Twice

I spilled my wine twice tonight. After just writing about always spilling, I spilled AGAIN. Right after my talk with my father.

I AM AN IDIOT PLEASE TAKE MY LIFE.

Hey Rico

My father and I crossed paths in the hallway outside of my room earlier. He was drunk and so was I. He held his cup taking sips in between our conversation about my future. I hung on to the pull up bar hanging at the treshold of our laundry room as he drank and talked, acting like I wasn't as drunk as he was. We played our parts well. He was serious and lend me what should be his sober advice and I nodded and agreed the way I would if the wine hadn't found me. I am just like my father. All I hope for is to never earn a beer belly the way he has. Otherwise, I'd gladly and honorably be just like him

Red

I spill every wine night. I'd place my wine on my record player then be drunk and tip my glass over. I have to wipe red shit off...every single time. I haven't learned my lesson because I don't like lessons and I like my wine better. I lit two candles to rid of the wine smell because the shit makes my room smell like sweet bread in the morning. I have an exam in the morning and I don't know how I'll manage to wake up in the morning but I'll manage. It's quiet again and I'm turning my blues into red because today was the end of an era and tomorrow I have to take an exam. I wish I can be a prick for the rest of my life but what's a prick if it's sentimental? I'm a sappy shit and that's ok. I'm magnificent and the world will know it.

I'll take a swig and a stoge, then fall asleep to awake to another era.

Cheers.

Creature in my gut

I awoke this morning
as the room spun and my head ached
My mouth was dry
but her ass was against my back
and everything was out of reach.
Through the blinds of the window
peeked the sun
and I saw gin in the sky
contained inside black hats
filled to the brim
She was in a ball
snoring a 5am snore
at nine thirty in the morning
with her ass against my back
and my life seemed out of reach
I awoke feeling nothing
then rolled over
to say goodbye to this thing
that gnaws at me.

FREE MY BRUH JSMKE

Talking to my blog

My granma's flight got cancelled today so she's pretty bummed not being on a plane right now to come home. We ended up driving to the airport just to have dinner. I guess I always like airports, even if I hate the stupid feeling it gives me when I'm there, or leaving there. I wasn't so sulky today because I had something to look forward to. I laid on a luggage cart while at the airport and pretended it was my bed. I nearly trippes this plump Indian lady because of my danger legs but I proceeded to lay on the cart anyway. Also, I think I finally thought of my fictional alter ego character name. Maybe. Not quite. Alright maybe I didn't but I was close. Ace visited me today and that was the highlight of my day. She went on destroying my kitchen one food item at a time. There are now Coco Puffs in the Froot Loops because she found out there wasn't any milk. We watched a movie with a sleazy Kat Dennings and I didn't even pay attention. Now I am sitting outside my house chainsmoking, as per usual. My body aches from laying on my floor because scumbags like me don't deserve to be sleeping on such a royal bed. It's cold and it's quiet and I want another cigarette.

So I think I'll have another now.

Here's to my mundane days!

Be still my love

Alright alright

I spilled wine all over my record player and now my room reeks of something funny even if I know it's wine. I've been a hermit lately because I'm bummed about living and I realized how little connections I have with people anymore. I cut off so many ties to the people I once called my friends and I now stare at my phone thinking of just how fucking bummed I am. I live in my hole and no one really bothers me because everyone is afraid of me. I try to write a lot. I try to read some. I chainsmoke like it's my last day to live and I borrow my father's alcohol to help me sleep at night. It never really helps though. I end up staying awake passed 7am every morning anyway. Life as I know it is a black hole of the sad blues. I've got the blues and it's all mine. All to myself. Alone in my hole of a room. I began talking to myself earlier after I had scarfed down two..TWO burgers from In N Out. I don't particularly like In N Out and I almost can never finish even one cheeseburger. But this sulker is an eater and I have a duty to eat. Anyway, I began talking to myself as I stared blankly at my TV when I realized that I haven't even heard my own voice in days. I havent had a conversation with anyone and my voice is a fucking alien. Right after I heard myself and startled myself with my foreign idea of a voice, I stopped and zipped my mouth shut. Because of...I don't know... Embarrassment. Shame? And the sad sad idea of how pitiful I am to myself? Fucking ridiculous. And so now I am laying awake in bed even less compelled to ever speak...maybe ever again. I don't even care how much of a fucking pooper I'm being. FUCKING POOPER. Life bums me out and I want no part of it.
Fuck me I hope no one will bother to read this.

What have I done

AH SHIT

Nights drunk and pissed off

Shit I'm Into

Sulking.
Self-pity.
Aggression.
Bitter shit.
Filthy mouth.
My bed.
Your bed.
Legs around me.

Post-Party Sunday Evening Feeling Kinda Shit

A is for

Angry.
Anxious.
And.
I don't know.

Dreams

In every single one? Please kill me.

Obsessions

I can't find anything. At first everything was a droning blur. Then a moment of clarity. But now it's just black. And I can't see shit.

Fo Ma Buddy Mikal

Hella happy birthday

Here's ma face, the best present I could give anyone.

Hey

I've been in my head these days.

Letters

I have this stupid stack of stupid unsent fucking letters that I either want to set on fucking fire or turn into soggy shit with my fucking tears. 

Disneyland Diaries 2012

I found this the other night on my computer. I had completely forgotten that I kept a recollection of my thoughts while I was vacationing with Mikal and my family. I took anger to Disneyland with me. To fucking Disneyland. 

Disneyland at 20.

It poured all day. I spent about an hour straightening my insufferably long hair only to be undone by the rain. My clothes were drenched and every next step I took felt heavier than the last. I couldn’t grasp the level of my happiness at first. But once my head went up in the sky, I knew I didn’t want to come down unless I was happy. So I decided to let contentment find me then decided to be partial to the pouring.

There was a moment when paranoia struck me like the back of some bitch’s hand. I couldn’t look into anyone’s eyes and I felt they were all onto me. I fought with myself, forgot to eat my corndog, and stared pensively at nothing and no one in particular. When I won my own fight, I returned to the contentment that found me.

Disneyland at 5 in the morning.

I’m a shitty writer because I have nothing to write about. I’m a shitty writer because I never write. I’m a shitty writer.

Disneyland at 5 in the morning is the convulsing of my angry body. It’s my fist wrapped in white. It’s your fucking back turned to me.

I’m a fucking shitty writer.

“Shut your fucking mouth, I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.” At a different time, I wouldn’t have regrettably shuffled to the exit. I wouldn’t have tried to sit on the curb of the busiest place in Anaheim, being nudged by strollers and whining children and their goddamn shrill families. I wouldn’t have tried to sit on some fake fucking porch thinking of all the ways I could get sad.

“Shut your fucking mouth, I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.” I might’ve said it to the wrong person. But it doesn’t really matter. I want everyone to hear this from me. Without the part where I regret the existence of its fucking beauty.

Disneyland at 6:47am.

Mikal is asleep beside me on this shit of a bed. My fingers are directing me to write about how much I hate her. How much I actually fucking hate her and the way she makes me feel. That’s probably the price you pay for adoring someone who can’t reciprocate. I fucking hate this person but I don’t think I can live without her.

I fucking hate this.

But wait. Give me an hour and I’ll be high enough to forget how much I hate her. 

Old Stories: Fingers

Another short that I wrote in the summer of 2009, back when Edgar Allan Poe was my only friend at the dead of the hot nights. I was inspired and aspiring. I didn't realize that I could even tell fake stories. Then I found out I'm a great liar. And now I want to lie for the rest of my life. Lie greatly, that is. 

In bold letters, the note read, “Missing.” Immediately, he felt a surge of worry, a surge of panic. And he bit his nail. He bit down hard.

He sat hunched at the foot of his bed, his right foot shaking steadily on top of his left knee. He took a deep breath, placed the note lightly on the floor, and laid his back flat on top of the mattress.

A smile smeared across his face now. He chuckled just slightly, and then closed his eyes for the longest nap he’ll ever take.

When he woke up, the clock blinked 3:35 and it bled dark outside of his window. His phone rang just then as he rubbed the sleep off of his eyes. He rose slowly and dragged his feet to the phone to meet with its annoying ringing. When he picked it up, he flung it across the room with enough force that shattered the phone in half making one final crashing sound. Then it was quiet again.

He headed to the bathroom where the mess still stationed. It was as if nothing but the smell of bleach was there. He washed his face and shook his head. As he brought his face up, he grew more intently on the reflection on the mirror. Dark circles devoured the color of his eyes. He was pale blue and creases were stamped endlessly across his face.

There were two knocks on his front door, just two and nothing more. He stuck his head out of the bathroom, glared at the front door, and steadied himself decent.

Walking casually towards it, he whistled cheerily through the silence. He put on a swagger and face too light for the time at present.

He swung the door open. It’s her, he thought. He smiled anyway. “What can I do for you?”

She smiled wryly and pushed him aside. She entered his home with confidence, but slowed at the creep of his living room. All the lights were off except for the bathroom.

“Where is she?” She demanded emotionlessly. “I know she’s been here.”

He chuckled to himself, shut the door behind him, and slowed toward her.

“There is no one else here but you and me. Now who is this ‘she’ that you’re looking for?”

She blinked several times, took the deepest of breaths. She emoted very little in reaction to him.

“I don’t have very much time. We’re leaving tomorrow,” she mentioned.

He walked to the couch, sat himself down, and motioned for her to sit too. She shook her head, of course, and stood stiffly in the dark.

She couldn’t see him now, the dark had taken him. But she knew that he was staring at her, waiting to speak further.

“I really need you to tell me where she is,” she continued. “We don’t want to leave with out her. She hates it when we do.”

“I’m sure things have changed. Feel free to leave when you please. If I see her and she is unhappy, I’ll be sure to tell her that you’d completely considered her before leaving.”

She pursed her lips. There’s really no need in further searching for her, she thought. And he’d felt her convinced.

“I suppose I’ll be leaving now. I’m sorry to have disturbed you at this hour. This all was just so sudden and so urgent. I took all actions I had to take,” she explained. “If you see her, please let her know that she knows exactly where we will be and that we apologize for the abandonment.”

He smiled wide enough to see the pearliness of his teeth even in the dark. She gasped for some air at the sight of this, and her reaction further pleased him.

“It is not a problem at all. Please have a safe trip,” he stood up, and pushed her gently to the door.

She stood for a second facing him just outside of his door, and he knew that she knew. But he also knew that there was nothing she was going to do about it.

“Goodbye now,” she said, and faced him away, walking as steadily as she could.

“Goodbye,” he whispered through his teeth and firmly closed the door behind him.

He walked swiftly back to his bedroom, switched on the light, and tilted his head at the sight of what the foot of his bed had exposed.