garbage1008

 

At the bar, the two of us were both mesmerized by the bartenders exposed cellulite ridden thighs.  With her back turned and preparing our drinks – I a double check whiskey on the rocks my friend a cheap light beer crap – we stared and stared at the pale jiggling thighs and the ultra tight denim shorts which accentuated her quaking cheeks.  At some point we talk about this.  And it occurs to me that everything is just animal impulses. We’re all so gauche.  Humanity is so gauche and I love that word.  Sitting there at the sticky bar and looking at all the assholes around us.  I too was/am an asshole.  All of us trying to forget ourselves and swilling poison.  All of us so pathetic.  Desperately looking for meaning when all we do is create and nurture piles of shit.  And our eyes bulge and pulses quicken at the sight of mounds of fat.  All natural so I suppose that’s saying something.  And someone asks how her shorts must be smelling at the end of the night because they are packed so tightly into the crack of her buttocks.  They would be well lined with skin flakes and probably flecks of brown shit or small pieces of toilet paper and that ripped and stuck during the messy process of ass-wiping and dried sweat and encrusted with whatever juices have leaked out through the night’s work.  These things like smell and taste, it’s all animal.  We’re just a bunch of dumb red faced monkeys.  But it all looks the same after a while.  There’s nothing behind it.  All just for emptying balls.  How sad we are.  the smells of our body.  The smell of semen and slits.  Dripping dicks.  Semen on the tongue.  Semen in the eye.  When did this all cease to have any meaning?  Finding someone attractive is so awful.  This is what we were created for?  For nothing.  Somewhere someone has their mouth wide open right now in preparation for eating fresh shit from an anal cavity and their rocks are in the process of getting off.  I go to the bathroom and take a piss and try as I might to shake off my dick I still splash some piss onto my rent trousers.  Cribbing a little now: I imagine my suicide by hanging and am amused to think about my manhood poking out of my rent trousers in a death erection while the seat of my pants is also full of my body’s last great evacuation of steaming corn infused shit.  Talked about making money at some point and wanted to cry.  Discussions about money promote more rot on the inside.  This is all a mistake.  Everything has been a horrible mistake and our creator must be so disgusted with us. 

Listening to here comes the rain again and I realize the alcohol makes me feel more suicidal and think about revolvers but it also numbs things so I don’t know which is worse and i like the numbing and I like how awful it feels.  It hurts a lot of times to talk to people thought I suppose I should consider that it must also hurt them to talk to me.  I scrambled a couple eggs recently.  I should make a big papier-mache nest and live inside it.  I wish someone would buy me a fluorescent green or pink striped and collared shirt so I could wear it under a cheap black suit.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to break open that dekooning book asap.  Lovely stuff.  Here all alone is so nice.  I might go to the bar later on even though that would be a terrible idea.  Why does the production on these black Sabbath albums sound like dog shit?  Is it my fucking speakers or my ears?  Started watching a movie about space truckers last night but the offbrand zzzquil and bottom of the shelf red wine had taken it’s toll.  Everything feels so gross in the morning.  Gotta read about some frogs today.  Need to read more about technology.  Order some more books.  Not time for anything.  Bullet making my brain explode makes the most sense.  That is the center of everything.  Just utterly obliterate all this uselessness. 

I did not realize John Carpenter was doing the soundtrack to the soon to be released feature film adaptation of Stephen King’s novel Firestarter.  I didn’t realize it cause I’m a dumbass.  I love Carpenter’s soundtracks and his lost themes albums.  I recently listening to one of them while driving around and digesting oranges.  This makes me keen to see the movie on the big screen that I may experience his newest film score work at high volumes.  The movie looks pretty good too (I liked the director’s first film) but I’ve always considered the book to be near the bottom of all the King stuff I’ve read.  I constantly crank the ghosts of mars soundtrack.  I need some coffee or something right now.  Or to line my teeth with tinfoil. 

Flight attendants have me.  There are two cellular telephones near me.  The wonders of technology.  In a bar recently.  Need to stop going to bars.  No good comes from bars.   And now the curating.  Not quite the right word.  Styling.  Started styling for you.  Of course, I think as my head goes light: how utterly proper.  Hooks.  Long hard day of reporting the news.  Rich explosion.  Crossing guard, great performances.  Really like the carpenter fog.  Deep dive into carpentry.  Need to complete lost themes.  Need to reread bacchus.  Campbell.  Need to order some books.  And maybe more used hosiery.  Did I mention exotica earlier?  I’m thinking of two different things. one with reptiles.  Very hearty.  I wouldn’t think they’re not hearty.  And the other, recent in wax.  Never sampled.  Need to sample.  Need to read pulp.  I don’t like making idle chit chat at the bank.  Giantess.  Giantess at the bank should crush me like a massive futuristic forklift machine. 

1,023

I was considering the glossy greatness of Shania Twain’s 2002 album Up! [not to be confused with Peter Gabriel’s 2002 album Up (a very difficult album imho)] when I went to the latrine.  I took a steaming meaty shit and the toilet paper in the public restroom was nice and rough which felt great against the crack in my buttocks.  Last night’s cheap whiskey weighed very heavily on me.  Hot whiskey shits.  At some point while driving it off in the glorious dawn I was listening to Jerry Goldsmith’s fun and frothy (but not frothy like Up!) score to the 1992 box office bomb Medicine Man starring Sean Connery and a post Goodfellas, pre Sopranos Lorraine Bracco (whose legs in Sopranos gave me all manner of joyously impure thoughts).  That reminded me that I need to order Goldsmith’s score to the 1996 box office bomb The Ghost and the Darkness starring a woefully miscast Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer.  I also really like Gary Chang’s score to the 1996 box office bomb The Island or Dr. Moreau starring Marlon Brando and Val Kilmer and though that movie was and is critically derided I really enjoy and have watched my blu ray copy literally hundreds of times.  I also love Elliot Goldenthal’s score to the 1995 box office hit Batman Forever starring Val Kilmer, Tommy Lee Jones, Jim Carrey, Nicole Kidman and Chris O’Donnell.  I feel that score is underrated due to Danny Elfman’s legendary work on the preceding two movies.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  At some point I offered to buy someone a shot but she declined the offer which was and is perfectly within her rights.  Tattooed goddess in white and blue with long black hair to the left of me.  Will I ever see you again?  I stared at the picture of Tatiana in nude pantyhose for so very long.  How I wish she would use me as her personal footrest after a long hard day of concerts and hosting television programs while in those nude pantyhose.  How I wish she would laugh at me and berate while ordering me to smell her gorgeous hosiery clad feet. 

I’m thinking I should order a massive plate of raw oysters for lunch.  Or am i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  They’d probably go good with whiskey or maybe a beer (even though I don’t like beer).  It’s too early now for whiskey but it won’t be once lunch rolls around.  Tattooed goddess was eating what I initially thought was a grilled cheese but upon closer peripheral inspection I think it was actually a BLT with tots on the side or maybe it was some kind of fish sandwich cause she asked for lots of lemons and even took a little plastic cup of lemon wedges to go along with what she didn’t finish of her late night dinner or maybe the lemons were for drinks later that night or for something she was going to cook (fish again?) or maybe she was going to a get together and the lemons were for something she was going to eat and/or drink there.  She looked beautiful when she was eating.  She was totally unabashed and took glorious lovely bites which immediately brought to mind many of my vore fantasies.  Oh in that moment (and many after) how I wanted her to shrink me down with some kind of 50’s era sci fi shrink-ray contraption or with the powers of mysticism and dark magic and that she be my hungry and merciless tattooed giantess.  How I longed to be pressed to the roof of her mouth by her tongue, crushed between her powerful molars and dissolved by her saliva.  I desperately wanted to buy her a drink but I ultimately chickened out.  However, should the fates bestow upon me a second chance i will not make the same mistake twice.  Or will i?  the more I learn the less I want to know. 

I don’t even have a name.  she’s gone forever.  But I will never forget her.  Or will i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  What I’m drinking right now has a black cherry citrus flavor.  Red heart.  Red heart.  Where can I find the hd version.  I’m sure it’s somewhere.  It’s a great piece of work.  I love cinema.  I loved the movie I watched last night.  Pink envelope.  Pink envelope.  Such a lovely touch.  Envelope isn’t exactly the right word though. And now a deadly new obsession takes hold.  Reporting the news.  Long hard day.  Overdrive brain.  And that knowing smile.  Knowing smile when the pink parcel is handed over.  I am ruled by obsessions.  She knows.  Rhino.  Takes me back to the Palm Springs days.  Such wonderful days.  Feel like they happened to a different person entirely.  And then never again.  Where did she go?  Slowly, they are all leaving.  As it should be.  Need to read danse.  Been on my shelf for a while.  I think.  I don’t fucking know anything anymore.  Muses gone.  The jackal who is not the jackal.  This seems to be the denouement of the Rhapsody in Blue.  It is fitting.  Just need to procure some baked goods.  That’s why I need to start keeping a small stack of federal reserve notes in my breast pocket.  But yes, that will be the finale.  Baked goods of real worth exchanged for currency plain.  And then there will be almost nothing left.  I liked to be looked upon with seething hatred.  Little pleasure always got it wrong.  New ice queen.  Square dishes.  I’m washed up.  I’m old hat.  The vampire and the ballerina.  Incredible.  There is no one left for me at the ball.  No one waiting for me or looking for me.  That’s how it should be.  I don’t like the phrasing because it makes it sound like a negative.  Even if I feel awful, it’s good that I feel awful.  It’s how it should.  Final letter of the alphabet.  June Palmer.  How the fuck did I never know?!

Gorgeous chola, ink, white and turquoise

 I want to shoot myself in the head. Because blowing my fucking brains out just makes sense. The only thing that makes sense. Worthless piece of shit. Just splatter all that awful worthless shit. Wish my mother had aborted me. Worthless. But I’m too afraid it will hurt. What a worthless fuck I am. 

turquoise

 

I love burning. Incredible.  Clint eastwood is one of my favorite actors and directors.  Or is he?! The more I learn the less I want to know.  I’m still very absorbed by the big book dreamcatcher by Stephen king.  What a brilliant and pulpy read.  While in a semi related noted the words of karla turner have infected my mind.  Need to shave.  I didn’t shave yesterday.  Or did i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to read more.  I was called out for being evil the other night.  Suppose I couldn’t disagree.  God, I’m so tired of everyone.  Wish everyone would just leave me alone.  Or am I really just tired of myself?  That’s probably it. Ate some red meat for lunch.  Put some ketchup on it.  Remember being at a bar and a heavy set Mexican man was eating gross bar food – burger and fries me thinks – and licking his stumpy fingers after literally every bite, making a wet popping sound.  So disgusting.  People are so fucking disgusting.  I liked the joker scene that was released.  I have fully faith in Barry.  Loved his last line reading there.  understand the need of omission though.  Recalled manhunter for me.  one of my favorite films.  I use a melted screwdriver and a little rubber croc as totems of inspiration.  Fuck, I need to get that special edition blu ray of communion.  That film (and book) really freaks me the FUCK out but I needs it.  It gets the writing process.  It speaks well to the whole abduction experience.  I wish one person in my life really gave a shit.  I wish one person in my life really understood me.  eh, I’m not sure I actually do wish that.  I actually love being alone.  Been listening to the wu tang clan a lot again recently.  Love their music.  I like that double album a lot.  And Ghostface’s solo albums.  It’s sad how get older and just focus on money and decorative shit.  Almost everything in our lives is just empty decorative shit.  I was too sad last night to watch a sad movie.  It’s been 13 years since part 1 of the commuter type interview with Hollywood favorite DB Sweeney went up! When is part 2 coming out!? Surely 13 years is enough time to edit it! Will they have us waiting until the end of time (I’ll be there for you.)?  I love Prince’s music. 

Gonna write some garbage for a while.  Sure hope I can take a shit today.  I don’t understand the emphasis people put on funerals.  I don’t understand most things people do. more and more I just doubt.  We just seem like a dumb monkey species.  A dumb filthy primitive animal species.  But I don’t even like saying this because I love animals.  I vastly prefer animals to people.  That reminds me how I enjoy the movie Congo! What a fun flick! And Laura Linney! She’s so cool! I love jungle adventure movies!  I need to rewatch the serpent and the rainbow! And swamp thing! And a bunch of other crap! And read alan more swamp thing comic books! And a bunch of other alan moore crap! God, why can’t people just leave me the FUCK alone?  Tightrope is not a great film but as always I love how eager he is to play with and subvert his own popular image.  FUCKING BRILLIANT!  Need to read Sondra’s book.  she’s been a great and charismatic presence in these!  Need to read miller Eisner as well.  And that Hitchcock book.  and more esoteric and conspiratorial shit! 

And of course through it all I must be listening to the Sonic R soundtrack! Sonic R, one of the greatest video games of all time with one of – or perhaps THE – greatest video games soundtracks of all time.  my Shout Factory special edition blu ray of Phillipe Mora’s Communion (based on Whitley Strieber’s bestseller) is on it’s way.  I am one of 1500 great people who will have that specific iteration in their film collections! Or am i?!  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to add to my esoteric book collection and order a vintage copy of Wolds in Collision by Immanuel Velikovsky.  Then I need to check if there are any used pairs of pantyhose I can order!   I need to order some books by Japanese authors.  I’m eating almonds.  I need to listen to cher, heart and Elton john this week.  I recently changed a light bulb.  I was recently listening to new order with my windows rolled down and I had the feeling that everything was going to be all right.  But I don’t trust that feeling.  Substance.  It’s too stuffy in here.  need to clean house and make room.  Some of the bass players I find deeply inspiring include Peter Hook, Flea, Eric Avery, Joe Lally and that’s all I can think of right now.  Hook is so rad.  I like nancy Sinatra.  I need to read the liner notes to that one compilation of hers I bought.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  It’s best that I don’t talk to anyone.  I’m repugnant.  Pearl handle.  Or pearl grip.  Not sure how to put it.  Too tempted to use it on myself but we live in a very dangerous world. 

 I think From a Buick 8 is one of Stephen King’s most underrated works.  I love that book.  or do i?! the more I learn the less I want to know.  That order of used pantyhose arrived just in the nick of time!   I can’t find Tangerine Dream’s soundtrack to Firestarter anywhere!  I hate myself so much! I’m gonna cook a steak here in a little bit.  Sion sono has been one of my favorite directors  a long time.  many of his films mean a great deal to me.  I just don’t know what to say right now. 

P

 Crying as I finish episode 3.09 of Killjoys. Love this show. Love Dutch. And her friendship with Johnny. Cried as this episode ended and grabbed my head. Finished Sopranos this morning. Finished the whole series. Cried for that too. So badly want to kill self. Brain will normalize it soon. I’m just a faker anyway. Please ignore. Just a burst of emotion. So thankful for Killjoys. Will think about it before I fall asleep. Drank whiskey and wine this night. Didn’t help much.  

1035

 

I watched a movie called Frank & Lola the other night and really enjoyed.  I drank a bottle of cheap ass red wine whilst watching and then I watched part of a piece of crap submarine movie that I intend to finish today.  Janus reports to me that the number four will be in question with respect to going inland.  I personally never ventured to that part of California.  It looks like digital celluloid shit on my screen but maybe something can be done about that?  I wish I were in the city cause then I’d go to the premiere.  I haven’t obtained digital justice.  It looks highly strange.  In the 90’s these curios were everywhere.  It was a great time to be alive.  Too bad I squandered my life and now I’m just a useless fuckup.  Damn, I need a drink.  I needed one last night too.  Listened at some point to a symposioum with john mack and budd Hopkins.  Fascinating.  Did everything just end when the 90’s ended?  I can’t think right now.  I can’t write anything worth a damn.  the q and a was an oddly intelligent one.  you know what movie I love?  Cabaret Maxime.  Great movie.  Michael imperioli and Ana Pardrao are great in it.  Of course I see the parallels to Killing of a Chinese Bookie! I’m not a fucking idiot! That’s a damn fine movie too! I had fish for lunch.  And avocado for my lunch grease.  I recently watched a thick Hispanic woman who was wearing stockings, I watched her press down on the pedals in her car and say suggestive things.  her toenails were painted blue.  I had a pair of used hosiery around my head and I just fucking lost it!  The books I’m reading right now are dreamcatcher, low down and the vegetarian.  There are also some short story collections I’m working through.  I’m feeling weird, wondering I cooked that fish properly.  I watching this thick white british female wrestler wearing shiny hosiery and I just fucking lost it.  Went off! I really like jazz.  My dream in life is to amass a massive collection of jazz vinyl records only for them to be lost in a house flood. 

Did travis walton’s hoax ruin my life?  Maybe.  But I can’t blame him.  We’re all hustlers.  Walton should be at that club with J Lo, shaking his fine ass alongside the sumptuous Lizzo.  Of course I’m reminded of the film Guilty by Association, perhaps Morgan Freeman’s finest hour.  People need to take a closer look at the Pascagoula abduction.  It may be the only credible one ever in the history of mankind.  Look at the creature design.  Very unique.  Like nothing else ever reported.  I need to watch a gamera movie soon.  I was listening to and loving jerry cantrell’s double album degradation trip yesterday.  It sounded good the windows rolled down in my big manly mac truck.  With mud flaps! I want to buy a revolver for home protection but I’m too afraid I’d get brave after a couple drinks and blow my miserable fucking brains out one night.  If I did buy one I’d probably go for a little snubby like the kind Dennis Hopper’s character Tom Ripley used in The American Friend.  I love that fucking movie.  One of my personal favorites.  Hopper is my favorite of the live action Ripleys.  Ripley Under Ground was actually a very funny book.  Highsmith is excellent at balancing the dark and twisted with some (gallows) humor.  I’d like to find a vintage hardcover of that book.  The movie Ripley’s Game was cool too but I prefer The American Friend and I much prefer Hopper’s interpretation over Malkovich’s.  or do i?! the more I learn the less I want to know.  I drank a tall frost glass of modelo yesterday.  Salt around the rim just how I like it.  I only feel like a man when drinking a mug of suds.  I like Walt Simonson’s artwork.  I’m starting to read his Thor run and then I’ll jump to Orion.  I’m obsessed with Brazilian bbw’s. 

Apropos of nothing I was think about back acne the other day.  backne as it’s affectionately called.  I always liked the suggestion of cleaning something using the oil from my nose and forehead.  The human body is so grotesque.  One of my favorite Brazilian bbw’s was wearing red lace panties and then black lace panties and I couldn’t decide which I preferred.  I miss correspondence.  I need to start correspondence again.  I like to smell books when I read them.  I’m real big on the olfactory sense.  There’s a Mark Knopfler album right next to me as I type out this garbage.  A double album in fact.  Though I’m writing in silence.  I wish I had a typewriter.  Or do i?! the more I learn the less I want to know.  I really like the show killjoys.  It’s the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.  I really enjoyed X . Mia Goth is great.  it really captured that greasy look and feel.  I’m all about grease.  For my lunch grease I had avocado again.  Grease is so interesting.  Forehead grease.  Nose grease.  I like when in movies and I guess real life when people rub their noses together after hot breathy kisses, exchanging the nose grease.  Nothing is more romantic than exchanging nose grease.  I really like jazz albums because the liner notes are extremely informative.  Jazz is so cool.  I also like rot.  I like when things get wet – like cardboard boxes – and start to rot.  It all makes sense if we’re just a primitive monkey species.  There’s not enough to fucking do anything ! not enough time in the day! 

Sonya Yoncheva’s Rebirth is a lovely album.  I think it would be quite a delightful experience to see her live.  I might watch a Wayne Wang movie later on today.  I enjoyed driving through the rain while listening to Peter Gabriel’s album Security.  Actually, I don’t know if I ever really enjoy anything.  I hate myself and I hate my life and I wish my worthless mommy had gone through with the abortion.  I’m a piece of shit. 

1067

 

Sitting the movie theatre now.  Realized I should have worked in bugs.  But now everything has been normalized so it’s not quite the same.  Try to recapture.  Only darkness and I should be so happy.  But I only feel grey, miserable.  Happiness is silly anyway.  Doesn’t matter that I don’t feel happy.  Deeper than that.  The inherent pointlessness of it all.  And everyone getting up and down.  adolescents so disgusting.  Not just them.  Everyone to the left but they don’t use their own staircase.  Why are people so awful?  I’ve forgotten everything.  Need to stop drinking.   The occult.  Looking into the occult during the day and then having trouble sleeping at night.  Book right next to me.  with a deep indigo cover. One of the books that saved me during the last year.  I read it through an alcoholic haze.  A Brazilian bbw in pink panties is letting one rip on my face and telling me what some of her favorite foods are and I’m suffocating.  At least I think that’s what she’s saying, I don’t really speak the language.  or do i? the more I learn the less I want to know.  At some point earlier in things I was opening a new bag of used pantyhose and wrapping half a dozen pairs around my face and breathing in deep.  I need to drink some coffee.  I often feel bad when I drink coffee.  No, not right.  It’s the booze that makes me feel bad.  Clive Barker’s writing revives me, makes me want to keep going.  The way those pink lace panties were gobbled up by her massive quaking ass was so sexy.  I just drank coffee and smelled some books.  Been listening to a lot of Layne recently.   I need to get clean somehow.  Time and again I tell myself.  Need to watch that one interview with Iggy Pop again.  And listen to avenue.  Need more wax.  Don’t obfuscate.  Augmentation.  We’re all so deeply sad.  I love the new Batman movie.  It’s so fresh but right now I’d say Robert Pattinson is my second favorite Batman after Michael Keaton.  Who knows if that could change?  Realized over and over again what a worthless failure I am.  All so empty.  I am empty.  Yes, that time wanting nothing more than to be extinguished.  Realizing my life is utterly useless. 

All in head.  The masquerade.  From a 13^th century book.  karla turner.  The implications terrifying.  I’m not wanted anywhere.  Looked at me with such glorious disdain. And then all I wanted was the nonexistent comfort of the rhapsody in blue.  Breathe in deep now.  Knee on head.  It’s okay, just let go now.  Maybe go outside and run.  Happens outside.  I’m so empty.  I ‘m such a waste.  Nothing ever comes to completion.  Making the same errors over and over again.  Random facts have me.  growling.  Could use a drink but I don’t want one but I do.  8^th tower.  Why does everything feel so awful?  Behind every photograph I am deeply unhappy.  I am never myself.  There is no true self when it comes to me.  goddess of death has me again.  Everywhere I turn to is emptiness. 

I love the book dreamcatcher by Stephen king.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I was listening to dolly parton earlier.  I’ve been listening to more classic country lately.  Or have i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I drank a lot of tequila the other night and watched a Sandra bullock movie.  One of my favorite film scores is Christopher Young’s score for Hellraiser.  I love the comic book From Hell.  The movie had a really good score too.  I like to play that particular score when I’m preparing a glass of absinthe.  I’m gonna read some classic moon knight comic books in preparation for the show even though there’s a decent chance I’ll never watch the show.  Need to get splatt.  I recently drank black coffee.  I’m going to have a can of chunk light tuna fish for dinner.  I was recently watching a big woman in lace panties sit on a thick stuffed burrito and really smash the shit out of it with her voluminous ass.  I like drinking juice in the morning.  I’m going to watch a movie later today.  I watched two movies yesterday.  I like music.  I like when pages are intentionally left blank . I like when people threaten to take their banking elsewhere.  I like when Mexican regional mexicano and pop artist Ana Barbara wears pantyhose.  I wish she would use my face as her personal footrest after a long concert in pantyhose and that she would laugh at me and berate me in her native tongue.  I love failure and self destruction.  I’ve been failing a lot recently which makes me happy.  I really like books by ryu murakami. 

What did karla turner know?  Or ted rice?  Or john mack.  The 90’s are coming back in style!  Lot of people being herded around like cattle.  Looks of depression or dread or something and then so much screaming later on.  Seeing some type of floating head on the ceiling.  Voices coming out of things that shouldn’t have voices.  Stomach acids.  Was this all from the influence of the culture, fire in that instance.  Even way down under o rmaybe not as I have a terrible sense of georgraphy.  Meteorites.  Always on the radio.  Local expert.  So easy to ask the leading questions.  They say the darndest things.  I need to go sit in a corner and think about triangles for a while.  The whole environmentalism angle is so 90’s.  apropos of nothing, mutiny dressed up as a luchadora really gets me revved up.  Luchadoras really get me revved up.  Five dollars is a steal.  I don’t believe disclosure is coming soon.  I really like the book the tommyknockers by Stephen king.  Maybe king should write more books about aliens.  Aliens scare the shit outta me.  I don’t believe travis anymore but part of me still does cause I’m a candy ass.  I like dennis cooper’s books a lot.  I wish I was good at something but I’m really just an ugly and pathetic fuckup and I wish my mommy had gone through with the abortion.  I’m writing a reminder here to watch more classic star trek.  I have thirst. 

fuzzy

 

Butterfly and box making me cry.  Common factor there.  still writing reports.  My god I feel terrible.  Is there some type of chemical imbalance going on?  Can people feel it emanating from me?  is that why all the strange comments?  Climbing up on.  That always makes me feel good.  But I don’t seek out anything good anymore.  Tears in my eyes.  Blood of.  I was driving somewhere in the rain and fog and listening to an album with a grey cover.  Too many bangs to the front of the head.  Need to rewatch throne of.  Especially cause just last week i. 

Cruising into things, rid of me.  Steve is so sparse.  Balls nasty.  Too much moulah but I did it anyway.  Found myself last night at a sad ass whiskey bar, praying that no one would talk to me.  More reports.  Only dangerous if anyone is reading.  Thinking about glossies again.  Is this the end of things?  Wondering why I don’t feel anything.  My worthless life flashing before my eyes.  Maddison with two D’s has me.  Need to seek out shadows again.  I’m driving to eat a cake though I’m not really a big cake fan.  Everyone who was never in my corner is now abandoning me.  Wanna hit up a bar soon and drink vodka cause it’s not as obvious.  Knocking on the back door.  I don’t even mind the color grey but everything is.  Lemon kid over there in the corner.  Pain in my gut.  Waiting on some wax.  Waiting on the smell of rain.  Words are.  I’m awful and that’s why everything else is.  Never really put myself into it.  All my fault.  The center is me.  The term specialist is one that depresses me.  I windmilled in with steve again.  Or did i?  the more I gurn the less I want to row.  Gurning is a huge turn on for me.  Gotta get back to this type of energy, I said while looking at a picture of a man eating a massive cheeseburger.  When did it all become so meaningless?  Euphoria.  That’s not good photojournalism, he said! The market is falling fast!  A picture of an arrow pointing down would illustrate this very well.  Man, I’m depressed.  I know! I’ll drink more alcohol! Alcohol is known to help with depression!  I’m eating seaweed again.  Need to hunt down an old paperback copy of.  Need to listen to things with sparser production.  I’m too scared to go that drive in even though I really like the taste of oreos.  I’m a fat pig.  Chuck Jones inspiration.  Is.  Al.  it’s all so empty.  Just floating.  Drifting.  Varying degrees of empty.  Made a mess of it all.  Need to go buy more carbonated water.  I wish I was a narcotics agent.  Drank til I passed out last night.  Nothing really makes me happy.  Sitting in the auditorium.  Realized, not even this anymore.  But I can’t even cry about it.  nothing makes me happy but nothing makes me sad enough to cry.  Except sometimes I guess I’ll laugh and/or cry at random meaningless moments and I won’t know why.  Cry from hell.  I like yellowed pages.  Should I try the new pokemon game? Is all hope lost? Donut in the sky.  Probably need to go off and think about triangles for a while.  They shoved brown shit into my mouth.  Breed. 

All over and I feel nothing.  Why don’t I feel anything?  What is wrong with me.  I’ve lost all ability to feel anything.  Trapped everywhere.  Nothing means anything.  All these worthless symbols.  Hate for a bed.  Need shadows.  Maybe.  Orange landscapes.  Need extreme closeups of plant life.  Biology shit.  Everything is delayed.  I caused this pain.  Water.  But I can’t write anything.  Nothing purifying.  I am the cause of all pain.  Heaving.  Talk to.  Laying in blood.  Can’t come up with anything.  Short little bursts.  A phone somewhere.  Very long cord.  No connection.  I have no connection anywhere anymore.  Awful person.  can’t feel anything.  Only felt bad for so long I can’t properly feel anything at all now.  Don’t know how to.  Deserves the spilling of words.  Can’t.  filing reports.  Who is my case manager?  Need to enter another dimension.  The reports won’t change anything.  No idea what he wants or what he is thinking.  Nothing will make sense in the morning.  Too much around.  Have to get rid of it all.  No chance for anything real.  Either before or after.  Won’t make any difference.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  Analytics.  No rhapsody.  No master of languages.  Be anything.  But really?  Out of your head.  Anything else?  The recent spilled words.  Few thousand.  So meaningless.  Midnight eyes.  Midnight blood. No thinking.  Lost sight of everything.  Who else is left.  The end of language.  last letter.  So complicated.  So impossible.  No fair to anyone.  No home.  Nothing feels good.  Head hurts.  Can’t base anything on.  So selfish.  Awful person.  there would be no chance for anything.  Do not want anymore.  Drifting.  Eden.  Drifting Eden. 

Feeling now.  Something.  Everything kinda hazy though.  Not sure what any of it means.  -I don’t think there is a correct way to go.  Every decision I make is wrong.  I haven’t been right about anything.  My head is not right.  Hazy now.  I sort of recognize this feeling.  It’s not entirely unwelcome.  I like negative feelings. So in that case are they actually negative.  Selfish again.  Same mistakes over and over.  Crashing. 

Need to eat more potato crisps.  That’s the answer.  And a big bucket of fried fucking chicken.  Ravenous.  I wish dark knight rises had featured Egghead and Chief Screaming Chicken as the villains instead of Bane and Thalia.  Then maybe that movie wouldn’t be such a big pile of crap.  They still could have kept Catwoman though I would have cast a massive 450 plus pound Brazilian BBW in the role and there would have been a lot of mukbang oriented scenes involving boiled eggs and maybe big piles of ramen noodles.  And such is the nature of wisdom!

baked i, line down centers, easy to imagine, if only

 

My hands are shaking.  Too much caffeine.  Too much alcohol last night.  Every night.  Alien surgeries have me.  they shoved brown shit in my mouth.  Venus.  Everything is tacky and disgusting.  Oh god, please stop talking.  I ruin every moment.  There is no moment I am a part of that isn’t ruined.  My presence ruins everything.  Face going red.  Police outfit.  There was a police outfit.  Fishnets.  Couldn’t handle it.  Can’t handle anything.  Feel like people are sensing something odd lately.  Ashen gray.  The color of.  My life is.  I’m writing reports.  I’m reporting all these things seen and heard and felt.  North African towns have me.  the act of writing reports.  So much of my miserable putrid existence.  I’m a man of letters.  Hosiery has me.  the Rhapsody in Blue.  And typical ugly dumb shit me fucking it all up.  Where was I last night?  Stumbling over words, drinking whiskey and reading from a book with a purple cover.  Mica all week long.  Void.  Everything sparse and haunting.  Back to aliens again.  Looking for communion.  No, never, not that kind.  I’m not able to properly visualize anything.  So lovely.  Oven broken down.  raw dough.  Anyone else.  Missing someone.  Already dropped thousands of words and always room for more.  I ate a grilled cheese sandwich with turkey the other day.  or did i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Can only talk some of time.  I’m in a constant state of misery.  Most everything feels awful.  But I still write the reports.  It’s what I do.  i wish I wore a hat.  My substance abuse problem is just alcohol.  How dull I am .  man, I’m tearing up right now.  2 crocodiles.  Crocs.  Something sparse.  I need pieces of ice.  Last letter no longer wants to be heard.  I’m so awful.  Just want to collapse into the Rhapsody in Blue.  Late at night – but not too late – where I am collapsing in other ways, internal collapse, complete breakdown of personality, just want to lean in where disguises have been abandoned and maybe feel something real.  Probably wouldn’t happen though.  Just screw something else up.  Gonna open up a can of shit real soon and eat it.  I’d like to move in a phase where I dress more like the Peterson iteration.  So sleepy now.  Not sure how possible after all the coffee.  Probably because everything feels awful.  No one’s fault but my own. I want that clear.  She just kept talking and talking and it was lovely but I so badly wanted it to stop.  I’m not a good person.  something bizarre is taking place.  Some of plot unfolding all around me.  as long as I keep writing reports.  Even that is bereft of anything revelatory.  All just borrowed goods.  Can’t do anything write.  Except the other month I did enjoy cutting paper.  All alone in my posh flat, cutting paper and a female martial arts film on the background and drinking I was something almost approaching a semblance of happy.  Hahaha that’s funny.  No, it really was a good time.  my emotions were at an interesting high.  And so I dared to cut paper.  And now?  Now I should just throw on a funny hat, do whatever it is that idiots do!  damn, no pussyfooting has me.  tip of my tongue tasting fabric.  I am disease.  I ate ice cream earlier today.  Or did i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Yes, def did.  With strawberries.  There’s nothing quite as good as strawberry!  Except maybe….cake!  no, actually, I’m not really a big fan of cake (chuckles).  Someone of indeterminate gender may be throwing bricks at me very soon.  Don’t waste time on worthless bullshit.  So much of my time, just wasting it.  I’m gonna go brush my teeth now.  Few things in life I enjoy more.  Glossies.  Order of glossies please.  Let’s not go down that path.  Returning home and everything empty.  There is nothing inside me.  can’t let it normalize.  Any compliments are false because they do not understand the complete picture.  Or some bullshit.  Blueberrys have me.  something might make me feel good again.  Probably just don’t deserve to. No, don’t distract by those types of statements.  Entirely my fault.  Need to read more comics in the coming days.  Been starting the year off with.  I’m gonna order some books soon.  No end in sight.  No way out.  Can’t get out of anything.  Always the same afterward with the let’s dance thing.  Today, so different.  Just want to see the smile.  Can see it in the eyes.  Want full picture.  I want to be in a bar at midnight.  Everything feels dangerous.  What is happening?  Why is everything so awful.  Don’t obfuscate.  You’re in search of feelings.  Would like to buy a lot of steel comics.  Love Denys.  Now everything is so grey.  How cliché.  A haze.  Blue.  The orange landscapes may be able to help me.  the third mother.  Extraterrestrial terrains.  Need to go toward invention.  Create some place new.  To live and die in.  that is the only solution to any of this.  Can’t make myself feel better.  But still vomiting it out anyway.  Rhapsody in Blue.  Let me ask you something.  Why’d you come here tonight?  I remember buying someone a drink at one point.  No one paying attention .  such a relief when the moment passes.  So empty.  I am so empty.  Awful.  This music I’m listening to is great though.  Damn.  Maddison glossies.  Don’t do it.  No point.  Need to read ronin.  And lots of other things.  I’m human garbage.  Cold.  Can barely keep eyes open but I’m not sleepy.  I haven’t drank any liquor today but I feel like I have.  Scraping the barrel.  Need a case officer.  There’s no one in charge.  Hate to talk to people.  Hate to see people.  Fingers hurting.  Almost nothing good happened this week.  Oh well, doesn’t really matter.  I’ve been watching a show lately that I like. 

M(7)

 

ID.  I’ve been ignoring the obvious.  No, not ignoring. Vampires in the morning.  But obfuscating again.  Disguises.  Layers.  So who ordered the…oh, here we go!  Yoga. Not quite what you think but it is.  Always in the morning.  Not always.  Just always at my worst in the morning.  Though I suppose I’m also at my worst throughout the day and at night.  Different shades of shit.  Can’t lose focus here on the central idea.  More than idea.  He wants to be the one who always brings a….  this is the lasting image.  Again and again.  Two ponies.  Anticipation through the door.  Pit of rot inside of me.  This particular bouquet.  Ambergris.  Endangered species.  This would be grand titular.  Grand guignol.  No, stop trying to run from this.  Adoration is the word you most commonly used before.  Underneath.  So delightful.  Awful word.  Needing to stretch, to break.  Colors.  Pastels.  Fuck, can’t think straight.  Pastels, of course merging with.  Dark. Tones.  See everything through the glass, plastic.  Zeroes and ones.  Never been a big denim fan.  Or have i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  See, can be more playful in this particular edition because it’s all about something so nothing and yet so everything.  Hahaha, more bullshit.  But still somehow it works right?  Paired with simplicity.  And someone else advising not to use that particular.  Followed by laughter.  So direct.  Such is that world.  Why is there nothing others can do that I can’t do?  So useless.  All the struggle. All the attempts.  All the time wasted.  For something that doesn’t matter.  Nothing really matters.  Great when straight.  Ambergris again.  This particular bouquet.  Is everything.  When passing by.  From a distance.  Then the other day, something bitter but that’s not quite the right word.  What’s the good type?  I know there is something.  So busy, everyone screaming, final look.  Of course things had to be mixed.  But there was nothing bad there.  Poison would seep out from me, from my interior rot.  Eclipsed on the inside. How stupid.  I am rot.  Nothing worthwhile within me.  All the things we desperately cling to feel so pointless. 

Oh please let today be the day! And then tomorrow I will be praying for the same thing.  No sense of tomorrow in the moment. Finding nourishment at the very sight of.  Layers of hell.  Dreaming of walking.  Dreaming of doors.  Dim lights.  Glancing over.  Hoping.  Oh please let today be the day.  I’m awful.  Awful. 

Yes, competing now.  Duologies.  Scattering.  Need to get something out.  Keep with the same theme though.  Resonance.  Don’t try to hide.  This is all glorious surface.  Hence the wheels.  Wheels in the morning.  Spells.  Closest approximation to anything is summer in winter.  Walking on water.  After the next one.  Returned.  And glory.  Pastels again.  Everything over grey.  Impossible to avert.  These are all chemicals.  That is something very important to remember.  It’s not not chemical.  Is it all chemical.  Primitive.  Ah, just look right there through the rich numerical prism.  Plastic again.  Or glass.  Something I’m not sure.  Where we’re made all illusory except for the way we wish to present…the falsity… and sometimes of great assistance in ridding oneself, myself…a representation of reality.  And right there, through: just because I doesn’t mean I’m.  adds up.  100, 100, 100. Pretty sure most.  Can’t complete anything at this point.  But everything is just…can’t think of the word.  Illusion not quite right. More like delusion but there’s something else I’m trying to grasp on to.  Beautiful.  Beautiful.  Said it before and say it again.  I’m trying to make this one joyous but I can’t seem to manage because inside I am so deeply ugly.  Fuck, you see what happens.  I’m trying to just express something that should be like…the approximation of one of my favorite Ariadna albums (always obfuscating), something like that, see how direct I am being.  There should just be sugar and sun and lovely color.  Be patient.  Blood.  Leather, remember the leather.  Multiple times leather.  Every morning something now.  Practicing the position.  Dancing, hair up.  Pressure.  Inches apart.  Smile slow to appear.  Sometimes straight down.  I am a piece of shit.  This presentation is, don’t you understand?  Playing to strengths.  Playing to tastes.  Of course noticeable.  Does it actually  mean anything.  No, but it doesn’t need to.  That’s the very point of it.  The essence of it.  Colors, shades.  Ambergris.  Encapsulating all of this.  The final days of your (my) relevance.  Never really had any to begin with.  recapturing.  No, nothing to capture.  How many years?  Lucky numbers.  God, nothing matters.  But still, in that moment, aren’t you smiling?  Aren’t you taken?  So meaningless, chemicals.  And then you ascribe something.  Just focus on that…meaninglessness and the unbridled delight of it all.  You are (I am) so sad and empty.  Eyes moving over.  Invitations to sin.  Reveling in sin.  In love with sin.  Little death.  Touch.  Combination of senses, combination of sensations.  Leather.  Texture.  Pastels.  The colors.  Ambergris.  Particular bouquet.  Adoration.  Step lively.  And in the morning a different one each time, vampires in the morning.  Denier.  So sweet.  Adoration.  Combination of everything perfume.  Seam.  Even in that moment where everything was utter foul chaos, such a direct look, all business, so businesslike, so lovely.  Of course I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  Different bouquet.  Normally so terrible but no, not with you.  Remembering now how I wanted to drown.  Subsumed.  And I’ve become so cautious.  So bereft of anything….   Looking right at me.  This will all go away.  As it should.   And then that hidden moment.  Thoughts spilling over, thoughts clouding over, doubling over.  Trying to fit it all into one singular space.  Name on lips.  Remember every look in one single moment.  All chemical, all meaningless.  Silly, lack of meaning is the very point.  Is it so much effort or is it effortless?  Inspiration.  The center of everything.  Entry, look over, contact, smile, rush, lovely, closer contact, stronger rush, meaningless, beautiful, quick and die, sweetest sin. 

M(6)

 

moments after.  God I’m so grotesque.  I hate myself so fucking much.  I am my least favorite person.  stands to reason since I’m the most putrid person I know.  Fuck, I’m still searching, always obfuscating.  Only rhtyyms .  there were only rhythyms.  At the Angle.  Fitting I was at the Angle.  I was in right angle room.  Haven’t gone further than this it’s been said and so true.  God, I’m pathetic.  Mother, please pray for me.  I’m so not worth it.  You idiot.  You dumb fucking worthless piece of this.  Ugly bastard.  Fat ugly bastard.  No well wishing.  Gotta forget everything.  Attentive still.  So much chaos.  In every kingdom there must exist.  Want to cry but I can’t.  am I capable of feeling genuine emotion or am I simply enacting a learned proximity?  I’m not capable of anything good, that much is certain.  Yes, want to cry and slam my head against something but I’m only capable of the latter.  Brain on fire.  Shards through my thoughts.  More than cover it.  Ghost.  Rather intense look.  Skipping.  Not me!  exercise.  Each little thread of fabric.  Grey.  Oh to….  The master.  Oh to….  Adoration.  One pure moment.  Pure is not the right word.  Never could be.  Close proximity?  I need to drink heavily now.  Yes, green.  Green wheels.  Time and again I tell myself….  Sitting there in a corner.  Time and again I tell myself….   Those wheels….eliciting a….don’t it make you….don’t it make you….i miss….no code here.  gotta piece that all together (someone will have to piece me together).   Yes, blocking again.  But someone else, multiple elses were capable and I had a brief moment where I was able to feel that this was better than….  Still, not the right phrasing.  Someone should be.  No, not that either.  Somewhere here on earth.  That is a lovely approximation.  Forgive me for being such a raving asshole all the goddam time.  I really fucking hate myself for whatever that’s worth.  Yes, I deserve nothing good.  But seeing that good ,need to focus on that.  Need to disappear.  Point it at left side of chest.  I’m sure those last couple minutes will be deeply unpleasant but a couple unpleasant minutes can undo one MASSIVE fucking mistake.  You’re such a fucking fool, such a fucking idiot.  Remedy is omission.  Remove yourself.  Only sane thing to do.  Only good thing to do.  Boxed in everywhere because I am nothing if not a constant worthless fuckup.  

Dispiriting. Praising the plastic industry. Stay away, stay away.  Good lord all in a haze now.  None of it matters.  Could it be the end? One would hope.  Cause nothing really matters, nothing really matters.  Fading.  Drifting away.  Don’t have the strength for anything anymore.  All fragmentary.  As it should be I suppose.  Orange to black and white.  One look.  I can…streets of fire.  Need to make the connection there.  All impossible.  You’re fucking up again.  Obfuscating.  After all the bullshit from days prior.  To be able to engage in discussion.  Nothing heated now.  Now everything numb.  But to explain.  Up on the way up and up on the way back.  Gray.  Fog.  No easy entry points.  But if I could’ve explained it all.  Passing by, everything glass and neon.  Ice cream.  All left behind now.  Go back to times before.  Everything so brief.  In this place of fantasy.  Buy and sell fantasy.  Because it all returns to grey now.  Returns to nothing.  Shut down and pretend.  Try to find a sliver of meaning anywhere.  All soon to be broken.  Up at night, feeling these forces slowly coming together.  Moving toward.  Slouching toward.  Nothing makes me happy.  That’s not really a bad thing though.  Maybe that belongs somewhere else. 

No, all straight now, driving around, everything deep green, lush, fog, water, grey water, everything grey, listening to something grey, no easy entry points, all so dated, not a bad thing, it’s what happens when you focus so much on craft, consummate craftsman, careful craft, so insular, world passing you by, who is this for?  Of course, only the devoted will wait around long enough to unravel, to dig through the dirt and see if there is anything of value.  I can’t make pithy statements.  I can’t make worthwhile observations about anything.  Turn to the right, nothing there.  This is the dream.  Not quite right, make corrections.  Turn to the right, make pithy observations.  What are we talking about again?  Everything I do is so uninteresting.  Share with no one.  Don’t obfuscate.  Share with someone.  All illusory.  Returning to the place of fantasy.  Poison living inside of me.  Alter all of your thoughts so they do not feel real anymore.  Neither one of us quite existed in this reality at that moment.  All of us sad.  Can you understand there is no reality here?  There is no kindness within me.  There is only a desperation for some false connection.  And then a need for it to be reborn.  Going in one direction.  What could I even relate?  So hard to begin again.  Nothing to offer.  Nothing inside.  I don’t know anymore.  And you’ll never know.  Of course I see how washed up I am.  How utterly useless.  It’s hurts so much to talk to anyone.  Things are spilling over.  Overlapping.  I just need to go and get through those passages, don’t you see the similarities.  So much canned drama.  Just willfully stay trapped on the island.  Why not.  Obfuscate but not really, all found in those pages.  Few minutes genuine.  Hard to say.  Impossible to say.  What is genuine.  What is anyone even looking for?  It all comes from me and that’s why it’s so worthless.  He just wanted to talk.  For a little while.  Got to get rid of the wheels  driving all night.  Make yourself scarce.  Hide.  Forget.  If only there was a way so they would forget.  Silly you.  As though anyone would remember anyway.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  I am worthless.