do you know anyone who can pull off saying the word sexy

summer blood is kind of..


maybe if you're sprung

maybe if i was sprung, i would play this song on loop
for now i can just front

this five am

this is five am when i'm breathing heavily, three lumpy pillows imitating the curvature of my spine
this is five ten when i tell myself a sordid story i'd forgotten about because i'd forced myself to forget about
five fifteen when i say my own name aloud just to see if i'd respond
five thirty i'll bend down a blind and squint to what i'll harass a creepy morning
and then i'll remember that i'm the creepy morning behind the blinds, peering out
i won't sleep until i hear another person wake up
because nothing puts me to sleep like the sound of someone else resuming awake

maxine, who are your friends

max
hey max

me ft. the soul sucking nap

i like my mind more than i like the world, but i keep letting the world dictate how i feel about my mind. i like my mind. i like it in here. if i could, i'd hole away until my body is dead. i am a fearful spec of a creature. i apologize to my mind for not letting it have the life that it has always wanted and deserved. i apologize to my mind for all the holes and gaps i'd given it. 

i'm a cold salsa

i'm a hot salsa

i am all salsa and i am stuck in the fridge 

(let's play a game

am i drunk

high

or dramatic?

each entry is different. 

all of the above and none of the above are valid guesses)

jump ropes and multiple orrrrrrrrrrr...

dipping my feet in my most androgynous experience yet. when did i get so into neck ties? and bow ties. and goddamn snap backs that keep finding their way back on my head. i am very comfortable this way. be eternally grateful for being sexually fluid (is there a pun there? there's a pun there probably).

androgynous mind, hey hey it's ok

i feel like a born again creature. recently, i'd been receiving an influx of the same question: which sex with which gender do i prefer more. the answer is so boring, i won't even get into it. guess though.

jaws and i have been texting back and forth about porn stars all day, which contributed to my face to face conversations for the night. he knows so many porn stars. thank jaws for opening my eyes to a few asian actresses, as dashua had put it. i'd been very steady on avoiding asian porn stars, i don't know why.  it's been an excellent night.

i'm going through a minor nipple analysis obsession lately. it'll pass. it should.

i might be incapable of casual sex. i think i might be only into coming when paired with feelings and whatnot. i won't test that suspicion, for fear of all human interaction, at the moment. and also sexually transmitted diseases, roofies, and the ever timeless, pregnancy. \

this entry took a very personal turn. it's only personal because i decided to bring details into the concept of sex. is it always so private? i'm the most secretive person i know, who the fuck do i think i am going on about what's private?

i need to fucking relax for a minute or two. 

how gay is too gay?

gay in the morning
gay while asleep through the day
gayest in the night

(that's the most unintentional haiku i'd ever produced, i'm beaming)

Mildred Pierce

swell friday

i don't like that

i get real friendly with most words. but some of them just taste terrible to me. some so terrible that i can't bring myself to ever use. some i can't avoid using no matter

blog/vlog - i just hate it
lesbian - sounds severe and fatal (still helplessly wishing i was one though)
moded - i fucking hate it.
courageous
stable
apple
milk
juice (groceries, ugh)
crazy
awesome
angel
angelic
evangelic
feel
juxtaposition (i intently used this word in a conversation once and i had never felt like a bigger douche cunt)
love (specifically as a term of endearment, it's gay)
rockstar (just lol)
sonic (i love sonic youth, but damn i hate that word)
super (are you kidding me, grow up)
canker (just lol)
poignant
guns .....n
roses (SHUT UP)
heartbreak (be quiet little girl)
ache (ew)
quiver
classic
classically
toxic
rawr (always gross, stupid stupid gross, not even a word)
random



some cool words

spit
crawl
kneel
flesh
whimper (partial to most graphic words)
leg
indelible
length
mouth
slither
writhe (harsh 'th' sounds are wet)
dispel
expel
goddess
gay (i like gay. it's simpler)
moist (i don't have a problem with it. the more i hear someone gripe about it, the more i like it)
vermouth
wring
spent (specifically meaning tired)
post-coital
squirm
sick
boogie (let's get down)
IDIOT
limp
drool
vandalism

formidable 

lessen

nocturnal emission (two words, whatever)

upset

murmur 

lousy 

SCOUNDREL (obviously)

i'm going to end this before i pull out a dictionary and categorize all the words based on my preference. 

this is a stupid one. this is what i end up doing when everyday is a saturday. SHRUG.

boiling two eggs this morning

it's been a terrible realization how intimate i find kitchens to be. i'm teetering the point of an inability to be in a kitchen with another human being. that's a lie. i'm not teetering. i listen closely from my bedroom till i can assure myself that the kitchen is vacant. i'm locked in my room right now unable to return to making my breakfast because the kitchen is momentarily occupied. 

i'm not squirming, however, i'd just like to slither back to the kitchen soon to claim my breakfast. 

i could do without

here i am, absolutely engulfed by my own trepidation as to who replaced the toilet paper in the bathroom. as far as i'm concerned, i am in charge of replacing empty rolls of toiler paper. ferna comes home for the weekend, the scary stories are shared, and i piss on my toilet paranoid as to who had replaced the goddamn toilet paper. from 1 to DAMN BRUH, how paranoid am i being? i walked back out of my backyard and everyone crowding around the fire were paying too close attention to a baby crying next door. mind that before i had gone inside to piss, we were discussing crying babies and scratching on doors. (i'd just recently gotten accustomed to my own fears of the supernatural. bare with me. BEARS).  

again, my mind reels. 

i turn here now to declare my infuriating need for solitude. it's not until i surround myself with other human beings that i realize how terribly i need my time to be alone. while listening to my friends discuss and converse and share, all i could occupy myself with was the immutable urge to lock myself in my bedroom and mind my own business. not that i detested the company, i just wanted my mind to myself. i didn't want the pressure of sharing my opinions or my sidebar comments. i just wanted me, to myself, intently listening in on the thoughts that wrap me up till five in the morning. i just feel better when it's quiet or i'm alone. is this age? no, fuck that simplicity. this is just preference. the noise i like is the noise i make for my own enjoyment. 

a lot of things have changed. 

my body rejects most everything

if abstained long enough, my body can't hang. just because i've clung on to my alcoholic tendencies, doesn't mean my body has made peace with it. if i binge drink after three days without it, catch me with my head down, dead to the world. swearing or yacking, stumbling through unreality. cigarettes, caffeine, and red meat follow under the same category. all the things that i love to ingest into my person, i have to fight my way through their unforgiving repercussions. the first time i started hooking myself on high doses of caffeine, my gag reflex would start knocking. i get the shakes and the wild eyes. my stomach would flip, and i'd fight the urge not to throw up. (ie. right now. i'd stopped drinking black coffee again for some time now. i just picked up black tea to keep me afloat and even that caffeine intake is overwhelming. in short, i am literally gagging as i compose this entry). the first time i picked up smoking, my nicotine tolerance was so low that smoking before class meant that i'd have to spend at least ten minutes in the parking lot with my head between my knees. the light-headed onslaught of nausea and regret would inhibit me, quite literally, to the ground. i may have actually thrown up a few times. it took my body quite some time to get used to it, but eventually it did. if i take a week off smoking nowadays, it's guaranteed i'll feel the faint warning of light-headedness once i take my next drag. i'm trying my best here with alcohol. god knows i'd been running amok with my shit. (a big thank you and fuck you to san francisco, as always, for prying my eyes open the morning after every wreckage). i am not making a sweeping declaration. beercules will not make vows. I AM TRYING, FOR THE LOVE OF P...nevermind.  in summation, goddamnit, i'd been realizing lately, with this very clear state of mind, that i had forgotten how alright i am with not being chemically tampered or altered. my reliance relies on none of all my vices. i was julius caesar once. i am julius caesar always. until you assassinate me. 

sick of puking sick of repressing sick of swearing sick of stumbling sick of regretting sick of shamelessness sick of embarrassments sick of me and sick of you 

be better than the gap. 

dry, with a broken neck

suicides in parking lots
collar on collar
stupid socks
hair always unsatisfyingly long
letters are creepy
creepy letters
creepy, romantic letters from a pervy, charming idiot
artichoke
cut me up
can't swallow right
spit or swallow
or sip

you're welcome for my reeling thoughts

nervous ticks and a hat

i need a new computer desk. mine is miniature and unsteady. it's not a computer desk at all. it's just a pathetic piece of furniture with legs made of toothpicks and table surface made of index cards. it squeaks with every movement i make. 

artificial flavored cherries are disgusting. but i like real cherries. i like choking on cherries and cherry seeds. artificial flavored grapes are great though. 

my hair always gets caught between the hinges of my glasses and every time i have to rip my hair off, i get a small squirt of irritation. 

ok. well this was fun. 

let me dip

sometimes you wake up on average mood and stride across your house hoping to find peace in snacks. you gather your ingredients. sometimes a smile stretches on your tired face. you think "even though this salsa sucks, we'll have a great time." but then you turn your body towards disappointment and find that someone had finished all the chips. you stare at nothing in particular with your head tilting down in front of you. maybe pout at the ingredients you'd collected, trying not to glance at the mirror near you. then as inevitability would have it, you replace the ingredients back, and return to your bedroom with a glass of tang. sip at it for a few seconds while deliberating how you actually feel about tang. then put on your mildly inconveniently-sized headphones and listen to some dsbm to ease your dissatisfaction.

then you come across these italian fucks again and it's like they really understand your chip/dip dissatisfaction.

if you didn't wanna boogie till we're drenched, you should've said something

i had this dream about attending a baby shower for a venus fly trap. it was open bar and i got down with every girl there. then they brought out the strippers and it suddenly became my birthday bash. i don't remember who brought them, but four girls danced around me as i sweat profusely. two of them were of average moves and face. one of them was a maney bitch with below average face. the last one was my girl and i'm pretty sure she fell in love with me. she broke my shit bad and i groaned in agonized infatuation. i wanted to take her home, but the venus fly trap began to die, and the party turned into a somber pre-funeral show. the strippers disappeared and everyone ignored the open bar. the fly trap gasped its final breath... then the fucking thing came back to life. 

i'm really sorry about the dream sharing, after endlessly saying what a bore it is to do.

but here, get down to this

we tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends

this is not me losing my mind.

this is not me losing my mind.

i am not a frog.

this is not me losing my mind.

this is not about me.

or you.

the end goal is to go through an entire day with out wanting to kill yourself.

the end goal is for this not to have to be a goal anymore.

this is not me losing my mind.

this is me remembering this.

i shuddered till my muscles turned white and my head ached in a helpless way. i shuddered and my voice quivered and i didn't close my eyes. i shuddered and i sobbed and i said the things i'd always needed to say. i said "i don't know" too much, but i think she understood it. the traffic seemed inappropriate for someone frantic to breathe. "san francisco is not the place to freak out." san francisco exhausted me of what i had left. the alarms wailed and i couldn't close my eyes. i placed my hand on her shoulder till my muscles turned white and my grip ached in a helpless way. i shuddered and i gagged. i shuddered and my voice steadied at the right words. i began to laugh because it was hilarious. i merged my laugh with another sob, wedged in another laughter, and i wasn't sure which one i was actually doing anymore. it was the longest drive home i'd ever needed. it was the longest drive with my hand clutched on her shoulder all the way through. this is not me losing my mind. this is me remembering this. i was very tired and my mind cleared itself in a helpless way. this is not self-pity and this is not self-loathing. this is me remembering this. this is me as someone i could be. this is me not slurring. i talked precisely and certainly and aimlessly. i enunciated every letter with a profound voice. i am not losing my mind. i shuddered and i was honest about what i needed. this is not

me

losing 

my 

mind. 

for all the lovers out there

dry hump to this shit
god bless your bliss

shit man, my bad, am i projecting again?

i project at my truest form when i start to run my dry erase markers dry and when i stick crudely-noted post-its everywhere. or when i talk shit about no one in particular on pieces of paper or used napkins. or when i binge on downloading music from sketchy sites which are probably equivalent to dark, dirty hooker alleys. or when i make coffee simply to decorate my room with. or when i write tasteless haikus on everything. or when i deliberate tasteless haikus in my head and burn it in there. or when i sink into reliving the shit storms of all spaghetti girls. or when i try to define my life in my head. 

i should do improv. 

s/o to and lol @ mother's day feat. dad

on mother's day, my father single-handedly destroyed our celebratory dinner. our family is commonly known for our dinners, and the last few years, vagger has been taking over the cooking. this year, my mother's request was a very tasteful pasta dinner with vagger's trademark zuppa toscana. mind this, my father does not get down with pasta. my father doesn't even get down with cheese. as jerk of the year, my father was an hour late to the dinner because he decided to take a very long shower. also mind my sister's short fuse box, she was already losing it just waiting to finally eat. so we all sat down the table. my father, idiot of the night (i'm talkin' foot in mouth, salivating ass hat qualities) decided to power through the pasta dinner by complimenting my sister's creations with sheer sarcasm. every ten seconds--zero exaggeration--he would comment on how delicious the food was. and how he could eat this shit every day if he made it. for style and all around swagger, he'd change things up and ask her about the recipe and the ingredients whilst throwing in another fucked up compliment. she rolled her eyes and told him he was annoying and that from that night on, he was no longer invited to her dinners. i couldn't even look up the table to put a picture how tense the dinner was. i slammed my head down on my plate and ate like i was somewhere else. i felt like i could've broken my neck, wishing i'd dissolved into my seat. the best i could manage was telling him he was getting himself into severe trouble. she retorted with terse, snide comments such as "why don't you just eat at China Express." i laughed at that one, nervously. but conclusively, she topped her exit with a very controlled "shut the fuck up" and "you are so annoying." then she ran upstairs and i was left to deal with the wreckage of the dinner table. everybody left as soon as they'd finished eating because who the fuck wants to soak in that strangling dinner. it was my mother, my father, my grandmother, and me left on the table. i would've left but i didn't want to leave my mom. i saw her shoot him a very stern look. a look that i rarely see her give. the glory of the moment, i went to the fridge, popped a beer, sucked on it till i was numb, and sat back on the table. if you think my father had stopped talking after the chef's wince-worthy exit, think again. he ran his mouth until my grandmother started cleaning up the plates and doing the dishes. he ran his mouth even after i finally went upstairs and saw that vagger had been crying. his sarcasm did not once surrender. he dug his hole, kept digging, then took a nap in it with a smile on his face. it had been, by far, the dinner that will go down in history (in my history as i'm sure nobody wants to remember that fatherly fiasco). 

epilogue

my mother requested a photo after the meal. my sister was still upstairs hating my dad. she denied the request until i told her that it was for our mother. i told her to clean up her face and steady herself for one photo, so she did. the weight of the air never faltered. the blinking of the self-timer pressed on every second on the clock. after four shutter clicks of our wooden smiles, we all dispersed away from each other and i continued to have an affair with my beer. then my mother, that sweet woman, threw in another request for us to all go bowling. it was almost amazing to believe the kind of composure my sister had to manage. she rejected the request, at first, but ultimately gave in because IT'S NOT FATHER'S DAY, DAD. so we went to bowl. some of the tension stayed at home, but not entirely. also mind that beside my brother, my father's favorite is my sister. since he got the boot of the night, he tried his very best to get on my good side. he even went so far as asking if i wanted a beer. we went to the bar. he bought me a beer. he bought himself a beer. and he bought himself a shot. this was our coping mechanism of the night. bowling awkwardly while feigning celebratory enthusiasm with intermittent bar trips. 

IT WASN'T FATHER'S DAY, DAD.

hats off for being an unapologetic asshole

ps. thinking back, it was a really good time (for me)

pps. i am my dad

very rare to medium but never well

nobody has ever been worth the pain

a crippling belief i can't expel

idiot friends

happy butt day matthew scorsese 

we, the idiots, violated an entire party

our one friend, the idiot, violated asses and tits at the party

my one friend, an idiot, took a power nap for an hour

my two friends, the idiots, decided to be the comeback

our one friend, the idiot, earned the vintage punishment of dick tats for passing out early

myself, an idiot, wrote 'idiot' on the back of the idiot's favorite shirt

my one friend, that idiot, got locked out of the house when everyone passed out

our birthday friend, that idiot, violated us in the morning by greeting us with his bulge

we, the idiots, had hungover breakfast burritos then violated the beach 

just a bunch of fucking idiots being idiots 

daddy's home

grab daddy a beer 

my bulge is expressionless so don't misconstrue

no rinse. repeat.

you know the drill.
this is the drill.
drill pickle.

the second of may marked twenty five years since the release of this album. this is the item i'd grab if my house was burning down. ace is a god for giving me this record. it was her first purchase in paris. she walked everywhere with it. 

i'll go cry now. 

cope, you fucking idiot cunt

fucking cope before you pass out from your own self-righteous fumes

"i'm happy for you baby, but i won't want to know" 

woolf vs plath

fill my pocket with stones, stroll to a nearby river, and drown myself

or

seal my kitchen, blast carbon monoxide, and place my head in the oven 

?

they both look like people i know. 

but apparently, i can't respect a female author unless she's already killed herself. don't ever quote me on that. (no one ever quotes me on anything, btw). i'm variably sick in the head. i've been daydreaming about being a satirical thespian, alright?  i've been thinking about getting people to convulse in sheer amusement. choke in hilarity. or just kill 'em dead. but consider my lack in any form of comedic focus. i'm not very funny. i will make you laugh anyway (most likely due to my threatening undertones of murdering you and/or myself if you don't laugh [or you just truly feel sorry for me]). why am i not getting paid for all my artful and free form entertainment? i should be getting paid for my words. or no. nah. this is not a voice to be heard nor is it a voice to stand on its own. 

my sporadic and astonishing self-confidence vs. my consistent and comfortable self-deprecation 

can you handle it? 

can 

you 

handle

it 

track 14 of Confessions, album by artist Usher, 2004  

i tried to flush my mother's shirt down the toilet

but you've probably already guessed that i couldn't recall a damn thing.

i awoke to a text from vggr telling me that our father questioned her that morning as to why i tried to flush my mother's shirt down to toilet. she asked me why i did it. then i asked her if she really expected me to know the answer. that same day, i woke up to my bedroom floor scattered with pieces of paper towels. i slept till seven pm because i was still drunk at three pm. around nine, my mother entered my bedroom and sternly asked me why i tried to flush her shirt down the toilet. i froze because i didn't have the nerve to say i was too blacked out to know the reason of my action. 

why the fuck did i try to flush my mother's shirt down the toilet? 

i've been avoiding leaving my bedroom since. 

typical. 

internal monologues of the 22nd century

at 3 pm, i shot up from my bed and dug excruciatingly from my mind as to what i can last recall. that's an enjoyable game i play with myself on weekends. 

at 3 pm, i'm almost certain i am still relatively drunk. what am i thinking with this sangria bull shit? i can't live like this. 

at 3 pm, i fought to stay awake. i nailed myself to my phone. i cursed. i had a talk with the crystal head on my shelf and told it that i can't live like this. i even referred to my past marijuana troubles. remember those days? when i was stoned literally every moment of my conscious life. now i pass. i pass. i pass. i couldn't live like that. 

i boil potatoes for at least two hours. if there's anything i can't stand, it's under-cooked potatoes. just because i'm eating the fruit of the earth, doesn't mean i want to taste the earth. the earth can eat me. butter me up. i'm 40 proof. 

yesterday late afternoon, i sauntered around the park in grievous paranoia of the birds roaming about. my pulse and perspiration took hold of my leisure time. my saunter became a chase scene. i'd gotten so bad that i convinced myself there was a giant turkey stalking me. what the hell is this bird thing about? i can't live like this. 

i think i've decided that i've given up. 

i think i mean it.

i can't live like this. 

expected nausea

what's my name? 

these are my pastimes off the top of my brain 

bleeding

limping

boiling potatoes 

drooling on my pillows 

starting fires 

vandalism daydreams

prioritizing head wear 

office chair 

sniffing blown out matches 

aggressively scrubbing my legs in the shower

squatting in the shower

attempting/failing perfect push ups 

winking at myself 

insisting sobriety 

undermining encountered idiots 

patronizing the unintelligibly unaware 

separating (gradually) from false laughter tendencies 

pretending to know things i don't 

pacing

tip-toeing 

internalizing regular and circadian occurrences of my mortal life 

externalizing morally favorable thoughts 

contending for formidable optimism 

being 

good mourning

today is the first day all week that i didn't stay up until seven am. i, in fact, awoke at seven am. although greeted by a screeching headache (which i earned from having roughly four beers last night [i know, that's what i get for taking several consecutive days from alcohol]) i managed to stay awake and catch up on my very guilty internet obsessions. i will never divulge such information. not even here. not even to my friends. and i promise it's not pornography. unless i refer to The Cure's fourth studio album Pornography, then no, my internet obsession is not pornography. surprisingly enough, for all you folks who firmly believe i'm a raging pervert. i'm only mildly perverted with the intended impression of being wildly perverted. do you understand me? (the fourth wall, since addressed, has been following me around). 

kneesock is dead. i checked on her last night during yet another bon fire and found her on her back next to all her dead victims. she lasted six months in my bedroom, rarely getting fed, and she couldn't last in the backyard for a month. it's not her fault. self-healing can only do so much when you're out in the world. RIP kneesock, you beautiful, inspiring, and lovable bad bitch. may we someday meet again, if my potentially budding spirituality allows me. 

speak of the devil, i strongly encourage a distance from what you think god ever said. (that bitch is a troll). i strongly encourage faith in yourself over a faith in destiny, fate, and/or god. how often is "and/or" followed by "god"? not often enough. god is not definitive, but this is a sore subject. don't fuck with other people's religion, self. this is my advice for myself. that's not a battle i (or really anybody) could ever prevail. i kind of feel like i should take back my strong encouragements. but i can't seem to hit backspace... 

i am down to one and a quarter of a can of pringles. pray for me. but pat me on the back for not killing it all in one night.

my optimism is lasting lately. 

it's ten am and the world is my oyster. 

(isn't this refreshing?) i want to tell you to eat shit, but something inside me is whispering that i should wish you an excellent day. because you deserve it. because you've been reading my charming self-pity for years now (i assume years now). 

have an excellent day

you menacingly average human being

this is my diet

i've been pestering vaggy to buy me a can of pringles and she came home with three. sympathetic sister. i keep taking selfies tonight because i wanted to do something, so instead i'm hanging out with myself and my cans. i'm starting to resemble corpses. word on the street is that around the age of 20 or 25, chicks gotta get on that pap smear shit. i don't even go to the dentist anymore. i won't even go to my optometrist to get a stronger prescription for my eyeballs even though i can hardly see shit with these glasses. i think gyms are pretty whack and flexing is for the blissfully ignorant. if i'm raining on anyone's parade, i'm a nice enough guy to offer my umbrella (that's just the truth). although you're an idiot if you let rain ruin anything for you. i've been doing push ups because my arms are bothering me, but you'll never catch me flexing, i promise. most things in life are self-inflicted. most things in life are self-serving. all of life is self-absorbed because this is a cool illusion (maybe i mean delusion?). as a future parent, how confident do you feel about avoiding poisonous pedagogy? personally i think i'd have a rough time due to my fucked up morals. hence my refusal to procreation. i'm only twenty-two, i'll have plenty of time to change my mind if it must. i'm encouraging it not to be swayed by my biological clock though. honestly, if i reproduce, i'll inevitably doom the poor bastard unforgivably. this year i turn 23, and i won't lie, the thought makes me panic. the war between me and the intimidating age of 25 has officially commenced. stay tuned to watch me shine (my god i'm optimistic tonight). my palms are damp from thinking too much about my body. my palms are damp from thinking too much about that broken thing on my desk. my palms are damp from thinking too much about the heat of the summer. but mostly my left palm is damp because i kept it inside my pants for so long (had gotten too comfortable). 

eat a 

nevermind.