Pots

 I Don’t matter. My life doesn’t matter. I’m a worthless piece of shit. No one else is to blame. I’m awful. Awful. 

 I’m so pathetic and awful. I would miss everything but myself. Dutch. A tear. Everything. I wish I wasn’t me. I wish my mother had had someone else. I’m a piece of shit. Forgive me. 

S

 Just wanna die. Tears In eyes. Hate myself so much. Killjoys ending. Love this show so much. Became one of my all time faves. Remembering now Erica Durance Lois Lane. Still my favorite interpretation of the character. Tears. Just wanna die. I’m awful. Awful. 

Green

 Listening to how I’m feeling now as I cruise in, I’d forgotten how much I love.  I wrote about it once when I was feeling especially shitty.  Everything wet and grey.  Evocative.  I am shit.  Need to write about something else now.  Gotta get things outta my system.  My putrid system.  I’m so vile and foul.  There is nothing real about me. But that realization hurts which means there has to be something there.  Mazzy. Need.  It’s all salty.  Albini today.  Today is rough and grey.  Drinking coffee now.  Can barely keep my eyes open.  Fishnets have me.  Fishnets always have me.  Don’t eat the salmon!!!  Everything is chimey.  Chimey is the sound of love and comfort.  Even or especially in rain.  I just want a hug.  I’m not real.  I push things away.  I hate myself so much.  I’m awful.  Awful.  Tradecraft.  Spycraft.  Subterfuge.  Should have just but instead i.  

Working backwards or some fucking thing.  Closed it down.  Red plaid.  No point of comparison.  There was other plaid too.  Maybe purple.  I love purple.  I’m the constant asshole.  Everything with lovely connectivity.  I can’t relate to anything anymore.  I hate myself.  I talk and I’m not me.  I’m watching it happen.  Watching myself say things, wishing I had a personality.  Lovely across and to the side.  Babbling on about dry work.  Drink after drink.  I bought.  Real horse’s ass am i.  every night?  All these worthless comparisons.  It’s exhausting being me.  The grim weight of so much failure.  The grand accumulation of nothing.  Comforting to know there will be no heirs.  When I die, my existence, all of me, will be blissfully rubbed out.  I just wish it could go in the other direction right now, that everyone would just forget I exist.  I’m so fucking awful and useless.   I’m losing sensation.  It’s like I’m leaving something behind but I don’t know what.  I don’t know what to cling to anymore.  Because none of it really matters.  I’m not good in the group settings.  I’m all fucked up.  Time and again I tell myself.  Not me.  At a loss now.  Dust.  I think it was a rather good time.  I forgot sometimes what good times are like.  Losing me.  Emotional connections gone.  I can’t, I can’t! said mockingly.  Smoke coming from an old television set.  Going against nature.  Love the phrasing.  A lot of good phrasing.  Very intelligent.  Hyperpop.  Black fishnets.  White fishnets.  Had to eliminate.  Again.  Maybe this time though.  The genocides.  Cd roms are the way of the future.  And digital dating.  In person and physicality in general are outdated and highly overrated.  I need cleaner textures.  Cold cubes.  Glaciers of ice.  Swords.  Damn, I need a margarita.  These days it’s all about eating ass.  I ate some mozzarella sticks recently.  Then at some point I was driving around like a lunatic at 2 AM desperately searching for an open McDonald’s.  reminds of time in in the big apple when I was at a strange bar that had a big collection of vinyl records and at one point I left to buy some bananas.  I’m a big time loser.  Maybe if I ate more ass I’d actually have a measure of success in this world!  

I’m just going to point to the boar!  Weight fluctuations.  One of them apparently doesn’t realize.  It’s all just business.  That makes sense.  The elderly hugs.  So sad.  Gotta understand the clientele.  I wish I wasn’t such a worthless fuckup.  I’m reading about the suicide of a science fiction author.  Or am i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I’m old, washed up, outdated.  I’m old hat.  I’m obsolete.  I’m useless.  I need to just fuck off and die.  Hurdy gurdy man needs to start playing now.  Lovely smile.  Appreciates when it isn’t just about social media.  Makes sense.  Consideration.  Dude.  Sir.  I’m talking about vampires!  Werewolves!  I’m just more throwaway crap.  If only I’d eaten more ass over the course of my life! Then maybe I could’ve actually been someone!  I wish I lived in an alternate universe where I never existed.  You gotta know when to cut things off! I ruin every good thing but maybe this time I can cut things off and not ruin it like the dumb fuck i are!  Tangiers is where I need to go.  And I need to start spending all money on nicer cheap suits and better brands of whiskey.  I think I felt love in an instant.  It can be a nice feeling.  A moment of love.  Not good in groups.  Weird guy in the corner.  Maybe if I’d eaten more ass over the years I wouldn’t so constantly be the victim of ostracization.  I’m going to get a haircut tomorrow.  Or am i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Shitting well is the best revenge.  Hot whiskey shits this morning.  Breathing in my rich stink.  Man, I could use a drink and a nap.  I need to get myself a baseball steak! And then line the crack of my ass with extra crunchy peanut butter.  Would now be a good time to conjure up a flock of woodpeckers?! Castaneda.  London’s architecture.  This all must be nonsense.  Or is something making it real.  Sickert.  I made it all up but it happened anyway.  Psychic visions.  Worlds imagined into reality.  I’m grasping at nothing.  I was recently speaking to an animal control officer.  Is that how it starts?  I like the clickity clack sound of keyboards being typed on.  Cognitive dissonance.  And.  The desire to self traumatize.  I am filled with dread.  Everything awful.  Something is going very wrong all around us.  I have one Charles Fort book.  I exchanged currency plain for this item.  Aquarian.  Holograms.  I am nothing.  Can remember so little.  I was too drunk to be afraid so that was nice.  Are there magicians around?  If so, I hope they are wearing fishnets.  I am so false.  Keep coming back to that. Though I did feel something like love.  It’s all so fading.  It’s all so fleeting.  But it was a real conversation.  And that was very nice.  Need to epilogue it. 

Red cylinders.

 Eating a pomegranate.  Thought my head was going to explode.  For my entire life I’ve been terrified of houses, bedrooms, and doorways.  And beds when it’s dark.  I don’t have any memories of my foreign travels from the 60’s.  or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Vicious cycle right now.  Need to read less weird shit.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Recently finished Rose Madder by Stephen King.  I loved that book and found the protagonist to be very fully realized.  I love the show Killjoys so much, it fills me with happiness.  I need it in my life.  I was reading Batman Odyssey at some point.  Great Neal Adams artwork.  Neal never lost his touch in my opinion.  He never faded.  Zany stuff.  Don’t know why it took me so long but I’ve been reading Frank Miller’s Ronin for the first time.  Miller is so great.  And Lynn Varley’s colors.  Love.   Cars.  Thinking back to the last autumnal and winter seasons.  The time has passed.  Though I do enjoy the work that was produced during that time.  Cutups.  While watching a female centric martial arts film.   A salad tossed me!  Not me.  Someone recently asked me if I would like to be cut in half.  Memories of a plush avocado and a beautiful laugh.  Seafood.  I bought several cans of dolphin safe chunk light tuna recently and didn’t realize it was in vegetable oil and not water.  It took the consumption of several cans to realize my mistake.  Then recently I went back to the store and bought several more cans though this time I made sure they were in water.  I learn from my mistakes.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  A cube of cold air to my left.  Herded like cattle.  Esoteric texts.  Multiple languages no one understands.  Languages no one speaks.  A tube extracted my stomach juices.  Why.  Primitive.  Voices talking to us from the ceiling.  Voices echoing from a radio that wasn’t turned on.  Started there then throughout the room, vibrating from the walls. Someone inside the walls talking to me and then someone threatening to kick my ass.  I hate thinking about my childhood.  A shelf lined with human skulls and art books.  Interesting.  Not mine.  The rot of it all.  Rot must be incorporated.  Mix.  Sweat.  Remember skin.  Need to get at something real.  Dread when the sun goes down.  Travels to Africa.  Jungle travels.  Truth in experiments.  Fractured knowledge.  Hidden knowledge.  Need to go to a diner and drink coffee and discuss powder.  Things only become real when they are dreadfully unsettling.  Terrifying.  When you can taste the fear, mouth full of it.  Travels in foreign countries.  Travels in the continental US in a dense city.  Amazing what one can find in a dense city.  Even blue eyes across stark black and white.  In a dense city a stairwell can be frightening.  Up or down.  Can take you to very strange places. What if the dimensions don’t add up properly and you find yourself entering into impossible rooms?  Not me.  The production on Tom Petty’s album Full Moon Fever is very clean.  

How do conmen (and conwomen) work?  The art of the con.  What are the necessary details.  What’s in the details.  The details are everything.  Word choice is so key.  Infecting minds.  Covert agencies infecting minds.  Mechanics. Devices.  Wires.  They put something on my head.  It was like a bowl, like a silver bowl.  No, that’s not quite right.  Connected to cable, thick black cable.  With wire connecting the cable and the bowl and other wires not as thick as the cable also connected.  I saw lots of colors.  The room was  a mess.  Clothes on the floor and what looked like adult diapers, soiled.  I though the place smelled awful, spoiled and like excrement and sweat. But when they put the thing on my head I wasn’t smelling anything.  Still, a big mess.   Big stain on the floor to the right of me.  Wine?  Maybe. Blood.  Paint.  Don’t know.  Someone was hunched down in the corner.  Arms wrapped around themselves and rocking back and forth.  Who was this person.  They looked covered in mud or something.  No, their skin is actually black.  The color black.  Oh god, they’re look at me.  Eyes all white, skin all black.  Rocking back and forth and looking at me.  And they put the thing on my head and they’re asking me questions.  

I probably wouldn’t have ordered that kat book if I’d known how fucking huge it was going to be.  No comfortable way to read that thing.  It’s all about comfort with me.  And tossing salads.  And big cellulite laden thighs crammed into fishnet hosiery.  To the right of me, on a chair, rests a book with a yellow cover. 

I suspect many answers can be found between the covers of old discontinued magazines and old out of print books.  Hidden knowledge.  Secrets knowledges.  Buried in the sands of time.  I really like the band AC DC.  I really like Mexican recording artist Ana Barbara’s legs, especially when she wears hosiery.  I might go to a bar later on.  I like wasting my life away in bars.  I’m pathetic. 

Need to give something name.  something grey seems appropriate but also terrifying.  How does the secret guard itself.  Conspiratorial thinking.  Everything ultimately points in one direction.  I love redacting and I love when things are redacted.  I find redacting in general to incredibly hilarious. Humanity is so sad and funny.  I’m never actually happy.  But that’s okay.  Paper cup holding several black #2 pencils.  Wildflowers has I guess what we would think of as warmer less glossy production.  Hmmm, or maybe glossy but in a different way.  Need to dig out those big art books.  I really like eating pasta.  I haven’t eaten pasta in a while and I’m starting to miss it.  Noodles.  Chaff clouds.  Honey comb skulls.  Sugary cereals.  Redacted documents.  Basement flooding and ruining a massive collection of jazz records.  Oh the glories of wet and rotting cardboard!  The glories of used pantyhose!   I need to firmly jam both index fingers into my nostrils and think about triangles for a while!  Animal or man?  I was watching a man expertly and effortless carve up a massive tuna fish and I was utterly mesmerized.  Or was I? the more I learn the less I want to know.  

sno

 

Purple crocodiles have me.  The hips of Chiquibaby are one of the few things keeping me alive these days.  Still tempted by the 36.  But I know deep down, deep in my asshole, that I would just decide to cash in my chips one night and blow my worthless brains out.  So why resist?  I need to eat some red meat today.  Now I see the fallacy, the great mistake.   Only for you I don’t regret.  My brain normalized it.  I had the chance for something good and true and raw but I waited and it was all normalized. 

Purple crocodiles and monochromatic film.  Castles.  Understanding now why it all felt so stagey.  But these things bled into one another.  I scream someone’s name and then declare that we have got to get the fuck out of here! 

So lovely but I know that none of it is real.  This is a place of fantasy where I go to numb true emotion.  The glasses are a nice touch.  As is the look of disappointment.  But it can’t be real.  Heart beneath the exclamation mark.  I walk in, hair looks good.  I’m sweaty.  Purple shirt I have. More purple.  Already mentioned glasses are a nice touch.  I have a thick paperback in my hand.  The old paper is pleasing to the olfactory sense.  Immersed.  I was reading a Stephen King novel.  One that I’ve never read before from a very interesting period of his career during the 1990’s.  I believe it may be his lowest selling novel.  I’ve heard very mixed things about it.  I’m halfway through it but I’m loving it so far.  The supernatural element of it actually reminds me a bit of a few of Clive Barker’s big novels.  I also thought of Lisey’s Story, one of my favorite King novels and one of my favorite King adaptations.  I also thought of something else but I’m too dumb to remember what.   

Double whiskey.  With ice.  I think I said with ice.  Sometime I’m too self conscious to say on the rocks.  Just one?  Forgot the previous line.  Closing it out.  Closing it out.  Not much will.  Deluding myself.  Could have just passed on by like nothing.  But I’m not truly resolute.  Just one?  So sweet.  So lovely.  So convincing.  Cold glass.  Fingertips.  Condensation.  Dirty pages.  Throaty laugh.  Real.  Beautiful.  Everything immaculate.  So sweet.  But I’m not real.  Don’t look.  So close now but just don’t look.  Look away.  Slept with sable. 

Later on in my car I was consumed by self loathing.  At one point I was listening to the song kiss me.  Everything was fantasy.  Wasn’t numb enough.  That was the problem.  That’s the problem with the false will.  You end up with nothing.  Need to stop going.  Need to stop torturing them.  Offer the blissful relief.  Never show up again.  That is the only right and proper thing to do. 

A refuge from the real world.  But they both hurt.  Genuine article and the fake version.  Both are painful, miserable, without any hope or reward.  Of course there is no reward.  I don’t deserve any reward.  That’s not a problem at all.  The numbing agent is the only good thing.  But I don’t have to make someone miserable in order to utilize the services of that agent.  Mask of sweetness.  But not deception.  items of real value exchanged for currency plain.  There is something to be said for classic professionalism.  I think.  But stop with the joking.  You are a fool.  You are a classic fool.  Need to die.  Corner idiot.  By you I mean me, I, myself.  Stop being a source of misery. 

Of course then, the ball.  Flesh merging.  Not the right word.  Changes.  Flesh changing.  New face.  Doll, someone said.  Doll’s face.  Everything perfect.  Eye contact hard.  Remembering bare.  Knowing glance when bare.  Lovely.  Smile.  Lovely smile.  Ball.  It would be so sweet.  Of course it would be because it’s all imagined.  All fake.  None of it real.  I need mazzy.  Fade.  Melt.  Give in. of course not possible.  Nothing could ever be real.  Driving back, wistful.  Good that I left.  If only I’d never gone.  Wish I could just expel my memory from everyone’s minds.  Just eliminate my existence in all directions.  That is the glorious ideal. 

Kept coming back.  Kept checking.  Even after.  So courteous.  Professionality.  Makes everything worse.  Good to disappear.  Asked twice.  Asked twice because I am rot inside.  Recent, hand on back.  I don’t want anyone to see me.  Even that is a lie.  I can’t fucking stop lying.  Collapse into.  That would never work.  There is nothing underneath.  The disgust.  The revulsion.  They must see.  Entering. 

Then silly.  Later on.  Stage play makes a lot of sense.  First chunk rather glorious.  Fluttering through the window.  Drift off to sleep with the assistance of some bounty hunters.  Have to stay on point.  Felt so said.  Tangibly sad.  Insides rotting away because I’m awful.  I’m awful.  Blood is the life.  Drinking from me.  Wanting to die.  Service with a smile.  Such a lovely smile. 

Have precious little data.  Again, I must emphasize the consummate professionalism.  Falling asleep, finally had some peace.  Dulcet.  Police officer.  Remember this.  Hahaha and at daybreak, the cycle repeats.  I know it’s bad for me.  It’s bad for everyone.  It’s bad for everyone who comes into contact with me. 

I was reading Frank Miller’s Ronin yesterday.  Lynn Varley is so great. 

Tee hee.  At some point there was an avocado.  Avocados have me.  there was also coconut or pina coladas.  Divine.  And deep lovely laughter.  But I still vacated.  And then I didn’t matter.  see the most recent one.  this came before that.  Fuck I am so fucking awful.  If only I could just be completely erased.  I know what I need to eliminate.  I’m such a piece of shit though.  I need to watch more black and white movies.  I’m listening to Save the Best For Last by Vanessa Williams right now.  I fucking love that song. 

shit

 

I am an evil.  I am asshole.  Damn, it all sounds so fucking funny.  I fucking hate myself so much.  Gotta peck out the words before it’s all normalized.  Piece of liver.  I’m such a piece of fucking shit.  I’m so fucking ugly.  my mommy hated me.  I wish she’d had the abortion.  Fucking cunt.  Fucking worthless bitch.  Couldn’t even have a fucking proper abortion the dumb fucking bitch.  I was reading a Sally Rooney short story recently that I thought was really good.  Marion.  I believe that was the title.  Interesting writer. I see now I can’t escape any drama or evil.  It constantly encroaches upon yours truly.  But I can’t really blame anyone else can I?  it’s because I’m such a monumental piece of shit.  Shit flocks to shit.  I can’t blame my mommy anymore.  I’m a grown ass man.  Everything is my fault. That’s why I want to buy a revolver.  S and w 36 methinks.  It’s what dennis hopper uses in The American Friend, one of my favorite movies.  I think it may also be what is used in the movie Christine starring Rebecca Hall.  Rebecca Hall is an amazing actress.  One of my favorites.  She always gives a great performance.  Per the town, she also has incredibly sexy feet.  I’m such a piece of shit.  But yeah, the 36, it’s attractive.  It would be so nice to buy one, figure out all it’s inner workings, really get to it, understand how and why it functions and then promptly blow my dumb fucking brains out.  I think it’s important that my fucking brains be blown out because it is my worthless cursed wretched mind which is at the source of all woe.  Inescapable drama.  So much bullshit. But imagine that, my brains and blood splattered against the wall. Who knows where my eyeballs would end up.  It’s funny to think that I would shit my pants upon being dead.  And then I’d just be a bag of meat.  All the stupid shit that had taken place over the course of my wasted and worthless life would matter even less than it already does.  I would just be a bag of blood bone and shit.  Hahahaha, that’s funny. 

My jaw feels distended right now.  I’m such a phony. Everything I project is fake.  I see everything through a pane of glass and I try to replicate.   I hate myself so much but it’s only because I’m a worthless piece of shit.  Everything I touch turns to shit.  I’m not good for anything.  I go someplace and the place is fine.  The place may be good.  But after my being there the place is now worse off.  I interact with people and I create shit. What results is needless drama.  I tell myself I don’t like the drama but I must on some level otherwise it wouldn’t manifest.  Didn’t believe in transcendence. 

Can’t blame anyone else in my circle.  I was at the movie theatre recently and I cried.  I feel like Jesus doesn’t love me but.  I know that’s just my dumb dramatic mind.  I’m a piece of shit.  I hate myself so much.  Would be nice to burn in the sun.  be thrown into the sun.  that sounds horrible.  Drowning. Being in the depths.  Black.  Please don’t look at me, I hate when people look at me.  so said that I was born.  Cliché.  Wish I was never born.  How cliché.  Fuck, don’t have a single interesting thought. Fucking worthless piece of shit.  So angry driving around the other day. angry cause I’m shit.  I ate steak for dinner.  Smelled like makeup.  I need to not talk to people. 

I need to not talk to people.  It hurts to talk to people.  I wish I never knew anyone.  I hate that people know me.  I wish I could eradicate all memory of me in everyone’s minds.  I wish people would leave me alone.  It feels so bad to talk to anyone.  I hate myself so goddam fucking much.  I hate talking to people.  Feels so fucking awful.  Nothing good ever comes of it.  I’m so fucking fake.