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.
Friday, June 6, 2014
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
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
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
Thursday, May 29, 2014
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
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
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
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
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)
Monday, May 26, 2014
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.
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)
gay while asleep through the day
gayest in the night
(that's the most unintentional haiku i'd ever produced, i'm beaming)
Friday, May 23, 2014
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.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
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
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
Monday, May 19, 2014
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.
then you come across these italian fucks again and it's like they really understand your chip/dip dissatisfaction.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
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
Friday, May 16, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
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.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
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
hats off for being an unapologetic asshole
ps. thinking back, it was a really good time (for me)
pps. i am my dad
Monday, May 12, 2014
very rare to medium but never well
nobody has ever been worth the pain
a crippling belief i can't expel
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
Sunday, May 11, 2014
no rinse. repeat.
you know the drill.
this is the drill.
drill pickle.
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"
Thursday, May 8, 2014
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
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
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.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
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.
Saturday, May 3, 2014
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
Thursday, May 1, 2014
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.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
s/o to jul
last saturday, i classically got obliterated during isaac's birthday party. i don't know what happened and how poorly i behaved, and i don't want to know. but shout out to jul for trying to carry me and then dropping me, leaving me with a cool bloody scab on my knee. also another shout out for being a good sport about puking on his sambas. i felt so bad that i offered to buy him a new pair. if he puked on my pair, i would have been relatively upset. but not really because if there's anything i understand, it's obliteration and defeat.
also s/o to jaeger for encouraging me to drink more tea than alcohol. i'd been drowning and repressing my regrets in inappropriate amounts of tea. i'd been actively drinking for weeks prior last saturday, but i woke up the following sunday and spent most of the day in and out of the bathroom anyway, sicking out demons into my toilet. it's tuesday now and i still can't look at alcohol the same.
sometimes obliteration is good for me.
cheers if you think that's pathetically sad.
cheers.
Monday, April 28, 2014
metafictional murmuring
it's nearly 6am. i'd just spent a night in front of the fire (like most nights lately) being as casual as i can manage near other human beings. i prefer it over getting drunk alone in my room. but who really likes to get drunk alone in their bedroom? (no, i really do enjoy it sometimes).
i'm going to try and not be so bitter on this one. there's been an influx of my negativity in my entries, and though i do enjoy my natural style of writing, i'm going to attempt a better mood. i won't promise it'll be a world too positive. but i will try. give me a cookie for it. validate my effort. you're my only reader. i correspond directly to you now, reader, because i don't think i'd ever tried this before. i may have. i don't know, i can't tell now. this is me breaking the fourth wall. this is you reading on.
now that i'd addressed the fourth wall, my mind renders itself barren. i really have nothing in particular to share. i just wanted to freshen up the molding of my deteriorating entries. but now i'm nervous and the tension between us is one-sided because i'm producing these words and you're just looking at it. i refrain from using the word awkward, but to be honest, this is a little awkward. somehow i managed to make things awkward between you and me. keep reading, maybe it'll get better.
after our bonfire, my buddy and i went on another long ride to nowhere. we talked on because we really only have each other to talk to in absolute comfort and security. that is my friendship with mak. we talk because we understand each other. and tonight (i suppose this morning), i realized that had we not known each other all these years, i would probably feel more alone than i do now. i'll always be thankful i found a friend like her. it's one of the few things in life i didn't know i needed until i had it. but you know that, don't you? my range in topics is quite slim and i only bring up so many people. very few people, actually. but you know that, don't you? i talk about myself and my feelings and my troubles and all of that bull shit. this is my blog, i can cry if i want to.
by the time i reached home, it was already 6am. that's when i picked up my laptop and decided to aimlessly type. that's what led me to addressing you now, reader. come to full circle, i am back to awkward. this is somehow giving off a creepy vibe, in my opinion, and i want to say i won't continue blogging this way for my future entries. still with me? i doubt it'll get better, but keep reading anyway.
i swear i'm not trying to be clever. this isn't clever, this is odd. i've built a relationship with my blog. it's a seven year relationship, and we are going strong. but i hadn't considered much the readers of which i am now completely aware i have. i still try not to consider it so much when putting in my thoughts because it keeps me from writing what i mean to. thinking about the people--i'm sorry--thinking about the reader, you, makes me use the backspace a lot. i can't write an entry properly if i consider the audience too much because i end up second-guessing everything that comes out of me. like now. like this. i'm questioning whether or not i'll actually publish this. got ten on it that i will. got five on it that i'll revert it back to drafts the next day.
my relationship with my blog is my most constant relationship. i'd known it longer than i'd known the person i share almost everything with. if anything, this is the extent of how intimate i get with a relationship. (that's not necessarily true, although i do feel more comfortable typing things out here rather than talking to most people. but even so, i hardly share too much). i'm more comfortable here than most instances. in fact, i think about existing as a blog. what if this was me? a little reminiscent of the movie Her. but instead i'd be a blog. i'd have thoughts and feelings and i'd document them here, and you'd be here (hopefully), keeping up with the nonsense that is figuratively my mind. and figuratively, i'd still have my personality as i have it now except i wouldn't have to physically type this out. i'd be like the internet. or literally live within the internet. but if i lived within the internet, i suppose i wouldn't have all the troubles that i have now as a human being. or maybe i'd have more troubles because human beings are ten times more insufferable, irritating, infuriating, and annoying on the internet. i, as an internet existence, would have to deal with that shit. my mind is wandering, reader. i don't beg you to pardon me, but if you're still reading, well keep at it.
it's been nearly an hour since i started this entry. i listened to my mother's footsteps upstairs as she got ready for work. i listened to her footsteps downstairs as she got ready to leave. i listened to the garage door groan open, and i listened to the heavy sound of a bowling ball exiting our garage the moment my mother opened it. then i watched carefully through my blinds as the bowling ball rolled to the middle of the street and back down in the gutter. i watched my mother back the car out of the garage. i watched her notice an unusual object in her rear view mirror. i watched her slowly creep to the object and i watched her identify the said object. i wondered whether or not she was going to step out of her vehicle to retrieve it. after a few moments of her evident deliberation, she continued backing out of the drive way and driving forward down the street. when her car was gone, i considered going outside and retrieving the ball myself, but instead i continued typing here my thoughts on existing as my blog. then upstairs i heard my father's footsteps shuffling down the stairs. i heard him open our front door, then i watched carefully through my blinds to see my father retrieving the bowling ball himself. examining it as he walked back inside the house. i listened to him reinstate the ball to its original place in this house. i figured my mother gave him a call to notify him of the ball's morning adventure because she was running too late to handle that herself. i also figured my father assured the ball a better position so to avoid that incident in the future. then i listened to him shuffle back up the stairs and into their room. now it's quiet again, except for the birds' interval morning chirping. now i hear my brother waking up for school. this is when i'll stop listening. because if i keep going, i'll end up typing every single thing that happens in this house until i pass out. i don't want to do that. i don't want to bore you. although i doubt i haven't been boring you with these anticlimactic narrations. if you made it pass this particular paragraph, then you're doing your job as a reader. i'll remember to give you a cookie.
my eyes are finally drooping. it's seven something now, and i think i'll try and sleep. or i'll sign off stating that i'll try and sleep, but i have ten on it that once i'm done here, i'll lurk the internet in some other way. besides, my mind is still racing. it's a slow race, but it's going. also, this has officially been one of the longest entries i'd ever done and i really do doubt anyone made it this far. or if any of you even bothered. this is a longer read and this is very costly of your valuable time. i don't mean to waste your valuable time, but you made this decision. no hands were coerced here. you are my reader, but don't worry, i'll try not to let this happen again. this has been strange. this has been new to me. i feel as if my blog and i have reached a whole new level. i also feel as if you and i have reached a whole new level. this was interesting. catch me bitching on the next entry. you did excellent.
ps. i hope you didn't think i'd really let you off like that.
eat a dick.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
life lessens
don't take advice from someone whose life constantly crumbles. don't take advice from someone who lets their life crumble. don't take advice from a misanthrope. don't take advice from a self-loathing misogynist. don't take advice from a hard ass. the emotionally disturbed. don't take advice from someone who denies humanity. who damns happiness. don't take advice from someone who has a competitive nature against jesus, or god, or any supposed greater power. don't take advice from someone with an existential complex. everything is coated with a film of first impression charm. with an unusual wit. with the false pretense for self-confidence and carelessness. don't take advice from someone who is relentlessly self-absorbed. don't take advice from someone who seeks solace in the evil and the wicked. who seeks solace in sad songs and absolute silence from the rest of the world. who refuses to talk. who refuses exposure.
i can take my clothes off all i want. walk up on stage and let the spotlight on me. i can stand still, and the audience may look if they please. but i won't ever say anything. i won't ever let anyone in on it. i guess because even if they all laugh, i'll still feel like they're the butt of the joke. that is, as long as i don't ever let them in on it.
social abnomality
i didn't realize how severe my social skills have declined until cheb visited us the other day. our contrast in character stunned me a little. she's highly gregarious and understands the norms of average and colloquial communication. she lives in santa barbara for chrissake. deltopia exists to her. i don't mean to compare myself to a raging college student. it's the fact that i couldn't hold a nonthreatening, simple conversation. my mannerisms are whacked. i can't process how to respond properly. my diction is improper and indecent. i am off-putting, i realize. i inflict my own discomfort to others in hopes that it'll create empathy between us. i mistaken it for clever, but really there's just never anything better to say. my nerves grab hold of me and my rationality is screaming bored. simpletons still so creatively tell me i'm fucking weird. probably because they will never be ready for this jelly.
belljar
much to my surprise, i am capable of living horizontally for the remainder of my young life. i'll have to google later whether or not one can die of bed aches. maybe if i get started on a pressure ulcer, i can work my way strategically. although, i'm certain my liver is shriveling at an exponential rate. faster than i'd ever challenged it before. cheers to that one. fortunately, my urge to have a smoke is almost always trumped by my undying refusal to be vertical. my lungs must be thankful. however, catch me in a social situation and i'm rejecting oxygen with a hand up. if oxygen was a sleazy guy at the bar, i'd be the prissy bitch princess to roll my eyes and say "ew." if i was the sleazy guy at the bar, cigarettes would be the hot slice that i'd be rubbing up on.
things are weird.
i used to think it was adorable seeing and hearing my baby finches. now i cringe a little at even the thought of them and i feel like throwing them off a great height. if i let them go, they'll surely die too soon. if they stay here, i might end up letting them go no matter. i can't stand it. i think i hate them. i thought about this as i was giving them food and water. thought about how i hate these things that are incapable of hating. i hate them because i can. because i have the God-given right to hate. all that God gave them is the unquestionable way of being. God blessed the birds, but God didn't bless us. we're embarrassing and we're at the bottom of all life forms. someone convince me otherwise, i'd murder that debate. i'm very stuck on this belief that humans are purposeless. kill us off the world and the planet will continue to thrive, if not better than before. kill off the flies and the food chain fucks itself to oblivion. humans are adjectives. humans are opinions. humans screech about existence because we were taught that it's all about us. humans are social. humans can either be well-intended or ill-intended. we are both God and the Devil. we'll either pray or complain, or maybe we'll simply turn to our phones and convince ourselves that we shine as bright as our phone screens.
vanished
mimosas in the morning
bloody marys in the afternoon
dirty gin martini before dinner
red wine while cooking
chardonnay with your dinner
whiskey sour till after hours
beers till you pass out
bloody marys in the afternoon
dirty gin martini before dinner
red wine while cooking
chardonnay with your dinner
whiskey sour till after hours
beers till you pass out
Friday, April 18, 2014
lousy and legs
the last time i had a cigarette was the last time i saw mikal.
it's been ages.
i can't even tell which i miss more. my friend...or her.
i've been making myself laugh aloud lately.
HEY
if you see this
just remember
BEEN TRYIN' TO MEET YOU
dum dum dum dum dum
Thursday, April 17, 2014
you'll like the second picture more, i like the first
scoundrel
this is my face in 2014. this is a capture from my webcam in 2014. this is the face that looks like it's on the verge of tears. this is my default face in 2014. this is the shirt i stole from mikal in 2012. this is the shirt i wear when i used to have severe hangovers. this shirt is warm and smells great because it just got back from the wash. that's prince in the back. this is my hair in a bob 2014. that's my ear peeking out. this is not a fashion statement, i just never imagined myself with a bob.
potential
this is my face in 2011. this is a capture from my webcam in 2011. this is the face that looks like it's trying to make an impression. this was my default face in photos i take of myself in 2011. this is the shirt i cut up myself and wore with everything. this shirt was ratty and my favorite. that's my green wall in 2011. this is my long hair in 2011. my ears never peeked out. this was probably a fashion statement, i just never imagined i'd cut it all off for a bob.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
chase with an orange
I profess that I am attempting to be more honest. By honesty I mean the kind that's thinly veiled in sarcasm, cynicism, and crudity. This is my sincerity. But you already knew that.
refer to my previous entry
talking shit about a pretty sunset - modest mouse
this is one of the songs in the past that i always clearly identified with. after composing my entry last night regarding the blood moon, i was immediately taken aback to this song. this is what it reminded me of. this is the first thing that popped into my head when i hit publish. the second thing to pop in my head was how i had a (humorous) underlying hope that the people staring up at the moon would pull their neck muscles. i realize it was probably brute of me, but i was amused by the thought anyway. more amused when my imagination took a lap and i digressed to this scene of jump cuts where people were just screaming about their pulled muscles. every neighborhood, a series of people were placing their hands to their unmoving necks in confusing agony. the third thing to pop into my head was how i wanted to film that. no one makes me laugh like i make me laugh.
(i'd completely forgotten what my intention was for this entry. i've just been so into addressing the bull shit in my head. this is another one of those bull shit moments. also, probably because all my creative insistence are focused on typing shit out here. it's not even creative. it's just nonsense. i'd rather type out nonsense here than slit my wrists trying to start, continue, or finish a story).
(Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight
Looking kind of anxious in your cross armed stance
Like a bad tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance
And I claim I'm not excited with my life any more
So I blame this town, this job, these friends
The truth is it's myself
And I'm trying to understand myself
and pinpoint where i am
When I finally get it figured out
I've change the whole damn plan
Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight
Talking shit about a pretty sunset
Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon
I've changed my mind so much I cant even trust it
My mind changed me so much I cant even trust myself)
blood moon
"look at the moon right now."
for years, i obsessed over the beauty of the fucking thing. i would run outside of my house just so i could break my neck staring up. my heart would expand and everything around me would mean something wondrous. i'd tell a lover to look out their window and witness what i was witnessing. for years, the moon was this cosmic shrine of my hopes and dreams and sentiments and amazement. i had never imagined myself to feel otherwise about it.
today, a friend informed me of a total lunar eclipse that will occur tonight, around 1245. i have fifteen minutes till then. and still i'm laying here in the dark trying to decide if i want to strain my neck to see. i'm out of cigarettes so i wouldn't have another reason to step outside. then it dawned on me how much i was convincing myself to care. i don't care. i do not give a fuck. thinking of it now, i can't tell if it bothers me or if i'm relieved. it's things like these that remind that i wasn't who i was before. things that meant the world to me then won't mean a thing to me today, or tomorrow. i have severed myself from all the things that stir my emotions. i want nothing to do with world and nothing to do with how bright the moon will be tonight. let me lay here in the dark, face painted with only the glow of my laptop.
i'm not sorry that i no longer care, i just wanted to address it. i also just want to address that while i was deciding whether or not i should try and look at the moon, all i could think of was gravy. and how badly i want gravy. and if i should get myself up off my bed to make some gravy. i don't even have potatoes. i just want gravy. that's the kind of person i am now. the kind of person who values gravy more than the moon.
are you judging me? of course you are, you simpleton prick. you think you're better than me because you worship happiness. well cheers to you, you happiness striving simpleton prick.
Monday, April 14, 2014
mardy slam
let's have a beer.
let's shotgun the first, belch for ten minutes after, then sit the fuck down.
i feel like arguing. i feel like inappropriately raising my voice.
let's shotgun the first, belch for ten minutes after, then sit the fuck down.
i feel like arguing. i feel like inappropriately raising my voice.
my state of being argumentative can be described (by my self) as unbearable. when i am in my state of being argumentative, it ultimately means i am confident. i am unstoppable. i am out for heads and i will claim them. because otherwise, i would never open my mouth in the first place. i'd be present simply for the pleasure of slipping my clever sidebar comments. never argue for the sake of argument (but also never take my advice, ever). i'm not manipulative, but i feel strongly about my ability to manipulate. so strongly that i am villainously referring to my debating as manipulation. i don't sign up for debates if i don't think i can even remotely sway the opposing party. fortunately, i have a tremendous grip on defeat. if i can't deliver better than my challenger, then i understand to graciously accept that i couldn't persuade better than they. humorously give the finger, then shake hands. i can't say i've never been sore about a defeat, because i'm obviously not perfect (is that obvious though?) it just means that i'm pissed at myself for not prevailing. the thing about arguments is that rights and wrongs go completely out of the window. arguments become about who can deliver their point better. (if i were to become a lawyer, i'd be the crooked kind, OBVIOUSLY). i could be supporting a very wrong statement/law/belief but still find a way to win a debate through skillful tactics and an impeccable conviction. the rules of arguments just means be smart and be compelling. most of the people i know are the same way. i know a lot of argumentative people. the people closest to me are all as unbearable as i am. my father raised me to stick to my guns and aim at heads as exquisitely as i can. so when i'm in, my god i am in deep.
ps. i have mad respect for people whom i find better than i am at arguments.
pps. the amount of confidence i have today for even publishing this entry is beyond me.
stay tuned for my self-deprecation to return.
Friday, April 11, 2014
riot room
i faked an orgasm when i lost my virginity because it felt like the right thing to do. also because i was praying it would soon end. it didn't end soon enough. it didn't end at all. i'm still losing my virginity right now. to this very day, it goes on.
faking laughter is the same concept to me, except i'm a lot more generous with giving out fake laughter. after losing my virginity and faking a fun time, i never faked it again. (that might be a lie because i'm pretty sure i faked it all through that relationship. how. fucking. sad.) but like i said, i prayed it would end and it still feels like it hasn't.
i was fake laughing the other day and it brought back all my fake feelings. i faked a lot of feelings as a child and as a raging hormonal teen. but i suppose even now i still fake it. fake it till you...nevermind.
i'd always been suspicious of my friends whom i thought were suspicious of my laughter. if they can tell it's fake, then they must really know me. i'm an enigma, aren't i? can you even tell if i like something or not? i spend most of my time talking shit about literally everything, no matter if i'm partial to it or not. i also spend a lot of time lying (but i'm tired of saying that). that must mean it takes a strenuous amount of brain work to comprehend and analyze all the things that i say and do. i've grown used to eyes squinting the truth out of me. i haven't a poker face so much as i have only my face. the silent deliberation on the faces of the people that i know are now very familiar to me. i can tell when you don't believe me and i can tell when you do. don't worry, i don't ever judge you an idiot. i merely tell myself that i'm fantastic. "REALLY???" and "ARE YOU SERIOUS???" are the few most common responses to my fakes. usually, i'll only smile and let you draw your own conclusion. those are the best days. when i never really had to lie at all. you lied to yourself, you idiot.
but also
s/o to the ones who don't need strenuous brain work to know. it must mean it's so natural to be around me that your brain doesn't have to hurt. i love you (probably?)
guess how many times i've faked an "i love you."
go ahead.
misanthropic mornings
my extended family finally moved out. as a goodbye present, they decided to greet me with the fact that they--scratch this. it's petty to share but unbearable to keep quiet about. to cut it short, i got robbed, ok? the kind of robbing that only family members can execute. i really do hate families. i detest blood relation. it disgusts me.
intimacy issues pour out of me like sweat. and i'm not one to perspire like an average human being. i tire and lose my breath, but you won't catch me breaking a bead. unless you...WELL. nevermind. if i were to attempt a typical persuasive essay right now, i would avoid topics such as euthanasia, gay rights, and/or abortion. my belief in abortion is like a religion. my own religion. i'm sure if i ever had to go through it myself, i'd repress and lose another chunk of my natural emotional projection. but still, i'd willingly go through with it no matter. which brings me to my point. if i were to write a persuasive essay right now, i'd persuade your emotional soft ass not to ever have your own family. it'd be very personal, which by default i'd lose credibility. but fuck logos anyway. my devices in rhetoric break all the rules (i bet). my device in rhetoric would be this seven year old blog. (remember in 2011....2012? when i tried to terminate my relationship with this damn blog? hilarious bitch). this is not an essay so i won't go through the motion. this is an entry and i'm insisting to make a point that i don't want a fucking family. i don't want to squeeze out my own puppies just so they can grow up and resent/disappoint me. i don't want to have to go scavenging for a dumbass husband just so he can help me produce my own dumbass puppies. i want to die alone, choking on a burrito. i want to die alone, slipping in the shower and breaking my neck on the edge of the bath tub. i want to die alone in hopes that my cat will eat my dead body, all of it, rendering me a missing person. no one would suspect the cat. and if you did, he'd glare at you till you change your mind. then the cops would go looking for me, without a map. and i can only hope to instill a characteristically satisfied smile on my cat's face. i'd be eternally thankful to have my remains inside my god-like cat. and you'll never see me again.
cry for me, i died for me.
ps. if you ever catch me sweatin with my own family, have a heart and hire someone to assassinate me. and mark my words, i'd be important enough to be classified assassinated. in the words of a pile i know, "i'm a star, bitch."
cry for me, i died for me.
ps. if you ever catch me sweatin with my own family, have a heart and hire someone to assassinate me. and mark my words, i'd be important enough to be classified assassinated. in the words of a pile i know, "i'm a star, bitch."
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
you make me laugh but it's not funny
watch this movie.
live your life by my words.
i'm horrifically credible
because
i'm so very sad
(sad face)
live your life by my words.
i'm horrifically credible
because
i'm so very sad
(sad face)
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
stream of consciouscockness
eat a dick.
i drank mandarin flavored absolut vodka last night, which produced one of my most regretful drunken actions. this is why i don't trust flavored vodka. this is why i don't trust vodka. martinis should be with gin. everything should be with gin.
the safest place in the world is my room. i am currently having a relationship with my room. i can't tell whether it's a healthy relationship or not, but for now i am adoring my time with it.
but also, the contents of my bedroom has taken its toll. i have a typewriter in here, for the love of satan. i have a record player. i have a shelf of books that, i'm sure, deem me pretentious in every which way. i have a poster of mother nature vs. industrialization. my sketches are proudly up on my wall (courtesy of my proud mother being proud of my art). records are hung for further decoration. i have a framed map of...i can't even recall. i have a stack of tapes and leather bound journals on my desk. i have candles. i have vintage luggage. i am pretentious according to my bedroom, and i never want to leave this place. this really must be the place. the same place animals go when they die.
last night, i gravely considered my chances of moving. to LA. with my girl brother. to struggle. the thought excited me. the serious consideration excited me. it's too safe in my bedroom. it's too safe anywhere around me. i can't be safe for too long. because otherwise, everything i've ever proclaimed and everything i've ever believed in means squat. (also i can't write here. not like this).
podcasts. i'm into podcasts? i want to do a podcast? is that bizarre? if so, how bizarre? the more bizarre, the better. i'm into podcasts. let's talk.
it's very easy to look very homosexual with short hair. if i don't watch myself, i'll be gay for the day, all day. i don't have a problem with it so much as i don't want to fall into a template. i don't have a template, and there isn't a single goddamn template in the world for me to fit in. i dressed like johnny cash last night and i liked it. i could've been mistaken for someone in an indie band or a lesbian in a semi-pop semi-indie band (tegan and sara DIIIINNNNGGG). i hate myself for what i've given the world to perceive me as. but also, i hardly give a fuck what i think of myself. why would i ever give a shit what anyone else is to think of? eat a dick.
also, my best advice to any guy is to fuck better than your dick. if you can't fuck better than your dick, you can hardly fuck at all. i don't want to say this is why i'm into chicks, but those bitches can hand you an orgasm without a penis. that's impressive. that's fair. that gives me hope. thank all gay girls for giving me hope. aye. fuck better than your dick. your orgasm means nothing if your girl didn't get it. don't you know that by now?
s/o to my ex lover for being great at lover. good job at lover. if i ever lover someone who can lover better, i got fifty on it that i'll roll over in my own grave when i'm dead. lover.
i'm not honest and i'm not open. the things i share are things unclassified private. i'm a liar and i get told it nearly every day. the stack of leather bound journals on my desk contain no secrets. not a single notebook or anything at all contains my secrets. that's how terribly i trust the world. everything stays with me. everything dies with me. it's a grave for a reason. you idiot.
eat a dick.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
it's cool to be vapid
the age of technology bred a pile of awe-inspiring prodigies with the prowess of roughly 200 words per minute. dispossesed of any sterling content and concept, the prodigies move forth without ever actually coming to a conclusion. i am personally taken aback (with astonishment and utmost respect) by the kind of banter one could only find in the best of reality television show. with words so ardent and eloquent and vocal and undeniably dynamic, i am, with each entry, instantly stirred and stimulated. like being moved by the real world (preferably las vegas season).
i'd propose a toast, but i haven't any flavored vodka.
i have merely my arrogance to cheers with and to choke on.
Friday, April 4, 2014
shout out to the cliche fucking ache in your chest
sorry about the soft cute shit
it
just
reminds me to be excited for the summer,
even though i'm certain i'll find a way to hate it
it
just
reminds me to be excited for the summer,
even though i'm certain i'll find a way to hate it
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
pretentious fucking fucks
my friends are a slew of pretentious fucking assholes. great people. slight allergy to evident sincerity. sweet douchebags douchin' the douche. fortunately, the majority of our conversational topics involve farts and poops. level-headed. down to earth.
bless you
stay arrogant.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
yzam appreciation post
my capitalization skills have abandoned me long ago. i'm over it.
today a buddy of mine woke me up from my afternoon post-sleep nap and bombarded me with presents. he neglected to use my front door so i pulled up my blinds and told him to rip off the screen of my enormous window. through the threshold, he gave me the gifts one by one, like the fucking princess i am. (had i still had long hair and the whole situation would've been too insufferably reminiscent of fucking rapunzel). but whatever. he gave me a typewriter, the giant poster that used to belong to buddy Jarred (father of Shasta the dog), a few records (one of which was Abbey Road and i noticed he had two copies of it), and a book about childhood trauma (which he disclaimed before handing it to me so not to offend me). he also left presents for mak. on top of that, he decided to hand me a scarf to give to my mother as a token of his gratitude. and that's the kind of friend he has always been. as much as i would like to just slap him right across the face sometimes, he has been a very good friend. i never thought much about how much i appreciate him because...well i don't do that about anyone (anymore?). the house is gone and he's living in castro valley. i'll miss the place (i'm starting to think that this isn't an azam appreciation post, but the house appreciation post). fuck these fucking parenthetical fucking shit. SHIT. doing appreciation posts really fluster me. i'm literally physically very disoriented and uncomfortable right now. i just wanted to express that as unnerving as he is sometimes, he's a great friend. he's not dying or anything. this is just uncomfortable. you know what fucking else? when he left today, i could barely manage a thank you. and then i thought about how terribly i manage my thank yous. i am so fucking uncomfortable with feelings. what the fuck am i going to do with myself? I'LL FUCKING TELL YOU. I'll crack open that book about childhood trauma and try to figure me out a little. if it's dumb, i'll set it on fire and tell yzam that he's a piece of turd.
april showers won't bring me may satisfaction, bliss, and/or happiness
don't ever get caught writing about your dreams. save that for a conversation with someone who cares enough to listen. no one gives a shit.
i've been forcing myself to willfully choose wine over beer. (forcing myself to willfully...what [it makes sense, you're just really judgmental and i'm just really insecure]). delicious as fuck beer is dictating my life, and is also dictating the velocity in which my gut is expanding. i mean, wine is still great. it's just better waking up the next day after you've been fucked by beer. it's less painful. beer is like accidentally sleeping with your best friend. pretty awkward, but it's less of a headache and you might even stifle an awkward laugh. whereas wine is like sleeping with a total stranger with an STD. you wake up with the astonishment of life residing literally inside your eyeballs. like getting pounded on the head with bad dick. it's hard to laugh awkwardly because now you have an STD. alright, i'm not sure that these metaphors are at all accurate. in fact, i know they're not because i killed a bottle and a half of wine to myself last night and woke up with these very pestering but very senseless thoughts about my comparison of the said beverages. my brain is looping and hopping through hoops. i got twenty on it that i'm drinking beer tonight.
ps. i spent most of the late afternoon yesterday trying to pry open my last bottle of IPA with my lighter. i own about four bottle openers, but i was very determined to finally master popping a bottle with a lighter. the only thing i accomplished, unfortunately, was creating a pile of scratched-off plastic shavings from the lighter on my chest. i couldn't fucking do it. i tore the lighter in shreds. i resorted to a bottle opener in the end and fucking chugged in defeat. i'm a disappointment and i know it.
eat shit.
the ending
everyone i watched it with hated the ending. personally, i thought it was perfect and fitting. so perfect and fitting that i decided to purchase two bottles of wine to numb the pain of reality. (i just killed the first bottle and im still not alright).
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