back online

hey kidz, we're finally back online over here, and celebrating skinner seazon. well, it looks like the dumbphuks over at deviantart can't handle my spelling either. i tried to spaek freely in a chatroom there today, and i waz so let down. come to find out, the room waz filled with vocabularikal authority phigurez and spelling naziz, oh my. i keep telling myself, they're not real. stoopid phuks. why iz it so impossible for people to get over that one little thing. and they have to sound so intellectual, like 'oh, well, it doezn't add any extra meaning', ok, how the phuk do you know, dick. it's my phuking writing. anywayz, finally got the internet to work, and now i'm stoned, so i'll think of something to say here later. till then, here'z something from a few dayz ago, while we were offline:

suicide note 9-27-04

dude, do you ever understand how lonely and unheard i pheel. do you really understand. cauze sometimez i really doubt that you do. i really doubt that anyone ever doez. dude, and now you just walked out the door without even... you can't even be nice man. what the phuk. i pheel so phuking let down, lonely, depressed, and all you know to do, iz send me to a hospital and give me 'medz'. you can't just sit an listen to me? not even that, no one in this world can even go find someone who'z willing to sit and listen to me. and all you can ever say iz that my ranting iz too much, my reactionz are too extreme. dude, it's about time that this world have an extremity like me, and if y'all aren't ready for it, that's your problem, not mine. quit blaming me for all your setbacks, problemz, faults, and shortcomingz. i am so syck of putting all my energy and emotion in to a full powered rant, to get a huge, urgent point across, and getting nuthing but an 'uh huh' in return. what the phuk iz wrong with you people. you syck phuks, you phuking stoopid hypocrites with your own phuking problemz, are all standing, laffing, pointing your fingerz at me, wanting me to be complaicent and phuking docile? medicated? no, i don't think so. i'm gonna be phuking hostile, and phuking alive, there ain't shyt you can do about it, and i am not the only one. deaf and blind and dumb and born to follow, what you need iz someone strong to guide you. the phuk. this iz rediculous, this iz one of the worst phuking birthdayz i have ever had, including august. i got two phuking cardz, which i have told people repeatedly that i phuking hate, and had to move all my shyt. thanks. i have had to butt headz with this cuntry for the past two months, when all i wanted to do theze past two months, iz be free to write and smoke. that's quite obviously way too much to ask of you phuking moronz. i pheel like a dime hidden under a bunch of penniez. no, phuk that, i think i've gone beyond that. i pheel like a priceless galaxy, eclipsed from my sun by a piece of space trash from your shyt universe. if by now, you'd like me better silent, then perhaps you'd like some medz. one more medicated peaceful moment. don't worry, there'z nuthing wrong with being complacent and docile. if you have a problem with your world, don't stand up and fight it, just sit down and fall asleep. maybe when you wake up, it will all be better. just take your medz, it will all be over soon. phuk you, i won't do what you tell me. phuk you, i won't do what you tell me. phuk you, i won't do what you tell me. phuk you, i won't do what you tell me. anger iz a gift, and i won't be kept down, in poverty, there iz no democracy. i watched our soulz burning over oil. a politician got no pheelin, it makes my mutherphukin cold blood boil. you'll never understand me, or see my fight. you call me blind, well i see your line of sight. you will never escape me. i am your salvation, and your judgment day. your armageddon. i am the terrorist on the tv screen, brought to you by fame and money, sold to you by your government, for your soul and your mind, suffocating you till the dawn of time. my stomach iz filled with the burden of your ignorance. out of my mind, gun up to the mouth, no pretention, execution, live and learn, rape and turn. fret not family, nor prejudged army, this iz for me, and me only, cowardz only try it. not worth the time to try, to replenish a rotting life, i'll end the problem, facing nuthing, phuk you off, phuk you all. tortured history, addict of mizery, this expozez me, for weakness iz a magnet, watch me do it, do it, do it. why would you help anyone who doezn't want it, doezn't need it, doezn't want your shyt advice, when a mind'z made up to go ahead and die. what's done iz done and gone, so why try? decending down. descend the shadez of night. across a blackened sky. you'll never hear the rage behind my wordz, you'll never pheel the anger under my tongue, you only see what you chooze to see, the hypocrite of diversity, never seeing me, but judging what i'm meant to see, filling my 3yez with your insanity, deluzional dizeaze of humanity. another lesson you'll never learn. dude, where'z my planet. this iz not my home. the whole world being forced to spaek english, yet no one spaeks my language. no one understandz me. a soul made of sirius matter, trapped in a body made of 3arth dust, and no adapter, no communication. standing in a room full of people, screaming out the problemz with your world, and seeing no one turn a head. no 3ye contact. don't look at him, he might be insane. something'z wrong with him. but nuthing can ever be wrong with our world, cauze our leaderz tell us so. when i'm hiding, when i need it, it lets me breathe. for our handle, on this life, i don't believe. would you look at me now. can you tell i'm a man, with the scarz on my wrists to prove i'll try again. try to die again. try to live thru this night. try to die again. mother'z angel, getting smarter, how smart are you to regress, unfulfilled. again. my world iz unaffected, there iz an exit here, i say it iz and it's true. there iz a dream inside a dream, i'm wide awake, the more i sleep, you'll understand when i'm dead. i went to god just to see, and i waz looking at me, saw heaven and hell were liez, when i'm god, everyone diez. one shot and the world gets smaller. each thing i show you iz a piece of my death. some part of me haz to die tonight. this part of me must die tonight. i must die tonight. i can pheel another head growing back. it's another wave of mind attack. and now the world iz turning black. no salvation. no forgiveness. but this iz your world, not mine. i don't live here any more than you do. i don't breathe any more air than you do. the phuk. i am the weight on my end of the scale, tipping it my way. the tipper of your gore. the digital pimp for your tekgnologikal whore. bitch, where'z my money.

if at first, you don't understand, read, read again.

if all you're hearing iz glamflashymetal egodick guitar soloz, then you've still got another ear to open. if all you're seeing iz your weird uncle that ran away and never quite came back, then you're looking at the wrong family member. the son of amerika iz spaeking to you. there'z a hypocrite, a procrastinator, and a mental poet, all going to new york. who gets famous first? the dead rock star. the smackhead with a voice. motherheart. a drug with a death. we fight fire with phire. we fight war with drugz. i fight censorship with poetik venom and a Th3rd 3ye. digital lsd. i fight censorship with nudity, not violence. i got my lunchbox and i'm armed real well. instead of writing with my pen, maybe i should just stab you in the 3ye with it. 9:26am. if you really can kill your fanz with poetry, let me be the first one to do that. cauze you all dezerve to die. i'll weild the pen of death, cauze i'm the only one who can.

you're a rat. you're on a frame with wheelz. you're on a racetrack, with all the other rats. on the track infront of you, there are carefully placed little speedbumps. your frame holdz a stack of dollar billz, that you stand on, az the frame rollz it's way down the track. az it rollz, the wheelz go over the speedbumps, but the dollar billz beneath the frame level get stuck behind the speedbump. each rat iz given a different size stack of dollar billz. it's a hilarious rat race. let's all sit back and watch the shorter stacks get stuck at each speedbump, and watch the rats suffer and die, hahahahahaha. let's give bill hicks and the reverend the shortest stacks, cauze they actually think they're cool.

i've come to realize, with every little glimpse, you fade. i waz told that i could fly, when least expected, cloud connected. every little note iz a work of art, perfection, power and pride. no one can ever tell you how to make your muzik. metamuzikal.