TUNAS

Without You

Charlie The Arrogant

Relationship Gut

Roseville Trip

Coo Per Tino

Tumor In A Hat

West Bestern

Young Folks

Mr. and Mrs.

Mikal Angelo

Stomach Flu

Julius W

Alice In Chains In Wonderland

W

Photos de Bulles

Hair Cut

El Jeffe

W

Last Call!

It's closing time.

Have the decency to answer. To make sense. To even say no. Or figure out exactly what you want. Because I want to get rid of the shackles of our side story. It's not a heart aching, unfulfilled romance anymore. It's just sad and hopeless.

And the Rest

I succumb to the very thought of you. Of me. Of our memories. Of whatever is left to think about. "Nothing more," I repeatedly tell myself. But I swell up and I dwell in the things I know I've forgotten but somehow can't forget.

Oh, girl...

I thought about Trixie today as I jumped in the car with St. Nick. She was a rock. She shined and she made me so calm and she made me so fine but she made me so blue. If there's beauty in the first floor of some dark and drafty parking lot, then I found it today. A kind of annoying one. An indecisive one. I wouldn't think of me there, but it sure is the kind I give recognition to. It's not promising and it's not worth anything to a single other damned person around here. But it was the only thing I had then. That should mean a thought or two.

Fighting Certain Kinds of...Frustrations

A Faps Then Naps lifestyle is not a long withstanding lifestyle. In fact, I've reached a point where I put on my bitch face from the second I wake up, refuse to take it off during the day, then fall asleep with it on. There aren't strong enough distractions in the world to silence this inner beast. I just want to be wild for a little while. Take someone down for a little while.

What...is wrong with me?

The Comeback

The Comeback just means reliving the things I'm severing my life from. It's the same bull shit that for some reason, some of us can't outgrow. A few nights ago, I found myself (anyone ever notice how often I use "I found myself...dot dot dot" ?) I found myself curled in some chair in the dark, pretending to be asleep, and wanting to gouge my eyes right out of their begging sockets and rip my ears off and feed 'em to the dogs. I don't know why I keep surrounding myself with sad, bitter people who make me want to implode. But what really squeezes my nuts is the fact that I keep going out of my way in putting the effort to being a good friend with fucks who would never recognize their feet up their asses. And when I think back on how often I feel this awful about myself, I do the same thing. I drag myself out of the situation, slam a door, and drive off some place where I can be bitter on my own, and relieve everyone else with my silence. Because I'm never mad, oh no no no. How could I ever be mad? If I take that step, I'm only on my way to some unnecessary and nasty exchange of words. So I just leave, like always. Rushing out fast, quiet, and easily. Then I hand out the coldest shoulders and let silence speak for itself. Sometimes, it's just better than direct confrontation. Sometimes confrontation feeds the flames. And I definitely refuse to feed any flames.

Always leave. Always leave.

Be Kind?

I've been taking an approach to kindness lately and I am now finding myself with this annoyance of a hangover and a bitter taste in my mouth and the truth of how awful people can really be. Kindness is the wrong approach for me. I thought it was the best way to go. But I can't shake the fact that I'm surrounded by tightened, blackened, and miserable assholes. Much like myself I suppose. But c'mon, who really cares about anything or anyone anymore?

I am regretful.
'

Things I don't like talking about...

• Work.
  
• My work.
  
• Your work.
• Their work.

Fuck work.

Entries with ellipses...

I'll just end up writing about the same damn things I always do.

When your hair gets caught on your lip...

I just wanna...

There goes another...

The time I invested in you is time wasted. And now the only thing I have left to do is turn my back on you for good. There are no explanations necessary and no reparations left to be made. I really hoped that I could trust you again so I stayed by your side. Now all you're leaving me with is the nausea of how sick you've made us all and the knowledge of how you'll never change.

You've ruined enough for her, and I'll make sure that you'll never have her back. I swear.

Dry Heaves

I couldn't get into the show because I didn't have cash on me and because I'm a pussy little bitch. I sat in my car and listened to the blaring leak of their music through the barriers. Double-bass and snares, brotherly love, a murmured bass, and the squeals of reason. They were all there and I was locked in my car and I wanted them to drown me to the bottom of their sound and away from mine. I slouched. I hunched. I stared blankly at a lifeless parking lot and cursed the white lights running down. How is it that I can find a way to hate myself at every kind of location and occasion? I pulled out the last piece I've been saving and burned my insides cold, sitting on top of the drummer's tiny car. I took my time. I dragged intently. I stayed still in that moment long enough for me to wobble upright as I hopped back on the ground and walked to my car. Immediately I heard and felt the helpless growl of my stomach. Whatever it was, it rushed around my body like a plague. My head spun dizzily, my throat gagged up foam, and my stomach frantically pumped itself to convulsion. I opened my door, sat inside, closed it, opened it, puked, then wrapped myself in a ball. I drove to In-n-Out because food solves things. I spent 20 minutes puking in the bathroom, taking the opportunity to puke in both stalls, while people lined up behind the doors. The drive back was the hellish nightmare of Andre Nickatina. Cocaine raps and jazzy bass lines and the devil. By the time I got to her house, I collapsed my body on the couch, shook until my breathing lost its pace, and eventually had soup through a bendy straw. And after giving myself just a few short minutes of feeling alright again, I dove straight back to ganja and Bacardi. When I was conscious again, I awoke to some petty altercation that weighed the world for some reason. My heart raced and thudded against my chest, and all I wanted to do was rush the fuck out. Once the door shut behind me, I knew I should always leave.

Peace of Mind

The more I look for my own peace of mind the more I understand how I'll lose my own mind someday. Just as how I'm starting to lose my mind now. It's five in the morning and I'm choking back my own weaknesses. I'm choking back the quietest part of me. I'm choking back this fear instilled in me and I'm choking back the madness of my regrets. Every day is filthy, filled with filthy people and their selfish, filthy minds. And I have my madness to match. I'd rather puke my night dry, just how it will inevitably end, than let my knees falter to everyone else's filth. I'm filthy enough on my own and I'd rather be alone with it. I knew it all along anyway and I will lose my mind before I'll ever allow myself my own peace of mind.

What.fucking.peace? FILTH.

Disc Jockey

I'm seriously considering taking up being a DJ. New hobby.

Where do I even begin?

Oath?

Sometimes my body aches in ways I can't even comprehend. I don't want anything and I don't want anybody. The moments that I exhaust myself to the point of despondence; I just want to rest my head on your chest and finally fall asleep. This entire time and counting... it feels like I haven't slept a wink. I swear I do better most days now. It's just these nights. Nothing means anything right now. It's like I was someone else with you. Someone whole. And so every single day, without fail, I feel the suddenness of wanting to rush back to you. Every single day.

Still.

Treating myself to a few nice things

means not worrying about necessities. That's about it.

Pay Day

Work is really messing with my skin. My hands look like they've been working and working. I can feel the roughness on them. The stress, the veins. They're dry and I feel like a reptile. But hakuna matata. Pay day is near and I will treat myself to a few nice things.

NIETZSCHE

Every day my camera taunts me. Hisses at me. I never take it anywhere and I never feel like using it. And every day I tell myself, "Just pick it up. JUST TAKE IT WITH YOU." But I sigh and talk myself out of being productive with it. WHY? Because I'm rotten. Just like the rest of you. Come on, let's all fess up together. ROTTEN!!!!!! But I swear, I'll start snapping pictures of every fucker I know again. I swear.

'little wittle baby steps'

Now you run with the bulls. Fly with the flies. And have life and all in it. I was another life. We were something we created. A pigment of our imaginations. And the days I ache, well, it really is so much easier this way. But God I hope you know that there has never been a day that I wasn't proud of all your accomplishments. Maybe you never knew, but fuck, you did it. And I'm so happy for you.

PS. Forget it all together...