and so my moldy dreams are debased by the hands that shaped them.

PREFACE: it's an angry fucking rant, that i had to put somewhere, and this benefits me in the way that i don't have to explain it to everyone i'm closest to that reads this.
i'm pretty sure she's full of shit, i've had a talk with someone she considers her good friend, and her friend backs up my original paranoid instincts. maybe i'm honed now, maybe it was a test of will. i still fall for it, not as easily, but i bit the hook, and i'm still holding on, waiting on something to really throw in her face. she's not rich, she's not coming back, there'll be no 360, i'm not fucking moving down there. all this does is put me back where i started, i'm not any happier or worse off. nothing a few days of binge drinking won't fix. i'm not losing anything but the time i already spent, which i do not regret, b/c let's face it, it was fun and the sex was great. i'm just tired of fucking running into liars, everywhere, it's like decent people exist in the very few and in between. i swear to god, soon i'm just gonna snap and start killing every fucking person who can't back up a god damn story with either sense or honesty. "can't lie b/c i feel too guilty" bullshit, i don't lie b/c i fucking hate when people lie to me. it makes me want to literally take my bare fucking hands and pry someone's jaw from their face...then they won't be able to talk anymore, then break every one of their god damned fingers so they can't fucking write lies. it seems like i struck gold in fucking bullshit. like a fucking oil mine of just shit, disease ridden shit. if that's not particulary enough, i get some dickface twat trying to wedge her way back into my life with more shit, saying she's still god damn in love with me, but will deny it to anyone else. i'm just trying to be nice here, but fuck it, give them an inch, they want your whole fucking life. that's it, i'm done. done with fucking around. dealing with idiots and liars and twats and whores. done sticking my neck out for people who can't prove themselves. i've proven myself enough to anyone. and my close friends won't talk shit about me, well...not things that aren't true. my character flaws are obvious, but i don't fucking lie to people. i may build my tall tales, but they're easy to see it's bullshit, and i'll admit when they are. i just keep getting further and further away from depressed and sad, and closer and closer to fucking psychotically angry, unleveledly spiteful. it's already gotten bad enough to the point where i heard bullshit even from people i know i can trust. the first thing i run to is disbelief...what the fuck kind of life is that to live? what the fuck kind of person does that make me? what if i actually meet someone that isn't full of shit? i'm still never gonna give them the benefit of the doubt, then i just turn out to be some cynical asshole, who in forty years will prolly be so warped that he thinks the C.I.A. is constantly in his shit and after him. this will be the root of it all, mark my fucking words. my detachment from reality is beginnig right here. and either it gets worse, or i'm just over reacting with this new situation, and she's being honest and she's not a fucking twat ass lying cunt rag. but it seems my instincts are on, my brain trust confirms my suspicion, and even a foreign correspondant has come from the shadows to further garuntee (with much reluctance, the reluctance being that there's some reprieve to her bullshit, like sometimes it's true b/c it's too unbelievable to believe) the prospective in which i wanted to deny b/c, man, wouldn't it be ideal and great to have such a fucking sweet life. someone lurks you out on myspace, you hit it off insanely well, you dance with the idea of changing your life for them, b/c it's only fair since they are planning to changes theirs for you. they're well off, you're not, but they want to shower you with affection the way your mother did, even though she was never really one to afford it. they want to spend loads of time with you, moving at a fast pace, and you don't fucking mind, hell, why waste time? you'll be dead before you know it anyway. someone who fills your head with sweet intangible ideas, says things that blow your scared little mind. push all the right buttons. massage your ego in ways you didn't know it could be pleased. literally ruins you on life. and all that (well, maybe not all of it completely, b/c i know things like my ass is awesome for a guy's ass, and i'm an amazing fucking linguist, ha ha) is on a shakey foundation that's well into it's crumbling stages. sinking ever so gently into the sea, so gently you can't even notice you're gonna drown. but then again, i could be wrong, this could be a rant from hell, with such a heated fury i'll find it hard to trust myself with any sort of emotion, lose my touch, and basically fall into a deep love and be compeletly immersed and happy while it lasts. maybe i see a reflection of how i used to be and it just pisses me off, b/c i was so inconsiderate of people.
the most fucked up thing of all this ranting and bullshit i'm going through...i hope she's full of shit. it'll be some sort of vindicating affirmation that i'm smart. that i'm on top of my shit. that love is bullshit, happiness is some fickle flighty shit idea, and i'm smarter to just say fuck it, and not trust a god damn soul...or mostly just people with xx chromosome pairs.
alright, i'm done, i've wasted close to twenty minutes venting.

it’s a new story i’m working on, think i’m gonna call it ’Wanderlust’

again, i don't proof read my shit, so get off my case. and i have no idea where it's going. so without further consideration or care, i whore out my latest creative nothing.

            What was I doing with my life? I spent all day wasting away in front of one screen or another, to accomplish nothing at all. I lurked out profiles of people I thought I knew, and others I only pretended to, but what was it all for? To sate some form of boredom? No, if I wanted to do that, I'm sure a back road through the darkness and the rest of my gas tank could've helped out more. I could've burned another mix c.d. and claimed the black road as my own for about an hour, screaming at the top of my lungs, until my voice decided to give on me. The fact was that I was alone, nothing could cure that. Sure, I could've went out and got a sympathy fuck from some girl I charmed into bed, but in the morning I'd feel sick with myself and even more pathetic than I already did.

            It was just that my mind kept floating back to things that didn't matter. I kept thinking about how life was so good two weeks previous. Heavenly, even. Now, it had turned into a shit factory of assumption. I had only myself to blame for taking it as far as it went, and I kept going, jogging down that street after the lights blew. And here I find myself in proverbial darkness to sit and cry, and pretend that I didn't feel anything. I felt it all, though. Not only Majolie's fresh wounds that had just been visit on my heart and ego, but Nico, and Shy, and even as far back as Myles. She had started my descent into failure and rejection, and since then I haven't been able to dig myself back out. I've gotten a few times of high on love, but it wasn't really that as much as infatuation, thinking that this is the one that would break my slump. This would be the one to change my life forever. I'd marry her, and that would be that. Even the third charm didn't do it for me. The third real shot at something real.

            Now, I just sit and count my fingers and toes; a countdown to tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. Either waiting for my life to really begin, or waiting for it to end, it doesn't matter which. Sometimes I wonder how, exactly, I become so dependent after proving to myself that I can be a self sufficient person. My weakness, I guess. That's all it ever is, I feel too much. It's a tough front that's broken down all too easily by just sweet words and a pretty face. I'd done it too many times myself to others. Now my curse is to bake in my own wretched misgivings. It's karma, and sometimes she's a harsh bitch. Kicks aimed for the balls, and a tight grip on the throat. It's not the torture that bothers me as for the lack of pay off. Sure I've had my words handed to me on a silver platter, those limber beautiful words, that don't know how to stop dancing. I could weave them once, in a time that I didn't feel anything. Everyone was just a toy for my amusement, and friends were a dime a dozen. Since I respect people now, care about how they feel, go back to being a genuinely good person; the bile I fed everyone from my old life comes back to me in a new way.

            So what now? Do I throw myself a pity party with one guest on the list? Do I mull everything over in my head, until the weight of the situation finds a way to push all the food from this afternoon up through my mouth? My stomach's sick already, from missing Majolie, do I really need that extra push? It's the first real thing I've eaten in a day and now my own mind betrays me, and wants to deny anything I need. It's convinced itself that what I need is love. Love is just a blindfold at your own death sentence. It's nothing nice and dreamy, its hell. The worst part of hell, I might add, as well. You get high from it, change everything around in your head. Lose sight of what really matters to you. Then it all crashes down. Becomes some sort of addiction. And when you crash from that high, you can't even taste food anymore, you can't enjoy masturbation, you can't even fucking watch a god damn TV show without relating it on your failed attempt at building something great. You don't focus on the real things, you focus on it, it consumes you, molds you into something repulsive. A cynical asshole of a critic, puckered and vomiting. Hopefully, you've got enough left in you to pick yourself up again. Hopefully, you'll have something to give to someone else. Maybe you do, maybe you're stronger than you thought. But each time, it's more and more unlikely. Each time, you have a little less to give, until you all dry. What then? Do you hope you meet someone that replenishes you? Someone that doesn't care about your scars, just wants to soothe you, hold you, and be everything all those other girls just pretended to be? 

           It's bullshit anyway, no one's ever that nice, no one will ever stick their neck out that far. You have to prove yourself. You have to pay in first, write out a guarantee and sign it in your blood. Also, you can't forget an expiration date of never, just as a vote of confidence. Still, though, sometimes that's not enough, no matter how hard you try, someone's beat you to the punch of fucking things up completely. Now whatever reputation you've build for yourself, it doesn't matter. The people that vouch for you, they're your friends. The people that have a good opinion of you, known you for a while, and stick up for you, well, they don't count because they're already on your side. So you want to prove yourself, but hell, no one's got the time to let you do that. What's the fucking point? They'll lose what little interest they have by then, and it's all fucked anyway.

            So what was I to do? Complain? Be an asshole about? Or just forget it ever happened? Count my losses and move forward with what pathetic life I had. It was all contrary anyway. What I considered a good time, were the times that would come around every now and again, where I'd get enough booze in me to say, "Fuck the world, I don't need it. I'm happy being myself. Happy doing things my way."

            It was a lie. A lie I told myself over and over again. Hoping that eventually I'd either really believe it, balls to bones, or that it'd be true. The only flaw in lying to yourself is that you already know the truth. You already know you're full of shit, and you can't believe it. You wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and tell yourself today is gonna be a good day. You know you're full of shit, but you figure, what the hell. Guess what? That day was shittier than the day before, and quite possibly the day before that. So you let yourself fall into monotony, get a routine, and grind hard on the press of life. The escapist in you wants to take control, you can feel him fingering the wheel, so you sate his primal need of getting the fuck away from this shit hole you try to convince yourself is home, and push other stories into his mouth. Movie after movie you pile in front of him. Lucky the bastard is as curious as he is. Otherwise, this notion of materialism you've set up for yourself would be overtaken by the great wanderlust that's constantly sitting on your shoulder, like a songbird with an endless song.           

            It was almost an escape, wasn't it? No time for thought, you almost jumped in, heeded no warnings, went where you heard the hush on the wind. You knew the voice, it was a sweet voice with convincing words. Now that god damn escapist is awake again, and so determined. A movie wouldn't satisfy the grand urge that's gotten into his groin this time. What the hell? I thought. Why not just give him what he wants? He'll never let me go on with a regular life, unless I actually indulge him. We'll call it a vacation, he'll think he's escaped, and after he's had his fill and fallen asleep fat and swollen. We'll sneak ourselves back to the real world of responsibility, taxes, and certain death.

            I still sat there though, with a blank expression stretched across my face. I was still waiting on something, what exactly, I couldn't put my finger on, but it was there. Close enough for me to breathe it deep. The taste was sweet, the smell was intoxicating. My eyes watered, and my eyes rolled back in ecstasy. But I still didn't know what I was waiting for.

i was just sippin’ on something sweet.

listen, as much as i bitch about how unfortunate things are, they're really not. i mean, so far, this year is a big improvement over the last. i mean, this time last year, most things had fallen apart for me in the most considerable ways. and so far this year, it's been pretty fantastic. my friends are happy, i'm happy and things are getting resolved in a much better manner, and finite.
i don't have many worries, and the ones i do are my own. so as much as i complain and scream and kick, it's really not that bad. i could make a list of dates and reasons and compare the two, but i'm really not gonna be that anal, especially in a blog...c'mon. seriously.
just saying, so far so good. let's keep it going.

cursive had it right

I'll scream, "Babe, this is it! We'll leave the house in ruins if we escape right now, we just might make it out"
This city, this city's killin' us.

refrain.

for all i have, i have nothing.
for all i am, i am nothing.

my stomach hurts, sort’ve.

well, it's all been a rush job, and more fast paced than usual. or maybe that's just me, and fast paced isn't the word i'm looking for exactly, absorbed could be a better one.
either something big is going to change, or not much at all. that's the either or. not a whole lot of in between on it, no kind've no mild. and i feel like i've been asleep so long, there's all the energy, now all that's left is to go back to dreaming. i don't wanna dream anymore, they're lackluster and pure fantasy, nothing of fullfillment, nothing i can touch.
i'll know for definite soon. still it's the waiting i hate, as patient as i have to be on a daily basis, and as cool as i stay, you'd think i had it together. mostly. it's all just a rouse (sp?) and, well, i'm getting less and less clever with it.
i don't want an around while she's around. i want something real. tangible. but i lived before and i'll live through anything i guess. i just feel more pessimistic than even i usually am. reality can be a bitch when you have time to think and question and doubt. it's a pretty wicked virus most of the time.

let’s call out a lot.

doubt and dread. two of the worst things in the world, followed closely by disappointment. how can someone struggle with these constantly and come out on top? continue fighting the good fight.
let me tell you, uphill battles are what i'm all about, or so it seems. and finally, all that spent energy is catching up to me. i can't keep my eyes open for the life of me, and now it seems it's the worst time to be falling asleep.
i've proved i can stay awake, and i guess there's still a lot more i have to prove before things are done being said. i can do it.

with the company of close friends, we drove on in the night

so, delays on creative things. it hasn't been stagnant, just a lot fucking busier than i anticipated. but i'll be back on game in a few. not that it matters. i doubt anyone was really reading it, so i guess i'm moving forward more for my own self gratification.
and who knew? i certainly didn't, but the pleasant surprises come abruptly, sometimes, like a unicorn horn impalement.
oh, and i got balls fucked up last night. jesus h. odinson. let's do it again sometime. less acid for friends.

oh, and greg, fuck you before you come to me saying, "you're so fucking queer." i know it, and i've proven it to your mother, i've proven it to your dog, and i'll fucking prove it to you over and over...remember the bathroom times. and your balls.