Sunday, June 29, 2014

night swims

I panicked that some unidentified shape was a turkey. How typical. Everything unidentified is a fucking turkey. My breath keeps hitching because of my lung incapacity. Nearly vomited just walking up, let alone surfacing up from water. In nothing than a second of a snap, I knifed through my unrelenting frailty. I succumbed to the infallible hole. My breath keeps hitching and my chest is stupid. I don't understand this. Like a sick repetitive cycle I still deniable clutch on. I can barely look away.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

heart burn and gut ache

fleeting fucker, gone so soon.

welcome back the regular scheduled program.

nap made, the anti-sleep

i've rejected the autonomic practice of a circadian rhythm. (it's not a practice?)

flushing, right now. high hopes i don't vomit today.

my walk this morning was hazy and delirious. i walked in a strange, stuttering saunter. on my toes, darting my eyes at anything that resembled a bird. fremont isn't very exotic. no signs of turkeys. although, i crossed the street twice due to unidentified black figures on the ground. i kept thinking they were dying dead birds. both times, they were snapbacks. there are two idiots out there who lost their snapbacks last night. very high chances that i could've been one of two idiots. life is getting more difficult bobbing around without my glasses. but i will remain at refusal. keep it at shapes. 

(i feel sick now). 

nearly 3pm, the weather is overcast and the stillness is rousing up residual deliriousness of this morning. it took me some time to finally fall asleep this morning after my walk. it was a long walk around fremont. i was sweaty and exhausted when i returned home. but the two cups of coffee still coursed through my system, so i laid in bed and embraced the post-beer comedown, current-caffeine, and fatigued blur. my life consists of a series of sporadic naps rather than the routine of eight-hour diurnal sleep. 

i made a lot of stupid videos last night. i sent some of them to actual humans. i don't want to review what i'd done. next-day embarrassment is unbearable. 

real-time current thought: i have mad beef with my hair. 


podcasts, bud light, and caffeine


it's me again at 5:22 am

instead of waiting for sleeping to conquer my person, i decided to drink two cups of coffee. i will not sleep. you will not make me. 

i spent four hours recording myself talk to myself. i said a lot of shit. all of which are not worthy of being shared, probably. 

5:48am, and i am out for a walk. dog daze. 

overcompensating infant strikes again

I decided to wear this shirt for another three weeks.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

greetings from an unfamiliar device

i'd stolen my mother's laptop for the sole purpose of composing an entry without auto-caps. i don't know if my resistance from capitalization is becoming severe, but some things are just better off a certain way. 


it's me again, the overcompensating infant you've grown to hate and love (i assume). 

it's been a charming day. 

yesterday was a gloom. last night was even gloomier. a tired kind of gloom that wrapped me easily into a sleep. grateful for it now because i woke up today without the gloom. 

my saltwater flush has been phenomenal. it's been three days. the first day was the best. i excreted thoroughly. i drank the saltwater like it was a bloody mary (i really liked it). the second day was a distracted effort. my gi tract didn't empty as well as it did the first time around, leaving me to return to the toilet more than twice. today was the worst. i'd been so distracted by the little chores that i had decided to take on simultaneously that i stretched my ingestion time too long. i made up for it by chugging the last three cups. a little over five minutes later, i projectile vomited into the toilet. it was all saltwater, all clear. but i feared the cleanse wouldn't settle right. fortunately, my gi tract still flushed accordingly. (then i ate a hot pocket, c'est la vvvvvirgins). 

maybe my mood was lifted by my clean bedding. who doesn't love a freshly washed bed spread, pillow cases, and comforter? i even showered for an hour and a half just so i wouldn't defile the freshness of my kingdom. everything smelled great. smell me, you darling dumpling. smell me. 

and although my body has been aching in ways never before familiar to me, i still managed  to bulge my eyes out with a sort of light you'll hardly ever see me with. i find it strange, sitting upright at this very moment. truly, and i repeat, i am so creepy when i'm happy. i understand this is a fleeting moment. this will change in a matter of hours, if not minutes or seconds. and tomorrow i may not awake with the same fluidity that today has brought me. but that griping is preemptively reserved for future entries. that's the beauty of these transient words. 

you'd been swell today because i'd been swell today. that's as honest as i intend to be in regards to our relationship. 

my heart isn't swelling, but i feel like laughing and taking pictures of myself. 

don't forget this, you sweet little dove. 

squinting and wide-eyed

All I ever want to do is hang out in a pitch black room with people I can stand most while passing a flashlight around, screeching and wailing till one of us (preferably all of us) passes out from lack of oxygen.


But you can't cry in here.

We don't even have to talk or look each other in the eyes or try to avoid each other's gazes. Catch glimpses from a single flashlight then erase what you saw.

We can snack and draw and popcorn read in whispers once we're devoid of every scream that we wanted to scream.


Group naps inspire.

A darling slew, dilated pupils and open mouths.


Granma, I love you, but we don't get each other. You also called me a gay motherfucker, not to my face. I can only kind of afford homophobia to the point of suppressed/perpetual uncomfortablity. Granma, I love you, but I do like girls. I can't translate these words for you to understand. You'll still love me, I hope.


Monday, June 23, 2014

Sunglasses indoor

Crepe rampage.

Flush for a clean gastrointestinal tract.

White boxer briefs.

White tee.

White comforter.

White friend

Living room and the television.


Psychotic friends at your window in the middle of the night.

Knife fight like Two Bit.

Never be inclined to give a shit about everyone. Don't be ridiculous.

Quiet. Very quiet.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Danger Legs

Welcome my bouts of anger.

It's back and it's sharper than ever. Like aged scotch and its wisdom. A still, collected anger rooted from very particular and unidentified strings of shared sentences. Of words I deject the sounds of. Of verifications I'd rather deny. This is as difficult for me as I am in whole. With an overwhelming pile of shit to trip about, I set off at the most pathetic ones.

Welcome my bouts of prevarications.

I can't play cards well. I can't play bull shit well. If cards were humans and the numbers were thoughts and the suits were expressions, then I'd be the one with the least cards and the least intoxicated. You should see how pleased I get when I encounter someone who plays the role in bullshitting as committedly as I do. It's my favorite game. I can barely even introduce myself with my correct name without having the urge to blurt some other. It's easier to make eye contact as somebody else.

Welcome my bouts of anxiety.

I'd never been one to perspire profusely. Some things change. And some things never change. I can't tell where I am.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

seventy forty

I couldn't go back to sleep this morning. Thought it'd at least be ten am. I am mistaken and I am awake. Also rip laptop, which means my idle time will consist mostly of staring at the ceiling or my feet or my hands or the back of my eyelids rather than my computer screen watching shit sense content. It's not so bad, I can afford more misfortunes.

Drove home at three am last night and destroyed my guts with nachos. I'm suffering repercussions now. Nonetheless my inane complaints, it's kind of nice out. I opened my blinds almost immediately upon waking and I'm not even cursing.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

hide. hurry.

do i seem tense?

i may or may not be coming to terms with the the possibility of never being a published writer. or i may be coming to terms with the fact that i am more enamored at the idea of being a writer than actually being a writer. it doesn't consume me. it doesn't come out of it. it doesn't do anything to me. this could be an insanely indefinite drought of a writer's block, or it could be the end game. i don't have a voice and i don't have a dream. i'm not trippin, but i think i'm being honest. 

i don't seem that tense. do i? 

i need to borrow your tape recorder. 

you're not thoughtful. are you?

the show sold out before we bought the tickets. idiots, again.

also check out this sick yt comment pertaining to pity sex. i laughed out loud. 

Monday, June 16, 2014

day drinking daddy's day

She was supposed to drive home to LA last night. Instead we threw a party. Typical. Also I met the youngest Keokham. I held the nigga and he smelled like Cheerios and didn't smile once. Cutebug.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

you're an island unto yourself

it's always been a silly fear. that i will undeniably identify with the neurotic characters that woody allen plays in his own movies. yes, there's a towering chance that i would willingly drive to your house at four in the morning to kill spiders so you can sleep. i most likely will never quit denouncing los angeles, be it the weather, the people, or the fucking soullessness. the ice queen is fantastic and the princesses are idiots. is this my copy of catcher in the rye, or is it yours? death; i don't believe it's an issue, but i obsess over it anyway. and sex; had i been born male, the world would have already turned its back on me. i'm attracted to dead sharks. self-inflicted nausea while i salt my chicken, relieved of opportunities falling through. eat the salted chicken with a fraudulent grimace. undermine the optimists. weave through and around to wipe the smiles off faces. i don't want to ever hear alvy's pathetic echoes when i move, but i'll secretly always like it more than being anything else. there are two kinds of people in this world; the horrible and the miserable. be thankful to be the miserable. 

this fucking movie is plaguing my mind again. 

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

"trippin over the same bad dreams"

you're looking throooooouuughhhh me

damn, i really love summer blood. i don' my soft serve ass has dissolved into the cushions. fucking sip me up. i'm not even sprung. or maybe i am. sprung off myself. 

It's after hours and I'm snacking on a bowl of fruit

I don't even know who the fuck I am anymore.

Monday, June 9, 2014

ass troll

8 am, still no sleep.

I've only gone slightly neurotic.

The worst part about this morning is how I am going out of my way to read up on astrology. I don't believe in astrology. Never have. But I got curious as to what the fuss is all about. I read enough to want to share the fact that I read enough. I don't get it.


I don't get the compatability bull shit.

Christ, I am exhausted. But I am also a libra. Isn't that neat?

Isn't that fucking neat?

(By punctuation and capitalization alone, you must be able to tell I'm typing away from my phone). 

I'm a libra, by the way.

trivial bag

at best, i try to avoid getting into detail as to why i think disney's ariel is a terrible character. i'll merely mention that i think she's a terrible character, at best. at worst, i go into very specific detail as to why i think disney's ariel is a terrible character. i want to be at my best, for now. 

if i did want to be at my worst, i would throw in my most recent gripe with disney and its maleficent. i shouldn't be at my worst right now. it's six am after all. 

an experimental horror movie called begotten (1990) has recently sparked my interest. it is, by far, the douchiest movie i have ever chosen to watch. it received a wide range of mixed reviews. most commonly, average-joe critics claim it to be a pretentious hipster (silent/black-and-white) movie that thrives on obscure, over-exposed scenes and symbolism excreting out of itself. (i liked it). i'm not sorry for liking it, but surely i am  deemed a douche (refer to comments section on youtube reviews). 

i don't hate the beatles. i don't hate the beatles. i vow to that. but i could absolutely live without ever having to listen to the beatles. 

my lungs are raw and ripe all at the same time. i keep screaming the medic in my car. i scream until i feel my head lighten and spin, and i more or less hope that i actually faint. 

lightning vs lightening, get it together everyone (i'm sorry about this one douchery)

orange is...nevermind. 

grace. god fucking damnit grace. jesus fucking christ grace. for the love of fuck, nevermind. 

it's six am and i still haven't fallen asleep. i peek at four am almost every morning now. by five am, i have my internal argument whether or not i should try to sleep or stay awake. it's always different. i have this sick feeling that i won't fall asleep today. i wanted to sleep earlier, because my yesterday was terrific. if i'd just been able to sleep several hours ago, i could've marked my yesterday a great day, which raises chances of having the next day (today) also a great one. (that sentence structure feels odd to me, it's probably wrong, but i am tired and feel no motivation to try and revise it). 

i feel sick. 

i wanted to make this as trivial as i could because i'm sick of clacking about my feelings. goddamn fucking feelings. "i feel _________." 

lately has been alright. i've been alright. but. it's the four am and five am that reaches for me with its long, eager arms, dragging me out from myself when i acknowledge i feel alright. it's the four and five am, dragging me along gravelly, breathless trips of a groaning panic into my pillow. it drags till i squirm, literally, under my blankets where my toes stick because of the sweat escaping every pore in my lessening human vessel. 

and i get so dramatic like this and so in touch with feelings once my body begs for sleep. and i start to refer to myself as a vessel. and i tell myself that a vessel is precisely what i am and what anybody else is. too tired for cynicism and too tired of my own shit, so i generalize to everybody else. it's easier because it's controversial to generalize, and obviously that takes the focus out of me and my fucking feelings. this has been a diversion. i got you. i fucking got you. 

maleficent was stupid. jolie got me. my mouth was open because yeah, she was fine as hell. but the movie was stupid as hell. i had something of a boner, but it was still stupid. it's seven am, i won't sleep, and i decided this one can be at worst. 

Friday, June 6, 2014

Omnipotent is the New Bust



i know that guy

andrey, is that you?

left hand

jaws ran away for a few weeks because The Man said so. his main concern was not being able to jerk while he's away. 

that's a solid concern. 

this happened in my neighborhood this week

i turned a right on my way home and was greeted by this water park. all the neighbors were posted on the opposite side of the street taking pictures and recording videos. a few people indulged and pulled out their lawn chairs. when i got to my house, i went up to my sister's room and found her face red and puffed. she asked, "did you see what happened?" i said, "the geyser?" she continued to sniffle then exclaimed about California's severe drought. during the quiet nights, if I listen closely enough from my bedroom, i can hear her heart breaking about the goddamn drought. she's a sensitive dove about the drought. 

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

if i live to be that age, i want to look like byrne

i want to be tall
with white hair
wearing white suits
and dancing excellently.

(he's starting to remind me of mak's grandfather, i don't know)

also if i ever watch byrne perform this shit live, i would weep uncontrollably. like a sick baby.

big dumb baby

st vincent in strange mercy

annie clark pre-fashion show performances, yes this one

menstruation tunes

overly-emotional friends

i got yelled at for fuck's sake.

at this time of my life, i value my privacy and solitude above everything else. i not only value it, i relish. i scurry over to myself and am pleased about not having to be responsible for anyone or anyone else's feelings. i am, essentially, free (fearful, but free). i haven't necessarily burnt bridges as i no longer go out of my way to cross some. there are a multitude of bridges that i now can no longer even remember the sight of. (when did bridges become to metaphor for human connection?) 

i got yelled at for fuck's sake. 

you can never ask of anyone to break their own back for you. 

you can never ask of anyone to break their own back for you. 

i used to repeat saying this to myself whenever my precious little feelings would get hurt because of something or someone i can't control. you cannot control anybody but yourself, and even that can be taxing. 

i got yelled at, so i yelled back. 

not everyone is worth following to the end of the world. surely, you must know that. 

i got yelled at, without even bothering to put my car on park. 

so i yelled back, breathing evenly as i drove away. 

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

hey what genre is this?

i think it's leaning more towards post-porn revival on their debut album but transitioned to progressive wastecore on their sophomore. personally i prefer their newest album, despite some fans saying it's too sub-porn, creambop, and hoegaze transgressive.

i might've gotten sucked into the youtube comment sections too deep. i hate this habit as much as it hates itself. my adoration for fueling human hatred peeks in the fucking comment sections. but in an adorable laughable way. i have to go for a walk or something.

Monday, June 2, 2014

driving crying diving

why are you so intense

ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)