting back due to not having a phone. seriously, this feels all too familiar. i just did this last january. it doesn't feel like i'll want to have a phone soon, but i know i need it. it's rather crucial now, especially for really anyone who has got a job. my wristwatch is serving me quite nicely, but we won't last long. neither will all these poorly capitalized/punctuated entries (of which, really, are just one of my attempts for a better stream of consciousness [aka i'm trying to write out da ass]). there are many books that i would like to spend all my time and money on. i've got some time and i've got some money. but neither satisfy me. (like anything ever satisfies me). today is my sister's birthday, and i'd like to sleep now, but it's only two, and i'm still very much awake. 

ps. 

i stumbled across an old entry i wrote in...2010, i believe. about a time i spent all night talking to a particular friend. and how, out of everyone, we shared most similar interests and beliefs and perspectives. we understood each other without needing so much as the pleasantries. out of everyone, still i'd say, he greatly influenced the things of which i still find interest in. and i don't want to further emphasize how disinterested i am about everything (i've beaten that subject to a dripping red pulp) but the things we used to stay up all night talking about, or listening to, or watching, remain with me as they'd always been. when all our friends would cut out for the night, we'd still drive around just to hear the songs that feel like we play just to see if we can read each other's minds. i don't mean to sound romantic, but that's what the friendship meant to me. means to me? i don't know, i hope.

it's funny because i was just talking about how much he'd changed. and how unrecognizable he seems. and how his light seems to have dimmed. then i recalled how i said that i'm one to talk. truly though, i don't think i even have a light anymore. and this all now just feel like a very unfunny dream 

(particularly all day today).

i don't care but

if this heat would pass, i'd be appreciative. it rained on labor day, and i grew hopeful. and earlier i had a dream that there was a terrible storm, but no one was happy about it with me. not even my buddy. i may have a trust complex with absolutely everyone. but i do truly want to wear my jackets and winter tights and boots and scarves and my hats. i want to cover up and drown in garments and hope i sink and dissolve into them. maybe disappear. this is awfully depressing, but i'm not sure i care about that. 

i'd very much like to sleep all day

and drool on my pillows and curl inside my blankets, waiting for my leg hairs to spike stubbly until they're longer and softer and bearable to rub against each other. i wouldn't shower or eat or drink water. the most i'd get up for is pissing or adjusting my body as to avoid a pressure ulcer. i'd leave my fan on blasting cold air at me and push open both my enormous windows. hope for pneumonia. i'd only keep my wristwatch, my glasses, and my laptop by my side because i don't really have anything else. if i could stretch far enough, i'd peel out a book from my small library, which is approximately two feet away from the foot if my bed. if i can't stretch far enough, i'll surrender back to bed, stare at my ceiling or the empty wall in front of me because my mother decided to prop up all my sketches beside me, over my head. i'd listen to the loud ticks of my wristwatch because it's a very shitty wristwatch, but lately i'd been more interested in looking at it for the time from time to time than i'd been interested in anything. you see, i'm wildly uninterested and bored and dulled by everything that has come my way. truth may be that this pretty pity i'm drawing is sad and pathetic, and i should leave my bed. but it's sad out there and i'm sad out there and for now, i'd rather be sad in here, drooling on my pillows and waiting for my leg hairs to spike stubbly. but incidentally, as life would have it, i have to go to work in an hour. and drawing a picture of being someone entirely surrendered to lethargy and the promise of truly absolutely nothing, i have to get up. i have to crawl out of here and play nice. 

ps. there's no coffee left. 

episodes

I reach this point where I lose my shit and gain consciousness again when I'm already having another mental breakdown. They've been harder to control lately. Actually, I haven't been able to control them at all. My graves are officially out and about, and they come out of me like explosive diarrhea. It's hard and fast and I'm very much uncontrollably frustrated and incoherent almost. I hate myself for it every time, but I'm too stupid not to get drunk. Because then I'd be miserably sober. But it's stupid because I also become a miserable drunk. So I'm really just miserable. And now I am miserably writing about being miserable. I shouldn't have talked to God that one time. It really fucked me up. 

50/50

Make me love life/make me want to die

r u srs

oscillating fans and Labor Day

Serotinal sadness induce over-sleeping.
I had a full twelve hours, but I guess yesterday was a good day.
We had a barbecue, and there were burgers--burgers that I balled and patted myself while everyone seasoned, dashed, sprinkled, and dropped flavors. My hands still smell like raw and seasoning. Mikal burned some buns, and we thought Azam Bzam Czam...Yzam didn't wash his hands after flinging poop. It was a charred hotdog, he said. Vagger's mashed potato was better than Azam's so he wants to challenge her at a Mashed Potato Cook-Off. Our bets are on Vag. Jul broke the slingshot but, he shattered at least four bottles, and that's impressive compared to our clinks. The beer was sweet. Shasta begged for food. I had my chips, and we ate until we hit a wall. Jordan, Gen, Pat, and Das came home. They had more beer, and the burgers went around. Thick, sassy burgers. Thanks to the jalapenos. We sat in the outdoor living room, where the couches were covered in peppercorns. "Do you know what kind of tree that is? It's a peppercorn tree. I'll roast them one day." We know Yzam. His kid is dead, he said. The papers were upstairs, and so was the pie, and so was the bathroom, so we melted in our seats outside. One of us looked up, so we all looked up. They said we should follow the end of the rainbow, but our chins just rested high. It was a full arch, and we thought it was the sign of the apocalypse. "I read the prophecy today. It must be a sign." The sky didn't seem real, and I think we were all in some disbelief that this enormous arch was just over us. A second rainbow formed faintly above the vibrant one, and we compared the two with brothers Das and Azam. They shared a jacket that night. "Someone just spit on me." Josh looked at Vagger and said, "Oh my bad." She told him fuck you and said it'll rain soon. We waved her off. We said, "No we're good. The clouds look alright." So we sat and watched the smaller arc get brighter as the sun crawled. Sip beer. Gnaw corn. Groan full. Sip beer. Smoke. Sip. "Oh someone spit on me too." "Oh me too." "Oh it's sprinkling." "Is it?" "Oh no it's raining." Our paces shifted from chin-high drowsers to a bustling clamor. Jordan and I immediately went for the Ipod and speakers that were set on the bass drum that Andrey abandoned there. I unplugged the ipod, he unplugged the speakers. I carried the speakers, and he carried the bass of it, and we trailed together up the stairs. On my down the stairs, Vagger was climbing up with her pot of mashed potatoes. Azam gathered his genius burgers, and they found shelter for our long table of food. We ran around. It rained harder, and I found myself sitting upright on the two twin beds on top of each other, set in the middle of their lawn. I let the rain on me till my sunglasses were speckled into blur. It was dark but I couldn't take them off. Some of them went upstairs and watched the rain from the balcony. Mak and Azam and Vag and Jul sat on the couch under the peppercorn tree and I could feel them watching me. I had taken off my beanie by then and let my hair get soaked. My sweater was soaked. And my bare legs were soaked. Josh sat behind me, and asked if I wanted a sip. I did so I took it. The rain slowed, and I joined them on the outdoor living room. Then we all met together on the outdoor living room. It got dark, and music was now playing upstairs from the record player. Unknown Pleasures. Azam found a box of Christmas lights. There was a net light. A big-bulbed light. A cactus light. And a red tube light. All the guys laughed, and Azam said, "Yeah only the guys get it." The four girls scorned sarcastically at him and said, "Yeah ONLY the guys get it. ONLY the guys masturbate." Mak untangled the red tube light, then hung them on the plants behind the red couch, and on that pink honeycomb. We had one extension cord, so we only had one red tube light. But everyone's faces glowed red, and we sat silent for a while. Smoke. Sip. Smoke. The guys piled on top of each other on the twin mattress, with Azam on the very bottom. Then Josh. Then Pat. Then Jord. Then Jul. We wondered if Azam was dead as they all groaned. A few visitors came by. Then we had pie. And we had another round of feasting. The Swan Lake played on. Kylie Minogue played on. Hall and Oates played on. The red tube light flickered occassionally through the night, and eventually we all trickled out to our cars. "It was a good day today." She smiled. I said, "Yeah," then walked to my car with three blankets and two bags of chips, smiling.

anger management

Which inevitably accompanies alcoholism.

I do truly hate you. You must know that by now.

Ugly casanova.

I miss Ace. Alright. Constant variable. K in equations. I don't wanna be soft serve, but summer is over. Summer bummer. I'm pissed for being bummed.

Some people think they're always right.

One day I'll have the balls for it, and you'll hate me for it.

This used to be a safer place, now I'm just pissed for everything.

"What could I possibly be happy about?"

dumps

"She's like a five-year old."

The passed two days. Goddamn. I hated having to sit still for hours on. I hated how many girls' voice buzzed in my ear even after they've stopped talking. I hated how many times I was told about how much fucking hair I had. I hated how hellish it was to endure. But fuck me for all the things I hate because I woke up this morning and felt sad that it's over. As much as I did cringe, after finishing my walk last night, I felt relieved and entirely grateful that Mikal chose me. I loved watching her do exactly what she loves to do. I loved seeing Tash and Kacie again because unlike all the other people there, they never talked at me to Mak. They literally loved me, whole-heartedly, physically into their arms. Hugs and hand holds. You name it. I haven't been that soft in...shit idk. I loved the feeling of accomplishment of not shitting myself or eating shit on the runway. I loved how concerned Mak was of my well-being the entire time because she knows my nerves can only take so much of people's BS. I'm glad it's over, but I'll miss it. That shit is a fucking high. For once, I understood fame. How fucking strange is that.

These are my feelings.

oeufs au plat avec jambon

"Why can't you want something that makes sense?"

On this forgetfully warm day, I wore a t-shirt, a flannel over, and a thick pair of jeans. My regrets are seeping through, one drop of perspiration at a time. I feel better today. Not like yesterday when all I can think was jumping off the balcony, while biting the filter of my cigarette, shivering and shaking from the unexpectedly cool night and weight of my chest falling down my stomach. It was shit, but I'm glad today is different.

Tomorrow, Mikal will do work on head. Specifically my hair. I am both thrilled and anxious because I have had this hair growing for so long that I don't know if I know anything else. But I do know that I want this. I also know not to expect a miraculous shift from it. Maybe it'll be cathartic. Maybe I'll feel alright for the next few days.

But now my stomach is boiling. Must be something I ate. Three bowls of that something I ate.

I once convinced myself that I made up the word 'troubadour.' I don't know how I convinced myself that, but I repeated it to myself for periods of time as my way of ownership. Stupid.

I'm still awfully wasteful with money. And still too lazy to save everything I earn. Lush girl.

horripilation

Wasteful

Hateful

Awful

Mournful

Hurtful

Falafel

12:26am

At this hour, Ace would be buying me Tacobell/Jackinthebox rn. She is the perfect wingman.

~I fell asleep on the couch. It is now 513am, and I'm hanging with the Roses~

It's not worth it. If I hesitate, it's not worth it. If it's for other people, it's not worth it. If it isn't for me, it's not worth it. I don't know how many times I have to get shafted/feel fucking shitty before I finally grasp the idea that it's not fucking worth it. Ever.

Kind of wishing I was in the Black Swan rn. There's no way I could disappoint in there.

"Do you have any advil? Tylenol? A rifle?" -on headaches.

Salt swell.

Lately, my coping mechanism for when I am home alone scared or am crawling around my house late at night or when I'm just have a scaredy pants moment, I think about how there's no reason to be scared because there's nothing paranormal that could happen to me that a human couldn't do worse. Humans can always do worse. Humans are the worst.

I have a sippy cup.

Finally had Umami. I dripped. Had a swell beer.

Nights are made for the brewing of misanthropy and misogyny. I really believe that. I hate myself and I hate everyone.

One day, maybe one day, I'll give in to being happy again. Like I did once before. That moment that changed me after high school. And I was fucking happy man. But I'm stupid so that only lasted a year and some odd months before I wanted to feel terribly again. I might always want to feel terribly.

My bed has not had bedding for a moment now. I really should do something about that tomorrow. Or now. Or never. Whatever.

Everyone is asking me about you.

I really fancy wearing black, sleepwear-looking clothes out for the night. They're comfy and excellent.

Turning red might be what turns me off from drinking shots (apart from the whole alcoholism bullshit and dying brain cells recklessness). I'm fucking dumb. Seriously, how and why am I still alive.

Everyone still asks me about you.

"I hate being around people who are sadder than me." Perfect.

How did I get those noodles?

I fancy that person. I find myself thinking of that person. But I am absolutely terrified of everything.

Six different ways inside my heart. Ye The Cure is coming out with a new album in 2014.

I hate you today. I hate you three times today. I hate you three times a day. This entry is really personal, isn't it? Unless they all are. I can't tell anymore.

Goddamn, I am always embarrassing.

what do you mean you made me a dashboard confessional mixed tape

The Rules of Attraction, a novel by Bret Easton Ellis (of the same author as American Psycho). Turned to film starring Shannyn Sossamon and that fella from Vampire Diaries and that other fella from Dawson's Creek. You will never actually know anyone, ever. Ever. What does that even mean?

waiting for my hair to dry, while my ipod plays on shuffle, and the song that I lost my virginity to begins to play. It was terrible, if you were curious. It was absolutely terrible and I nearly prayed it would end. Not that it was so bad as it was dull and stupid. Dull and stupid sex.

Long hair. Obnoxious, long hair. I might have developed a neck problem. Next week is Mikal's hair show. And I am terrified as fuck of walking down any runway. But on the bright side, hair begone.

A razor.

I nearly hit up Ace today. God damn.

Ran out of eyeliner.

Ye I'll probably miss my hair.

got the big bottle

I bawled everywhere. Like a sick, ugly cry.

My money went to pizza after being daydrunk. Sausage.

Mikal finished Orange Is the New Black. She did it.

We never got a proper family picture. I just wanted a fucking family picture.

That scarf is mine.

Tomorrow is the twins' birthday. We're celebrating with burgers.

When I saw that video, I got a little sad. Sad sads. Mostly from the shattering of a very wishful thinking. "I'm happy for you baby, but I don't wanna know." I was only smitten.

Don't like using the word 'juxtapose.' But sometimes I have to. Mostly because I can be a pretentious fucking mountain.

I don't love you.

I mean it.

Outdoor living room. We are honeycombs. She is a robot. And those guys are only human. They can fuck themselves.

I once knew a guy my age. We were friends. But now he's forty and creepy and desperate and disappointing.

Gen and I went ham to Doin the Knife Fight AND 505. But she had too much malt liquor.

Tits. Everywhere. I FEEL LIKE THERE ARE TITS EVERYWHERE LATELY. And I KNOW I'm an ass man.

I WANNA RUPTURE
I WANNA RUPTURE
I WANNA RUPTURE YOUR JUGULAR.

Bonani.

David, Catherine, and Marita in the Garden of Eden (and their bugatti and bars and beaches and arranged infidelity).

He named his lizard Wild, and he's her babysitter.

There are so many things we didn't get to do.

Someone break my heart. Seriously. Make me swoon over you and then stomp on my shit mercilessly.

I learned I like being bossed around. I'm a submissive masochist. Push me. Choke me. Fucking hurt me. If you push my button enough, I'll fight back (because I ain't no little bitch).

What if I get fired?

We bought Drodan a tiny tiny tiny bottle of Jameson so he can feel like a giant.

Luke dreamt about brother Jake dying and he help the dude dispose of the body. And he cried.

"She's going to come back," said my mother, as her way of saying man the fuck up.

Sof is tryna wax my vagina. She prolly just tryna see my vagina. But I'm shy and I ain't no vaginal-exposure ho. Damn.

I was pretty pissed about it, but now I'm glad it happened. Otherwise today wouldn't have happened and I would've had to be an adult. We all would've. But I got to be a baby. A huge fucking infant.

i'm dizzy and i don't love you i mean it.

must reevaluate life decisions

I'm tired of shitting.

The entire left side of my body smells like couch-butt and stale smoked weed. The right side smells like my sweet, sweet natural element.

Your loose jokes are inspired by the movie Mr. Mom, therefore your loose sense of humor is obvious and dry.

More than half of all my nights, I have no recollection of the shit I'd done and/or shit that occurred. Maybe that's why I can't write right.

I was informed that I punched a fella in the face the other night. That I wish I can remember.

Waterbeds inside bars make me focus on how much semen/vomit I must be sitting on. It smelled pungently like sugary semen slobber. Everywhere.

I saw a cute girl last night. But I'm a pussy so I'll always only see cute girls and never speak to them.

Must be a devil between us.

Dental dams. What is up with dental dams? Face condom.

"I will suffocate you with my asshole."

I really do love shitting.

head hurt

"Hi did you make it out of that bathroom?"

I didn't shower from hottubbing the night before. Now I'm at work with a very very very v v v minor hangover. I think? I'll get caught napping at work one day and I'll get fired and things will get weird.

Vagger plucked my armpits last night as one of her murky whims.  I could barely put deodorant on this morning. But it's alright because after the torture, I rewarded myself with a cream-filled... ... ...donut. 

I get annoyed of people and shit but I probably annoy myself the most (granted the whole self-loathing bullshit and all). Sometimes I think about shaking myself/slapping myself across the face. But as bad as that gets, Pinoys still trump that level of annoyance. Fucking Pinoys.

Sleep paralysis.

Tired.

I'll make pizza.

3:54am

Happy birthday kern.

The apartments recognize when we're colonizing the hot tubs at that one apartment. I nearly slept in my underwear in which I hottubbed/pissed in. I'm drunk. I have work in two and a half hours. I hate it all.

Luke is one of my most trusted people. I realized.

I have half a 40 left, and I'll take it down so I can sleep.

My buddy and I have a time limit as to when our separation anxieties kick in. My one and only softy.

Don't read this, but seriously, when my bro leaves, I'll be fucking insane and dull again. Over-looking her slander, she would never let me make-out with hurt hoes. I know that much.

It's four in the morning.

I'm feeling filthy as usual.

But happy birthday kern.

burst

Coffee piss.
"Hi, I hope you're alive..." She was always sweet to me.
I've been questioning the structures of simple words lately. Very simple, commonly-used words are starting to become alien to me. Like I'd never seen them before. Like I have the yips. Like choking.
I once made Naj list who she thought were the most attractive people in our first semester nursing class. She used a yellow highlighter, and I think she felt bad about it after. She also used to tease me about my embarrassing crush for some married angel babe with red hair. I'm really just embarrassing. But I really just miss dat dude.
Salt is making me swell up. Salt and beer and being a turd.
Po boy.
My belly is a very large drum. Like I'm critically competitive of my father's large belly. Would I still have friends if I was bulimic?
[insert nervous breakdown]
I thought about that guy I was shoving and shoved me back.
Sometimes things are alright. Very brief, few, and far between.
I know of a man named Mr. Boop, and he said something harmless and alarming to me.
Darlin', your head's not right.

correlate

Don't change that fucking song.

I started to get sad about it. All of it. This fling we're all having with each other.

Death dreams.

Slam piece.

Crazy Eyes.

There's officially no more virgins in the family. We're all a bunch of whores. Whores in America. Good thing we're not dating inside the family. But then again we're not a pack of Asians.

I get cocky about my friends. And I'm proud that none of us have STD's.

(Keep it in the family).

Purchase an 'I love my boyfriend' shirt to ward off the dykes. A great advice. Except I love the dykes and I hate all my boyfriends. All of them. All hundreds of them.

I'm sorry about your netflix...

Thought about edging and considered giving it a go. But then I thought about how pissed it would make me, so instead I took a piss and stopped myself before the last trickles. Close enough.

Pissing while standing up is very relative to touching myself. And that's really alright.

Just friends.

Rose and Rosie.

Mom and Dad.

Egg rolls and burritos.

Self-induced/self-indulging perversity.

I think I need new glasses.

Bomb ass pussy.

lacerate

I surrender to the shit.
Vagger wants me to eventually get married. She can't get over my past relationship.
I tried to sing like Alex Turner the other day. The mere impersonation made me feel ten times more of an asshole.
Soft serve days only lasts so long until I solidify into shithead again.
Yes, I do want to be heart broken. Ace gets it.
Caffeine. Nicotine. Adderall. Alcohol.
Explosive diarrhea.
I'm aspiring to be a spider's girlfriend.
Das found my ipod. No. Drodan found my ipod. Das hasn't given it back, and it's making me tick.
Why is farting not OK? -"Because it smells."
I was brushing my teeth the other night, and Mikal walked in, sat on the toilet, put on my brother's glasses, then sang to me "Remix to Ignition." Swell as hell.
I'm waiting for cancer. Is that unforgivably terrible?
The twins are homophobes. But if I ever go steady with a girl, I'm sure they'd be real nice.
Ace's slander is still haunting me. I don't ever want to be recorded by sleezebags while making out with girls. But shit, that bitch got me good. Hats off to you, dude.
I might be over DailyGrace. Maybe.
My mother and I have the same taste in socks.
Should I test out the waters of sobriety? I'm afraid I'll be constantly bitter. Na. Not yet.
"What do you want to eat?"
I hope my biological clock won't try and fight me. I'm not tryna push out puppies.
Die alone.
"When you're having a good day, just remember... There's only one to a coffin." -Vagger.

I'm a lush

and my brain cells might be dying with me.

Brain dead. Life dead. Dead. You'd like to be a dead ...what? That's stupid.

My buddy

turns 21 soon
21 soon
21 soon
21
soon.

I am delighted
because I am alcoholic.

pray and swear

For as long as I can remember, Ipods have been passed down to me. Like charity case. The very first time was when Mich let me have her ipod. I didn't understand ipods then. The little shit frustrated me. So I gave it away to Aiz. After that I had a mini series of my past boyfriends giving me their ipods. Dean let me have a hold of two. And Adrian just passed one over my way. After those relationships crashed and burned, I was always left with a petty break-up and a lack of an ipod. That's up until I fused my existence with Mak and she lovingly gave me her ipod because God knows she earned herself a new one that week I'd received it. It took me about four years till I perfected and entirely filled that ipod. YEAH I'M STILL MOURNING. But now that I have stupidly lost that beautiful little shit, I have just been passed another ipod (for temporary purposes). But for the love of God, I will purchase my own ipod in the next few months and pour my blood into it, if it kills me. I'm sure I'll go nuts with 160gb and it'll be more beautiful than ever before.... ......... ... .. .. . .. . . . . .. . . .....maybe....

(These passed entries [along with my period of mourning] opened my eyes to the mere fact that I am a little bit obsessive about certain things). 

I'm watching Scrubs till my eyes bleed, recalling all my major moment of failures in life.

Sorry baby

You just stir up my wild mood swings.

That's all.

These bitches,

I realize (not that I've never realized), are the root of my misogynistic inclination. I could rip my own ears off. Or punish my eyeballs with a freshly lit cigarette. Or simply, pull my fucking hair right off my fucking scalp. I better quit before my back snaps in two, bending for these bitches.

This is stranger than I thought.

i'm so sick of these sketches falling all over my floor. it's like stubbing my toes.

R.I.P. stuff

JS KILT DA CLUB

I'd like to dedicate this moment to acknowledge all that I have loved and lost. To all the things I attached myself to, poured my guts and butts to, and loved with all that I am. 

1. My adventure shoes. I lost them at Yosemite. Well technically I didn't lose them. I left them. After I jumped off the cliff at Rainbow Pool with Ace, we went back to the car to get changed. I was drying out so I took off my shoesies just outside my door. Ye we drove away and I didn't realize I left them until we were at some Mexican restaurant. By the time I realized, I was near in tears and I didn't even eat my food. I just looked down at my hands and...ye. It was weird. RIP little babies. They were the best shoes I'd ever loved. 

2. Secondly, and obviously a very fresh wound, my ipod. I literally just went through my entire blog (nearly [which also made me feel even shittier because I'm starting to get the idea that I was a better person before??]) just so I can find a picture of my ipod. I don't really know what to say. This one's really got me down. I'm pretty sure I lost it before or after I threw up on a bush in front of my parent's house. Ye I was just too drunk to handle my shit. I also lost a new pack of cigarettes withhhh my ipod. I've been home for four days, sulking, because of this. help. 

3. And lastly, for now (as far as I can remember), this cargo jacket. It's not mine. And I'm almost positive I didn't lose this. Vaggy keeps blaming me anyway but I really wanted to wear it often enough so that it could be mine. I'm not that torn up about it. But it still haunts me. Not much, but enough for it to make it to my list. Ye this is getting weird. I need to stop. 

I'm starting to have nightmares about my ipod. Man I am really in a bad way nowadays. Fucked up as fuck.

The loss of my ipod actually resulted in the onset of a new bout of depression. I haven't been this way since the failure of my attempt at a hopeless nursing career. I suppose I never really recovered. From any of it.

I just miss my ipod. It was the one thing I could unfailingly count on. Sad face of a small face for days.

Sick of it. Sick of me.

bitches i'd fight

aka my buddies.