Thursday, December 10, 2009

Fuck You Dudes And Cunts

Fuck the internet. My entire internet life has been this blog which has been around for about 4 months and I've gotten in trouble over it about 3 times. Now I know why I never gave a shit about it. Keep a journal and hide it. Don't let anyone see it. Fuck everybody and what they have to say about your thoughts unless you're on the internet telling everyone your thoughts which I am right now. So fuck me and fuck everybody else. I truly hate you all. Fuck you. Seriously.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

bowling with beckett

i've been running through thoughts like candy. But none of them are appealing. I've been strapped to the television cause i don't feel like thinking. i don't feel anything at all. I have no interest in the things i did before. i don't wanna write. i don't wanna play music. I've outgrown everything. what do i do then? slam slam slam. no sex. no decent food in my stomach. my stomach grows and my hair depletes. what next then? do i find something to do for the sake of doing it. i don't know. i'm really confused and i don't know what i want. i feel unwanted and i feel like setting myself on fire. my balloon string is turning black and when the music goes, and it's already went, i'm all alone. who am i then? I got shit to do. my head is filled with non thoughts of car wrecks, bloody fights with my mother, unprovoked violence, and strange eyes that keep on watching me. when i walk down the street i avoid eye contact and i do the same with my friends. i cant even look my mother in the eye. its pointless to let them read my mind which i know they can. theres nothing to see in there anyway. i hate everything i write and say and its making me tired. sad. overwhelmed with feelings of being too revealing yet not saying enough. not doing enough. wasting away in quincy with the same streets, broke beyond belief and without an interesting way to tell you about it. nothing special in my life. bored. so fucking bored. always waiting. always waiting.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Bridget Fonda's Theory About How Coughing Gets You Higher(As Told To Robert Deniro)

"The beats make me falling asleep/I keep falling/But never falling six feet deep/I'm out for presidents to represent me/Say what?/I'm out for presidents to represent me/Say what?/I'm out for dead fucking presidents to represent me."
Wading in four feet of dirty water. Every step in the mud pulls my boots off with its vaccum suction design. This is all a dream of course. A pleasant one. I'm helplessly stuck and there's nothing I can do about it. That's alot better than being stuck and being able to do something about it.
Cause I won't.
I'll procrastinate and I much prefer to have no options. Give me a problem and let me sit in it. I love not having a choice. Freedom is overrated and so is the truth. Who could blame me for making nothing out of my life if I've been locked in a cage for 10 years? People would sympathize and expect nothing out of me. My life would be on pause and no one would be asking me to do a thing. Let the busy take care of everything. That's the way they seem to want it.
Nobody wants to be lied to. Why? What's the big deal? Lies are funny. There are people out there that want to destroy your happiness just for the sake of "the truth." Like as if the truth is the most important thing in the world and no matter how much misery it causes, it's still the best course of action. Why? Isn't happiness more important? What good is the truth if it fucks you up? We all have different perceptions on it anyway so when you get right down to it, there's no such thing.
Is the sky blue? I don't know. Someone told me so but that's about as much proof as I have. Some people are color blind and can't see blue at all so what's their truth? I grew up thinking my father was my father. He turned out not to be. So what? Someone else, some truth addict, might have lost complete control of themselves over that little cookie of info but why? Would their life had been any different? Would they have been safer?
Every now and then someone runs through a shopping mall or a school with a machine gun to let us know that the truth that most people believe in can be snuffed out at anytime. It's still chaos out there and thank god for the "crazies" to remind us. We should give them Nobel Peace Prizes.
Ever feel like you're in a box? Really. I feel like a rat that moves to the sound of a bell everyday, going from place to place in the same exact order as the day before. The 3 months in the hospital this year were infinitely more entertaing than the day to day existence I was going through before. At least I was surrounded by people who had no grasp on other people's realities and didn't give a fuck. Crazy people have their own subculture that's way more punk than punk. Hospitals, meds, disease, insane use of vocabulary, innovative use of body parts, stds, high tech machinery, psychological wisdom, no fear, the ability to use less teeth than others, lower sexual standards, brilliant deception, voices that make you shake with their heartfelt bellowing. But for some reason they all have horrible taste in movies. My entire time in the hospital, the only movies that people could get to me(contraband)were like, Vin Deisel movies and bad Jet Li movies. Like that was the zenith of film for them.
What hospitals need to do is pump their patients full of old Polanski movies and play the Melvins and the Swans at full volume all day until those uncultured peices of shit get their act together. Fucking entertain me. By the end of my stay I felt like all interest in anything had been erased. I haven't read a full book in the 4 months I've been out. I can't sit still long enough to read one.
Whatever. Like that matters in the slightest. I'm sure anybody gives a shit if Shawnie Brando has been catching up on his reading lately.
Can you still get a lobotomy?
How is Moxie still being made? Who the fuck buys it?
What ever happened to the blonde girl from the B52s?
Somebody help me out with these questions and more.
I wish I could show you guys this outfit I'm wearing in my head. It's pretty cool.

Monday, October 12, 2009

My God Gave Me A Rod

Let's talk.
My mind has been twisted all day. I've been burdened all day by feelings of guilt. Two nights ago I got drunk and decided it would be a good idea to sniff a Perc 30. This is why I don't drink that much. All of my judgement and willpower falls by the wayside and the idea of putting any type of substance in my body, no matter how harmful, seems like a good idea. I awoke the next day with an overwhelming feeling of guilt for taking the pill and I've been dealing with the emotions as well as the physical reprocusions of my actions. I've been slightly dopesick and I feel as if I've opened up the gates that I had closed. I want drugs. I want the warm fuzz that comes with opiated divinity,that is as fleeting as the rush of a whippit. I feel terrified. Scared that I have crawled back into that old NEED. Wanting that rush that only drugs can provide.
Or so I thought.
My girlfriend Liz came over tonight and layed in bed with me. We hardly see each other anymore, seeing as how both of us don't have cars and no place to really be alone, as we both live with our respected authority figures. Me, my grandmother. Her, her parents. It had been a long time since we've just layed in bed together and talked and loved each other. It made me realize how much I enjoy her company. The pleasure of doing nothing with someone so special. I love the feeling of her in my arms. The feeling of my hands running through her hair and her telling me how much she loves it.
Before she showed up, I wanted to end it all. When she left I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. She tells me the truth. She shows me compassion and trust. I get lost in her mange and fall into all the narcissistic trappings of two people in love.
"We're the best. We're so lucky to have found each other. Most people spend there lives looking for what we have and we GOT it. I feel blessed to have found you. How the fuck did I find you?"
You know that these things have been said by millions of couples in love but it doesn't matter. You mean them and it goes beyond the pettiness of cliche. I feel blessed everytime I'm with her and I know that I have something more special than money or career. She has the heart of a baby and I'm torn to pieces everytime I realize that she's giving it to me. Think about it. Someone you love and respect giving themselves over to you. Commiting to YOU and all the bullshit that you bring.
Sometimes I turn hypocrite. Sometimes I turn stubborn. Sometimes I fly into a meaningless rage that leaves blood on the floor but she stays right there and even loves me for it. That's special. Sometimes I look at her face and see these soft features that are wracked with guilt, misery, and confusion and I want to fix it, but I know that she doesn't want me to fix it. She just wants me to be there through it all and if that's all it takes to please her, then I have the easiest job in the world. There's nothing I want more than to be there through all the badtimes. But when I say bad times I don't mean that we have them. She has them. I have them. But WE don't have them. We've always been OK. For over three years we've been perfect. I can count on my hands the number of times we've fought and it's always been about the stupidest of shit. Rent payments, drugs, or just general stupidity.
The past couple months has been us talking on the phone mostly cause it's so hard to spend time alone with each other since we lost our apartment, but on a night like tonight where we just lay in bed, holding each other, I realize how much I miss her. She feels so good against my chest that I want to burst into flames and die right there so we can enter the next world full of burning energy that will guarantee that we find each other out there somehow. How could we die and not find each other? That would be injustice. I hope there's something else out there, cause there's not enough time in this place. We need eternity and I really hope it's out there. She's too perfect for me.
I'm glad my friends don't really know her like I do. I'm glad that no one else really does. She's developed a rep as a drug user. For lack of a better word, a mess in every square's eyes that I know. She's the most compassionate person I've ever met and even though she doesn't always do the right thing, she wants to. And she tries to. She knows right from wrong and that's more than I can say for a lot of people. Some people don't even consider their place in the world and it shows. When her friends turn on her, she feels it. She loves her friends with everything in her. I know that. She talks about them all the time. She carries a torch for her best friend Ann Marie, who died over four years ago. Not a day goes by where she doesn't talk about her. Not a single day. I think that's amazing. I've never met a person who loves so much with such a black cloud hanging over her. That takes strength to keep going. I hope I'm part of that strength.
I can't help but gush. It's just been one of those nights where I feel like I've made all the right choices in my life. I didn't have a girlfriend for five years before I met Liz. For the longest time I thought that it was something wrong with me and that all of my experiences with women had turned me off to the whole thing so why even bother finding someone to commit to like that. Some girls were there but I just never wanted it. When I met her, I knew that she was someone I could take a chance on. I knew that I had made the right decision and I was right to wait for the person I was starting to doubt was out there. She was it and I knew it right away. She still turns me on. I still stick my fingers in her belt and pull her towards me when I want her. We're still each other's best company. She still has the best laugh of all time. The best smile. Gorgeous.
Tonight I wanted her so bad that I was gonna bite her face off. It's hard to get(ya know?)when your grandmother is in the next room. I can't wait till we get back on our feet and get on our own again. I miss her too much.
Nights like tonight let me know that nothing is so bad as long as she's around. I really believe that. Once again, I feel blessed. She's changed my life in so many ways that if she were to leave me right now, I would still feel forever in debt to her. She let's me know that I can do anything I want and I want her to know that she can do the same. She's brilliant and I want her to use it. She'd destroy you in anything you go against her in.
"My girl's wicked smaht."
Bottom line is is that a small regression into opiate use had me on the ropes for the past two days and I was really hating myself for it. I don't wanna go back there and I'm hoping it was just a one time thing and I can move on. I don't expect the guilt to go away but I know that I can move on from it. That's because of Liz. I met her at a point where I didn't think I was capable of feeling love for anyone again. She transformed my mindset in the blink of an eye. She gives me hope and let's me know that I can do whatever I want to do. And she doesn't even have to say a word.
She's telepathic.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Bear Storm(The Psych Ward Stories Pt 1)

Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead. Braindead.
So much so that I thought I was writing Braintree.
This is sad.
I went to the psychiatrist today. I know that sounds like the beginning of a Daniel Johnston song, but it's true. Today I did my bi weekly visit with my quack. I told her all my dirty little secrets and half expected something in return. She asked me how I'd been doing and I proceeded to unload two weeks worth of bile into her face like I was a buzzard and she was a dead carcass that I had to externally digest before I ate her. Whatever. I told her I've been having trouble sleeping. She asked me what happens when I go to bed. I told her that I replay images of myself behind the wheel of a car that I can't control, running over small children, mangling their bodies under the wheels while dragging them along the road. I told her that it was really disturbing and I asked her if she could help me make it stop so I could get some sleep. She pulled out a magnifying glass from her desk drawer and reached under her skirt and slipped off her black underwear.
"Come here. I need you to see this."
"See what? What the fuck are you doing?"
"Just shut your bitchy cunt mouth, get on your knees and look at this! I'm fucking serious!"
"Really? You're serious?"
"Are you really this fucking stupid? Didn't I just say I was serious? Get on your fucking knees and look at this! Now!"
"Alright. Alright. Jesus."
I bent to my knees and looked between her legs. She put the magnifying glass against a black forest of pubic hair. She told me to be quiet.
"What the fuck am I looking at?"
She drew the glass behind her head and slapped me across the face with it. Blood started coming out above my eye, leaking onto her thighs.
"Shut...the fuck....up. Just watch."
She put the magnifying glass back to her pubic hair. I didn't wanna get hit again so I just watched. I saw something moving in there. A tiny black spot moving slowly from one hair to the next. I didn't know what it was.
"What is it?"
Her lips drew back from her teeth into a giddy smile.
"It's the world's smallest bear."
She let her head fall back and started to laugh. She looked really happy.
"Did you just say bear? I think you might have crabs."
She hit me with the glass again. I was bleeding everywhere. She started to scream at me.
"It's a bear and it's all mine! I have the world's smallest bear living outside of myyyyyy box so go fuck your mother!"
She grabbed me by the hair and forced me to look again. I tried to get away but she tackled me and knelt on my shoulders, pinning me and forcing me to look through the glass again.
"Just be quiet and listen. You can hear him roaring."
I couldn't hear anything over the sound of my own exausted breath. She had beaten me bloody and I didn't want to fight anymore. Her bush was staring me in the face. I allowed myself to believe that there was a bear living in there somewhere. It sounded ludicrous but OK....
"I believe you. You must be very proud."
She shreiked with joy, slamming my head off the floor in her happiness.
"You see him? You really see him?"
"Oh yeah. He's reeaaally cool."
She jumped off my shoulders and started to run around the room with her arms outstretched and her head thrown back, laughing and giggling, doing laps around my crippled body like I wasn't even there. I had made her day.
She grabbed her underwear off the floor and pulled them up her bloodied legs, smearing the blood as they went up. She wiped her hands on her skirt and sat down in her chair. She let out one more small giggle and told me to get up and sit down in the chair. I did as I was told.
"I think your thoughts of car crashes obviously represents your fear of losing control and destroying something good and innocent. Does that seem to make sense to you?"
"Do you think that sounds like you? Does that seem to fit?"
"I guess."
"What do you think you can do to change it?"
"Uhh, I...don't...know..I guess...what?"
"Maybe you should try shutting the lights off a couple hours earlier than you normally do and just ya know try relaxing a little bit earlier than you have been. Maybe?"
"OK. Well we're pretty much out of time. Should I just keep you at 9am for every other Monday?"
"I guess."
"OK. See you in two weeks."
"Uhh..OK. Bye."
I walked out of the building covered in blood. Dumbfounded.
Did my psychiatrist just beat me with a magnifying glass and tell me there is a BEAR living in her pubic hair? My brain isn't so awesome that I could have just made that up, is it? Did I just make that happen? Did I will it in some way? Is this part of the therapy? Is she the best psychiatrist in the world?
I got in my car and drove back home to Quincy. I didn't have the energy to go to work. I called them up and told them I was sick. They didn't seem to care.
I went to the couch to watch TV and lay down. Nurse my wounds. I layed on the couch and thought about puppies and deep deep droning sounds. Flowers and blowjobs. Cake and steak.
There wasn't a mangled child in sight. She had cured me. That wonderful woman had cured me. I fell into the deepest sleep of my life. Perfectly content in the fact that I didn't have a bear in my pubic hair. And neither did she.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Smuggling Grapes

Xanex is funny.
Everytime I take it I feel like I'm in the movie Memento, where every half hour I have to look for clues as to why I'm doing what I'm doing.
"Why is this man chasing me?"
"Why am I getting kicked off the train?"
"Why am I running across 128?"
So many questions come to mind that I feel like I might drop to the floor and melt there. But due to my body's natural inclanation to perservere, I continue to breath freely though. That's kind of amazing. While my mind is being peeled and spat on, my body somehow knows to keep breathing.
I'm relaxed. Made my way through another 24 hours of American mind rape. I feel kinda brave. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?
Pillars of fire?
Fetus Air Karate?
Toilet Paper Microphones?
I don't know about you but I'm fucking excited!
Today a car full of girls called me a sexy boy out the window of their car.
No bullshit....? This is the fifth time this has happened to me in a month. I have no idea what the fuck is going on.
In the past month I have been walking around in a sweaty South Quincy stupor, and girls are calling me sexy?
Never in my entire life has a woman on the street said a word to me. Now all of a sudden I'm like Grunge Daddy Kane.
"Long live the Kane."
Here's something else. I'm just gonna throw you guys this little uhh....mental milkbone.
I hate fast sex.
There I said it.
Me and Jimmy Flynn talked about it the other day and he used the analogy that having sex fast is like eating food fast.
Sometimes you girls just get on and start, like smashing my head against your chest and trying your hardest to rip my dick off. I can't feel a thing. It's like I start focusing on breathing exercises and who the fuck wants to do THAT naked? You'd be Sting. And I'll tell you right now, I don't wanna be Sting. Ever.
What the fuck am I even saying tonight? I have no point. I just ran out of movies to watch and figured I might as well go tell everybody in the world how I'm doing. That's the thing with these fucking blogs. Everytime I write one I'm like, " Why the fuck did I just say that? Everybody's gonna see it." You can't take it back and tuck it under your mattress like your journals. Everybody's in your buisness and your reality takes on a whole new shape.
I'm having one of those weeks where I'm feeling strange to be a human being. Or anything at all really.
"Isn't it strange to be anything at all?" Neutral Milk Hotel.
One time, probaly about 97, I was smoking weed with Beakey and his Mom. I had never smoked weed with someones parent before, let alone Beakey's Mom. He had just told her that he had only had sex with 2 girls at the time. She started to call him a pussy and then immediately started to talk about Robert Palmer and the grapes he was smuggling. Or was it Tom Jones? Whatever, I just took a Xanex so fuck off.
Anyway....The more weed I smoked, the stranger she started to look. Not like ugly but like as if her whole human form was something I had never seen. She looked like an alien with a thick Dorcester accent. I started to freak out on the inside. She kept saying, "Oh yaaaa! Oh yaaaaa!"
Over and over again. I don't know why.
Ever since then I've looked at the human form different. It seems strange to be this thing. My hands look weird. I feel like dust trapped in a flesh vessel. No offense to Beakey's Mom by the way. He looked kinda weird too.
Let's see....
I could fly in my dream the other night. That was kinda cool.
Uhhh....what else?
Oh yeah. Has anyone else noticed that the Zakim Bridge is the same shape as the Mason symbol? Am I being paranoid? Moving on.
I've made a decision. Some of you might think this decision is kinda extreme, but I will tell you that I feel very strongly about it. Today I went to the gas station near my work to buy cigarettes. I asked for Camel Filters. He put them in my hand and then quickly pulled them out.
"I need to see your ID."
"I don't have an ID on me."
"Then I can't sell to you, my friend."
I was pissed. I said, " Buddy, I know you have a job to do but take a look at my face. Do I look fucking 17 to you?"
"Those are the rules man sorry."
"Yeah, but use your common sense. I'm obviously not 17. Would a 17 year old have this type of sophistication? Would he stand before you with the decisive intellect of a full grown man, such as I do? Would women crack his Beck's for him? No. Look at my face, you fucking peasant."
He wouldn't budge. I've decided that once I hit 30 in three months, I'm never showing anyone my ID again. I feel like it's becoming beneath me. I've earned my rights with age. Use your common sense you fucking crumbs.
Anyway I'm gonna go. This is boring the piss out of me. I got nothing else to say.
Oh yeah,by the way, I got jumped by 5 kids this weekend in South Quincy, and I had to drown one of my cats in the bathtub yesterday. But I just don't have the energy to tell those stories right now.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

29th Round Knockout

I'm frustrated. But when am I not?
Ten years ago, I may have thrown myself into a filthy river. Waters overflowing with styrofoam cups and dirty needles just to prove my self worth. Today I would do no such thing. Is it because there is no need? Or is it because I have turned coward?
I'll go with the former. Today, with 30 staring me in the face, I have no need to prove myself to anyone. Only myself. I'm my harshest critic. When I went out to see Tik Tok the other night, I said to myself, "Fuck this band. I'm gonna start a new band and show these fucks what's what. They are going DOWN."
Of course I wouldn't even think that if I didn't think they were a great band. So kudos. But in my own juvenile Darwinian mind, I feel I need to destroy you. That's how I sike(is that spelled right?) myself up to become a rock god. I have to veiw you as competition, otherwise what the fuck am I doing?
I played with this kid Andrew last night and it was really spectacular. Good solid aggressive drummer. Fucked my head up. Perfect. Slow Pussy coming soon, fucks.
My life is strange lately. I'm happy with myself. Proud even. I've overcome major obstacles and life is starting to seem interesting again. Cold crisp air floods my body with the changing of the seasons. People seem decent. Women look beautiful. I feel the wind as a friend that I've long forgot about.
When me and Liz die we'll find each other somehow. I'll be a mist drifting through the atmosphere waiting for her to receive me and we'll be intertwined forever. Intoxicated on our own self worth. I love her and I can't wait to see her up in the sky somewhere. She'll be floating in a baby blue mist that'll make my unconscious mind quiver. I can't wait to die. It'll be nice.
Anyway. Suboxone detox has been terrible this week. Anxiety and sweat riddles my 5foot 9 frame. But I'm drug free. I'm starting to think that's cool. Sober mind. Hope I continue to think it's cool.
I want music and love. I've gone hippie. Fuck it. I still love Flipper. HAHAHAHAHA. I'm so tired. I haven't slept a wink. I'm so tired. My mind is on the blink.
"You've got no conscience when you're on your own."
I'm sending this one out to my man Beakey. You're hilarious and brilliant. Whatever keeps you going, don't lose it.
"I heard these foul slouch ass niggers talking shit about you on the corner of the boulevard last night but I didn't know you enough to defend you, right? I won the title a couple of times, did right."
Peace everybody. All three of you who read this. I might jump in traffic. Who knows?
"It's just a ride." Bill Hicks