blubbering day dream

the amount of times i think about when thanksgiving will bless me with its presence is inappropriately maniacal. i am constantly thinking about thanksgiving. i am constantly thinking about mashed potatoes. i am constantly craving a transient day in which i inundate my existence with massive amounts of food. there is nothing in life more fulfilling than immersing yourself in said things. find me impregnated by juicy pieces of turkey. find me drenched in soup. find me suffocating in mashed potatoes and gravy. fucking find my plunging my person into a vat of starch and carbohydrates. it's nine twelve in the morning and thanksgiving is making me question my sexuality. 

dated march thirty-first, marks the continuity of an eight-month thirst

my life in a youtube video

i'd been spending a lot of time on the internet. who'da thunk it.
i've made a soupy mess.

regret number two

that baconator. don't get a baconator. when you're wasted as hell, don't order fast food. let your face be red. let your face be wasted. don't order a baconator. unless it's mouthful tales, it's not worth it. 

good night everyone. 

unamused

I just realized how relentlessly my homophobic grandmother insists every single one of my guy friends could end up with me. She's not having it man, and I want to set my house on fire.

Is it such a tough request not to be bothered? I wanna start a band and name us Upset. Just a bunch of upset people in an upset band pleading not to be bothered.

Still out of coffee. My day is off. 

me as a teenage boy

i tried to sleep in, but my room is too clean for it

10:12 am

my bedroom

it poured out this morning. maybe last night, i can't say. but the sprinklers are on and i have fifty on it that if my sister saw it, she would've bitched about the drought again. she keeps bitching about the drought. she doesn't do laundry for inconvenient amounts of time because of the drought. she really wants people to care. classic. 

frederick, i'd like to have my coffee now. we're out of coffee. nonsense. you'll just have to run to the store and fetch some more. 

all of a sudden, i am very aware of how out of touch i am with reality. the majority's reality. not my reality. my reality is a fucking dream. my reality is a hellish dream where i feel i have a chance to be truly myself. and by truly i mean lethargic, unreliable, unresponsive, perverse, irrational, and inebriated. i fantasize about the absolute contentment and satisfaction of doing and being literally nothing. about being a passing thought. the kind that glimpses then evaporates. at this very moment, what i wish to be is time. i wish my existence was time. i wouldn't need a human vessel because i wouldn't be human. i'd be an idea. humans measure me with clocks and watches. i would dictate their very lives without being held responsible. blame game can catch me if it can. also, i'd present a very false understanding of my existence. i am not linear, but you'll sure live your life accordingly. i would be of the essence and you will have regrets. if anything, the devil might just be disguised as our concept of time. what a brilliant fucking joy. i commend it. 

catch me sweatin in a snapback lately

swim through the crowd for me

be quiet lowlives

stop talking

s/o to kern

rip charlie that cute dude

And I shot the story because I didn't hear it that way

And it's hard to be a human being
And it's harder as anything else
And I'm lonesome when you're around
And I'm never lonesome when I'm by myself

And I miss you when you're around

i never really want to be awake, sober, or alive

water

sexual tension turned me into the devil.

monogamy

if someone doesn't hold her hand, she might lose her mind. i thought it was terrible of me to think, but what's even more terrible is how well it rings true to me. 

maybe i'd just been alone too long. i might've forgotten what it's like to have someone look at me with the way they feel. i always say i'm bitter. bitch i might be, but i really don't think so. soft is rough and i'm not tough enough for it. i don't need anyone holding my hand just like how i don't need to practice a religion. those aren't the things i need, and i don't know the things i want. 

to be perfectly honest, i started to perceive monogamy as such concepts: regular sex and a possibly false sense of security from solitude. from my own experiences, being with someone has had me very lost in a very creamy sauce (no pun intended [maybe]). i was all cravings and all needs and i screeched them out like nothing short of a brat. i'd like to say i never understood what it meant to be in a relationship, unless how i perceive it is really how it is. if i may, i'd classify myself only ever being in one relationship that could've been the kind of something that everybody likes to smile about. the kind that people like to know about. the kind that meant something, or whatever you want that to mean. just don't get me started on love, please. i'm not belittling my past, i just have very little faith in myself in that way. i feel better when i'm alone, nested in my twenty-two year old cave, self-soothing. that's what i always lose in relationships, the capability to self-soothe. i begin to nurse this expectation of being saved or pardoned or carried or tended by the person i'm with, when in reality, i will still always be responsible for myself. i loathed that about myself. 

don't mistaken me for someone who thinks that relationships are stupid. succinctly, my point is that they're not for me. not now, maybe later. maybe when i find God. if i find God. got twenty on it i won't though. some people are meant to hold hands. i'm sure one of these days, i'll try to hold someone's hand again, but for now, i'll just stick my hands down my pants and shrug. 

embarrassing admission

ever since our first trip to portland, i'd been stuck on this album. stuck worse than i was on AM. that passed. this hasn't. i just don't give a fuck ok? so into you by tamia featuring fabolous

pouring portland

Why can't you indent? I want to indent. 

We arrived in Portland around two in the afternoon. I felt sick with caffeine and rotten with snacks. My stomach wailed. Jawsh and Isaac bought food from the pods. I watched them eat. Tried not to. We were so dead we went back to our room and decide to take it easy. Spent about an hour looking for a liquor store (very stupid kids). Isaac and I got wasted. Jaws played fucking League of fucking Legends and tried to distract us by letting us reign room service. First rule in Portland: NO LAYING DOWN TILL NINE PM. I jumped on the beds. "Who jumps on beds anymore?" "I do," I responded. Had the worst Chardonnay in the world. Tasted like the swamp. But I'm almost certain I was pretty-face plastered. I hate Plaid Pantry. Do you understand? Isaac and I passed--died--crossed the other side at exactly eight fifty-eight, if I remember correctly. I woke up in the wrong bed at one in the morning. Tried to go back to sleep, but it was dark and they were snoring, and I was starving. I took a shit while taking a call with Mikal. My phone died so I sat in the dark on the desk that I claimed my office. For a while, I watched them sleep. Not as creepy as you imagine, probably. Then I watched the rain a while. Then I found a bag of popcorn and tried to eat as quietly as I could--I failed. Finally went back to sleep around four maybe five. I had a nightmare about a fucker named Dennis Demure. If I ever meet a Dennis Demure, I swear I'll find a way to have my hands around his fucking throat. Watch him bleed. Lick the blood from my fingertips. Then I'll gradually start killing my friends... I digress... 

I won't delve into all the details of the rest of the trip, because what kind of a shitty blogger would I be if I committed to sharing all the damn details? I need my mystique. I need to choke on a damn mystique. 

covers on covers on covers

original

cover

 

cover of the cover

 

__________________________________________

original

cover

cover of the cover 

buddy

beers for years

I found a place I really like here. Somewhere I wasn't so uneasy. I wake up bored and uncomfortable every day of my life, then proceed to being bored and uncomfortable the rest of the day. Today wasn't so bad. I just had to get up.

You're away and all, but I heard that you said you gotta water your grass. It made me less sad about stupid things. I nodded my head in very sudden agreement. How optimistic of me, I thought. Bad ass. ITH. Damn I feel alright 

im in Portland

im in Portland. 

vggr's poo gays

she's been into dreamy shit,
pretty sounds and shit
maybe she'll never be into dissonance,
but at least she's got the right taste to fine tune me

thursday still chipper

no one has come in to bother me (and bad as hell, i've left my door unlocked)


i should probably ride my bike.

i'm awake but i'm not up

i had a good dream. good enough to be content when i woke up.
i need a road trip. that's what i need.



here

this isn't shoegaze--this is suicide

that new hell smell

and so my flesh continues to rot inside the walls of my bedroom...

today's top story

i spent about an hour peering out my blinds every two minutes at seven pm, checking to see if my burrito has arrived. forced my blood relative to buy me chipotle. i think she feels sorry for me. which is why my requests nowadays are typically granted. shit, i'd feel sorry for me too. in that really sad, pathetic as fuck way. it's hilarious because i am in such a chipper mood. mostly because i also think i am pathetic as fuck, to the point of it being ridiculously comical that i just can't help but laugh. what a cheery mood. unfortunately, i do this almost every year now. february rolls around and i redeem my hermit permit. it gets people worried, but not quite enough. i lose a lot of touch with people. i text roughly three people on occasion, when i'm not too caught up in a tv marathon or analyzing all these fucking songs in my ipod, or sketching a picture that i like, or writing sarcastic entries in my journals, or HAIKUS. my god, i live such a brilliant life. personal hygiene is still right outside my door. i'm thinking it's time i stop boycotting showers because i'm really getting dizzy sitting here with myself. 

me at eight in the morning: you getting up today?

me: probably not.

me: alright, go back to bed you. sleep tight ;)

me at noon: you sure you're not getting up? 

me: ye i think so.

me: alright, back to bed you :*

me at three pm: bad fucking dream man. i might be hungry.

me: it's alright, you're not hungry. maybe just a little tired. maybe a nap?

me: you're probably right, see you for dinner maybe?

me: sure thing, sweet dreams 

me at six pm: orgy nightmares. what the fuck. 

me: have a burrito.

me: thanks. 

me: eat up, you've got a long night ahead of you.

*chain smoke, smoke weed, chug beers all night*

*repeat*

self-soothing

-empty the contents of my bag, scatter them on my bed and toss away the empty bag onto the floor
-lay out blanket or beach towel on my floor, scatter charcoal sticks and drawing pads
-step on my belongings
-the sound of locking my door
-remember to put on headphones (on loud), to ease the death of an auxiliary cord
-watch videos of live performances (trash talk/enjoy)
-shotgun bottled beers (heh)
-sipping
-fetal positions
-force nap

everybody's talking 'bout the stormy weather

every time i listen to daydream nation, i am reminded of how i'd like to be a little bit younger. (probably just so i could feel like my behavior is excusable, or something stupid like that).

romantic as hell night, it's even raining outside

jesus.

here

indoor hats and outdoor hats

casualties of the day:

eventfulness
sustenance
recreational involvement
personal hygiene
my auxiliary cord
the aux input on my record player
my entire day + night
some self-respect
"time"

ok well

more pthtc

the only commitment i respect is the one i have with my room. it takes a magnificent amount of energy and willingness to leave my small space. i'm very boring and despondent and unappealingly lifeless. i went out last night. stared at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. for some reason, i tried to recognize a face that i forget no longer associates with me. my face widened and stretched to find the same lines it had before. i tried to make my eyes the way they were before. but for the inappropriate amount of time that i molded and sculped my face in the bathroom, i couldn't find the expressions i was looking for. then i remembered i'm different. i remembered i don't know how to be what ever it was i was looking for. devoided of my own reflection (the one i thought i had), i exited without pissing. 

i bet i'll die with my head down. i used to joke that if i die in a car accident, i'll be found dead with my chin dug into my chest, focused on my ipod, or something.

brightside: at least i'm not addicted to heroin.

here, watch this.

deadbeat winter

deadbeat spring
deadbeat you get it

I'm just such a hard worker

*bodyroll*
*flesh rots*