s9

Listening to spoken word shit.  I was reading a book with an orange cover earlier.  Did you know I like to read at bars?  I love to drink and read.  Someone wants to fuck next to his books of ancient lore.  Something isn’t quite adding up here.  no, it is.  Never mind.  Gotta stop resisting the levity.  Erica Durance is definitely my favorite Lois Lane.  For me, her’s is the definitive portrayal and one that will very hard to beat.  I think of her when I read the comics. I need to figure out which Frank Zappa album I wanna listen to tomorrow during a drive.  Is it okay to call it a night?  Rare moment of peace.  You know I really like avenue b.  you know I really like that album by Bebel Gilberto I have, lovely lovely music.  Need to acquire more.  On an unrelated note and different medium, Limon’s words made me cry multiple times.  I love Clive Barker’s writing.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Wait, yes, yes, I do love it.  Listening to some weirdness while I write. 

The little green wheels again.  I was tearing apart my room, frantically searching.  Alas, and thanks God, they were all gone.  I did something right for a change.  But even the midst of doing right I still do wrong. 

Eroticized rage.  Violence against women.  Even if she abuses me at least she’s still paying attention to me.  a container; a large safe.  A safe place.  I could not find one.  whole body shaking before that.  Numbness in my arms, going out everywhere.  Could read the language.  odd contradiction, hate people, and yet the feeling of safety.  Safety with one other person. 

I’ve said it countless times before, no, I’ve quoted it countless times before but it’s more true than ever that research has pierced all extremes of my sex.  I didn’t know I couldn’t sit at the bar; man, I’m stupid.  Saw the excitement in your eyes (ready, set, go!). 

Well, well, revelation time.  and that is a most appropriate word.  Its always great to discuss degrees of evil.  And I now know that the evil inside of me is much greater than I imagined.  Limitless depths. 

I’m so tired and my hands and fingers ache and I am drink cheap red wine.  I listened to a lot of music today and that is a good thing.  I do so love the album The Idiot by Iggy Pop, lovely and essential work from the Berlin era.  I think I’ll go to Berlin someday.  Speaking frankly is so very hard.  Can hardly stay awake right now.  I feel like I’m driving through a rain storm.  I can only think of other people’s words right now.  No, I can speak frankly and honestly.

My heart is an ugly awful thing.  It is  incapable of being faithful.  That is merely one facet of it’s ugliness.

The confession…maybe admissions is a better word.  No, I think confession is better and more thematically resonant.  Felt wonderful and horrible.  I am a weak pathetic thing.  But I long to make the same confession over and over again.  I need something else to help me shed tears. 

I am feeling all over the place.  I know something will pass.  I think it will pass.  Part of me does not want it to pass.  Excitement in your eyes.  I know there is a kind presence.  I’m fucking it all up again.  Make a dedication later on.  Please let me be able to make that dedication.  He’s drinking again.  I’m going around in circles.  Always crashing….  Of course, I am feeling sadness and regret.  Everything is making so much more sense now, new meanings and reinforced meanings.  Haha, I am such an ugly thing.  But how beautiful and appropriate now.  All my violence.  I’m so glad….  But if only this time could be different.  At some point these paths will fall away from one another.  I can’t ever be….  Fuck, everything is just recollection of….  There’s only one way for things to be between…that was on something I made for someone else a long time and that someone is in my safe place.  Nothing real outside my dreams.  There’s only way and I need to shake these awful feelings.  Anyone who says I am not a terrible ugly person is wrong.  Violence.  This was always the secret ingredient.  And all these years I was only fooling myself.  Haha, had I actually started to convince myself I am a good person.  I’m more blind than all the others I’ve ever hated.  And just as awful. 

All scattered and absurd now.  In love with Tatiana. 

Toda la felicidad.  On the verge of crying while driving but couldn’t quite make it there.  and man, that is a terrible feeling.  I feel it now even while I drink heavily and call to sister midnight (I’m an idiot for her).  no judgement.  But I think that has to be impossible.  And I know that hurts me so much.  Because the foundation is constructed of ugly things.  put it in a safe.  I should have chosen a led box.  Fuck, it’s all gone to shit now.  I’m spewing hatred.  I’m a little baby.  I’m a fucking ugly whiny bastard. 

We’re all writing the end to our own stories.  We’re all wishful thinking our way to the end of our own stories.  We’re all spewing bullshit and then gulping it down again. 

I need to spill more words once I figure it all out.  This is an interesting start.  I don’t know where I’m at.  I’m out of money though.  Oh well, I’ve been out before.  I’ll be out again.  It took me forever just to fucking say it.  God, I’m a wretched thing.  Worthless piece of shit.  Why can’t I feel this?  Why can’t I feel anything? I feel awful and then I feel nothing.  I’m screaming now like I was screaming in my car earlier. 

s8

I feel so bad.  I’m taking a trip through all my most recent failures so of course it’s taking quite some time.  Instead I should have walked with you through your fanfare.  I need to drink a glass of water.  Crude red over the mountains; they do, more than people realize.  Ah, falling back into place again.  When did it start?  Not so long ago.  Searching and the jackal for real this time the real jackal and later on the fruitless search (at least he could resist that) for the jackal who is not the jackal.  Nothing really matter I suppose.  Hahaha, I laugh to myself.  I’m such a worthless failure.  Time and again I tell myself….  It’s either all an accident or all fate.  I was an accident. 

I feel so awful inside.  Everything good about me – what little there was – is rotting away.  Of course, no one else is to blame but myself.  I walked away and felt horrible.  That’s not…whatever.  Can’t think of anything.  I gotta buy a book.  I gotta eat at some point.  Everything feels awful and pointless.  No one’s fault but my own.  My fingers hurt.  Water and pigs.  On the way home, always crashing, I’m tired now so I need to drink something to wake me up.  I don’t care about any of this.  I sort of like this grey area I’m floating in.  I’ll probably drink later.  Nothing really matters.  Was something purple today?  I think it might have been.  Please don’t say my mine.  I could never say anything harsh.  And a little dahs of self destruction again.  I never do anything.  This is the end of everything.  One long deformed expanse of tedium and mediocrity.  A much wiser man’s toast, “here’s to a lousy life!”  hands ceasing to function, spirit in peril.  What shitty words.  I was sitting with a bunch of blue.  It takes a great deal just to open my mouth and speak.  When I started talking about the one thing I felt strange tingling in my hands.  I can’t say anything.  I don’t want to see anyone.  Why can’t everyone just leave me alone.  It doesn’t seem like that tough of a request.  But what the fuck do I know?  Now I am needy, I am a needy little bitch and I just replace one fucked up thing with another.  There is no end to my corruption.  Man, I’m useless.  I want to open my window but there’s too much fucking noise outside.  There are too many things I want to say.  I need to get some money though.  Nothing makes me feel good.  I feel torn up, I feel awful.  My stomach hurts.  Must write down on some parchment and talk about all my unimportant bullshit very soon.  Too much coffee.  I’m addicted to my sinful bullshit, man I’m a piece of shit.  It’s not disappointing because disappointment implies I was unaware.  I’ve always been aware.    

Made some comparisons but no one asked for my….  Don’t like when our needs are so obviously publicized.  I was just thinking of something beautiful.  These are beautiful moments.  It is odd to think I can exist inside a beautiful moment.  Wide naked eyes.  Robbery again.  And there is silver coming down.  Thank God for Low.  I’m always crashing….  I would have done it for now if not for.  Haha, but of course Jasmine is actually…I mentioned feeling free somewhere else.  Thanks the Lord for the entire Berlin era.  I was at a bar earlier and reading about but I was driving earlier and listening to it.  It made me feel good and worthwhile and also met me on all the levels of feeling bad. 

After the entire day I still only understood a very small amount.  I see how limited everything must be.  I realize now friendship is impossible.  Hahahaha I have become something so beloved but I am something so awful.  My bedspread is red. The curtains to my bedroom are red.  I drink heavily.  I go out to the balcony on occasion and sing a little song.  I frequently wear that mask of regret.  I’ll be driving the ambulance one day and making jokes about the dead man.  I’ll give the signal for a touchdown when we blew it all to shit!  I’ll chase after you when you run away. I am evil. This is certain.  But I still love you even though I don’t stand a fucking chance of understanding how to love. 

It may be necessary for some type of passing the buck.  Of course I would understand. I need to scour these lines for something to use.  I was somewhere else earlier and mystery was laid out before me.  I realized yet again how awful I am.  Of course, the beginning of fucking up took place in a black and white world. And then investigation, research shall we say.  And then later on I was a lovesick puppy and the easy comfort felt oh so natural and there was a woman dancing in a black dress.  There is a ray gun pointed to my head.  I need look at the proper remasterization.   

After the confessions I felt bad, drove around, listened to Bowie and other things, felt progressively worse and wanted to look at stuff, reminded me in book that it is quick fix, something that is always there for you, reliable, always works.  I wrote about it.  I also know, I do like writing and feeling creative, and I know I mentioned negative stuff often feels more real than positive stuff, I like feel creative.  Drinking numbs feeling sexually aroused.  I think I feel weird here and like sharing and then its stops and it’s like I’m thrown in a weird pool and I get used to it and then I’m thrown back out.  I am a world class jerk for most people.  Correct feelings on…Correct feelings on…

Talk about driving around and crying and saying I’m bad and going to burn in hell. 

I love you. 

Fuck it, I should just go get wasted and read The Tommyknockers again. 

On a totally unrelated noted, I love love love Prince’s 1996 album Emancipation and I have so many wonderful memories discovering and bonding and growing with this music.  Gotta get wax! And eat some cereal! With soy milk! Cause cows are for calves! 

s7

I think I love Iggy Pop’s new album.  And Lana Del Rey’s new album!  Not Tool’s new album though, yeesh.  It’s easily their worst in years; don’t even want to waste any time writing about it.  I need to pick up Bat For Lashes new album.  And a couple other ones I can’t remember right now.  I have to buy some books too, another Limon (she wore….).  No, I’ve made up my mind.  I love Iggy Pop’s new album.  It makes me feel so free. 

What the hell am I doing? I recently asked myself this question.  I looked long and hard at a receipt recently and it made feel bad and nostalgic.  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, that’s for damn sure.  I am so very flat right now.  But it’s a good.  The other day he wished someone would take him out to a field and shoot him in the head.  Then after a beat everything was fine.  I need to start waking up earlier.  My hands are hurting something fierce.  I’ve been writing other things lately.  They’re more than likely utter crap though, just like all the other crap I write.  I have no idea what I’m saying or writing anymore but I’m convinced it doesn’t matter.  I watched the Miami Vice movie the other day.  damn, I love that movie.  I also like the show.  I’m wearing a t-shirt right now.  If only I was wearing a jacket too.  I’m listening to words now.  I am an awful person.  let it not go…i don’t know, lost interest in my sentence there.  but I am bad.  I’m so blah lately.  I’m just a big nothing.  It doesn’t really matter though.  I can’t abide by the thought of…something.  I don’t know.  Corrective shit.  I can eliminate something.  Because I am awful.  But wait, I mean, I can eliminate something awful in me but I’ll still be awful.  That will never change.  Don’t believe in yourself.  I was looking at the same date every night right lights out.  During the review of said data I was also drinking heavily.  And such is the nature of wisdom.  I ate pizza twice last week.  No wonder I’m such a flabby sack of shit.  I read a couple beautiful books recently.  They were very inspirational.  You know I really love U2’s album Zooropa.  And I love how the penultimate tune quotes Bukowski.  It’s a great inspirational line..  I don’t really know what my problem is.  I’m just a terrible person. hahaha, I chuckle to myself, I guess that’s my problem.  Avoid eye contact, fella.  Just stare right next to a person, right to the right of em.  That’s the key. Patience is the key.  Time, patience, the right berries.  Items are coming for me in the mail tomorrow and I’m so excited I may just go put my freshly washed laundry in the drier.  And then hopefully I’ll throw myself off the fucking bridge though of course I don’t have the fucking guts to what’s necessary.  Never have, never will (and you’ll never know).  Of course I need to order post haste that limited edition marine wax.  It is too lovely, too brassy.  No, not too brassy, the brassiness is fantastic, I love it, juts fucking love it. Maybe I’ll write about it in depth. 

Ah so even in the midst of all this recovery and purity I still manage to taint it because my heart is a foul dirty little thing.  Of course this is exactly the way I want it.  I don’t think I can trace it back.  What am I talking about.  Of course I can.  Because he went in with this drive, this direction.  In that it all folded out as it was supposed to.  And then the recurring motif of research and my God I did not even realize until this very moment with these calm voices ringing out how true it was and is and always will be.  The voices are testament to everything.  I don’t think it was the next time.  whenever, one of the next times.  It all adds up.  What a lovely season of corruption.  Not a season, no, this is corruption everlasting.  This is everything you touch being tainted for life.  Yes, the other day he could not even get the words out, all too pointless.  What was amusing is…whatever.  No, wait the possibility of knowledge.  Foreknowledge or something.  The possibility that the person you think does not know may in fact know and in reality you want that person to know.  And in weird moments nothing feels serious and in fact it doesn’t really feel like anything.  It is like I am just apart from myself and apart from everything and I never know if this is bad or not.  Oh, what bullshit, of course its bad and it’s nothing more than generous and elaborate self delusion so I can for a moment pretend that I am not complete shit and that everything I do and create is not complete shit but of course that lie is too fucking weak to survive for too long.  We’re dealing with brains here people.  But yes, the knowledge.  And then it all came back to that great horned beast the rhinoceros.  Yes, that and the subsequent two iterations including a number which will soon have a very particular significance.  So many are healing currently.  I know his philosophy is not all right.  He has to believe this is on the right side oh for fucks sake just what you mean.  It’s because it does not entirely add up and trust is so fragile.  This has to be real but please don’t talk about love because it all sounds so false but that is entirely my fault and nothing else really matters, only the fact that it is only my fault, no on else is responsible and my great love of sin is not about me giving in but only about me embracing and kissing so tenderly my own fucked heart.  I feel anxious and awful right now.  I just have to remember the pointlessness of my feelings and that pointlessness stems from me being a rotten piece of shit.