pity party, my ass

what the phuk? iz that all you can possibly think of to say? that's the same thing dana said, before she walked out like a dumb bitch. that's the only thing mom could ever say. ok, so, well, if three "women" think i'm having a "pity party", well, then, i must be having one. i'm sorry, i didn't know, i guess i wazn't invited to my own little party here. doezn't seem to be much of a party. three women, who are all so much smarter than i am (i mean look at how many poemz they've written about consciousness), tell me i'm having a pity party. well, then either i'm having a pity party, or none of y'all can think of anything better to say. that's the one i'm leaning towardz. what the phuk iz that even suppozed to mean? that iz just so phuking stupid. that's pretty phukin pathetik that that's all you can think of to say. i spit out all that shyt about why i'm so depressed and have no motivation, and all you can come back with, iz 'enjoy your pity party'??? well obviously i'm not enjoying it, kiddo! possibly becauze it's neither a pity nor a party, duh! what the phuk? see, if you could actually help me, and touch me, with any sort of human contact, emotion, you might actually be able to lift me out of this shyt, but no, you can't, you won't, cauze all you can think to see it az, iz a phuking pity party. well phuk. no wonder we're not getting anywhere, we're only running on half a brain. aroze the phoenix az she glidez, and i've gone insane. i've seen the light of suicide, and i'm dying. i'll ask again. how lonely, and depressed, and unmotivated, how lifeless do i have to get before someone will hear me. how many timez do i have to shoot myself before someone will hear the gunshot. if you shoot yourself in a forest, will anyone care? let freedom ring with a shotgun blast. you know why he said that? cauze the shotgun blast he'z talking about iz the one to my mutherphukin lifeless head. my empty soulspace. the body i once inhabited. the blood i once spilled for you. there iz nuthing to come back to. give me a gun, and i'll give you a sign. just walking thru life, blinded by a dollar bill. and the only thing you can see iz how to by me. i can't even see anymore, my 3yez have burned themselvez tearless. just turn this whole world black. nuthing ever changez, nuthing ever gets better, nuthing ever will. that's the cozmik joke you're all here for, don't you get it? you're all suppozed to loze. there iz no winner, cauze there iz no race. there iz no track. no rats, no food, no life. just a big blue ball with a virus on it. and you still expect us to be human. you still expect some humanity out of us. we're all just monkeyz throwing shyt at eachother, and we haven't 3volved one thought since then. the last sane moment we ever knew, waz on the plainz of afrika, 15,000 yearz ago. we stepped into this hole, knowing exactly what we were in for. and now you're all looking at me, pointing at me, blinded by dollar billz, and telling me i'm going in the wrong direction. have you gotten lost? let me smack that dollar bill off your face. phuking greedy, coldhearted, bitter phuks. snakes and lizardz. put the head to the machine, and let's see how far you get. understand, you need to be touched phyzikally. i touch you phyzikally az often az possible, to show you that i care. that iz something i am able to do for you. i, on the other hand, need to be touched emotionally. my motivation and inspiration need to be fed, or they starve. they die. motive. motivate. inspire. aspire. so here'z all my hopes and aspirationz. nuthing but puke. god, i'm so lonely. doez no one understand. not one human on this small, boring, syckening, disgusting, slow, retarded planet. no one can touch me. no one can just reach out and offer their hand, offer their emotion. iz that why i'm untouchable? iz it choice? iz choice the fundamental evil that we have yet to phigure out? if so, then voice iz our poizon. our venom. our choice iz the wind of change we ride in on. and our pain iz the art we sell to survive. nuthing will make you smaller than this. no matter how much people can take from you, they can't take your treazure chest of tragedy. i need to get this off my chest, i get to get this out. i need to get out of here, i need to get off this planet. i want to run away, i want to disappear. i want to dive into an ocean of immunity, and drown. let go of all my hopes and fearz, and just let go. just let go. tiny bubblez of life, rizing to the surface. just let go. just let go. just let go.

nuthing painful az the hand in my head, shutting, smashing, crushing all my thoughts. i know i once said, that if you kill the brightest flower in your garden, an even brighter one would grow in it's place, but this iz phuking rediculous. i have no phuking flowerz left. my phuking garden iz dead. dead like the black vortex of death that iz tucson. how phuking helpless and hopeless do we have to get before something comez to life? how much do i have to water my garden in this place for anything to grow again? i'm flooding my garden, and nuthing will grow in this hell. my garden looks like what's left of los angeles. will no one hear me. will no one see me. will no one touch me. i, being an alien, require the emotional equivalent to a backrub, and a day at the spa. there iz nuthing like that on this planet. do you see why my life iz getting smaller and smaller? i'm thriving and existing on less and less. this world iz getting smaller and smaller... either that, or i'm eating up all the psychik energy. we need a spiritual change. we need a charge. our batteriez are running low. we need to invent new batteriez. we are not robots, we cannot exist on robot batteriez. we need human energy, human charge, human electricity. emotion. running wild, and we can't even pheel it. like a hand out the window of a moving car. like the paint peeling off the ceiling. can't anyone understand. but no one will understand. i am the only one. the alien, born to the wrong planet. living in the wrong world. giving blood to the wrong bank. irony clozez in on me, suffocates me, and laffs at the little boy, smothered in pain, mizery, and someone else'z monkey shyt. get the phuk away from me. stop charging me $20 per breath. but you won't let me stop existing. see, i told you, there'z no way to win, when it's not a race. you are still a rat, i'm sorry to say, but you're just not important enuph to be part of the race. just sit on the sidelinez, and enjoy your peanuts. senseless rambling from the snake at your feet. phuk you.

the coward game 3.0

just sit back and turn on your tv
watch me blow up another cuntry
i'll uze a remote while you uze a gun
for me, the coward game iz just too much phun
if only you could see, the pleazure it would give me
to destroy all the world'z baeuty, spreading mizery and tragedy
your only victory, to worship your insanity, iz so sad to me
your only achievement iz a phuking pathetik newz story
cover the children, glue your 3yez to your worst agony
your only defense iz to preach morality
hand over your fight to your worst enemy
but this story'z truly smaller than it seemz
how could it be, that one man iz smashing all your dreamz
perfect for the job, i'm bred to push the button, not to pull the trigger
i'd compare your brain with my dick to see which one'z bigger
i know, to you, this just izn't right, me picking a phite
but you're so outgunned, so outmanned, it's criminal
oh, to watch you scatter and die in your city of phire
just give me one true ounce of your hatred
one pure glimpse at your god, to get me higher
az my hand descendz upon your head
your face growz empty, your soul iz dead
your children fear, your streets run red
i never heard a word they said
i just sat back and watched my tv screen
with only silent sound of gunphire criez
emotional rezidue on the picture infront of you
can you sense my detachment, can you pheel how much i care
who ever told you the coward game waz fair?
just sit back and turn on your tv screen
watch your people become the martyrd obscene
can't you see, it's just so much phun
your children screaming az they run
................................. from my big phuking gun

carnal carnival

i just can't seem to find anything high enuph on this planet. anything full enuph. anything extreme enuph. 3volved enuph. life's eazy and you think you know everything, then your life gets shifted around, and you grow up in the middle of it, then suddenly you find yourself in a place where you don't know shyt. you don't have enuph of what everyone else haz, to keep your life running in their direction. going with their flow. you somehow end up floating upstream, beneath it all. life iz a carnival ride you never quite paid for, yet never quite get off. a roller coaster of inz and outs, rather than ups and downz. i can never go high enuph. i want a better carnival. a carnal carnival. i want to think, and see a carnival of carnal colourz cum out of my head and spew onto a wall in the form of what i'm thinking. iz that too much to wish? am i a dreamer? am i the only one? pleaze tell me i'm not alone on that one. if bill hicks were alive, he'd be with me on that one. come on, i support hiz 'terminally ill stunt people' idea. i don't know why i keep searching for something that i've never found, while theze weedz get deeper az i turn around, and time growz older and i've grown colder, so long haz passed that i forgot to count. and theze weedz have grown where the sun once shown, and i can pheel it, this space between us. what iz it about pain that makes life seem so real. we've come this far, we've invented computerz and internet, and the best we can do with our time iz make popup adz. why can't i find anything high enuph. big enuph. i can only change so much in a certain environment, thingz around me need to start changing, or i need to start changing them. i don't know, maybe i just need some new mental stimulation. a new awakening after that Th3rd 3ye withering bullshyt. i've had all the brain damage i can handle in two months time, i've dealt with enuph stupid people, i've argued with enuph clozed mindz, dried up spongez, running around like zombiez with pill bottlez, trying to drug me and make me docile, and calling me paranoid. iz this a phuking cartoon? did god come from a cartoon or something? am i the only one laffing at what's going on here? a sea of mentally vacant, sitting, staring at the light out the window. the ocean of bright new digital sunrize. i pheel like i'm floating above this necroskool, with a big bubble 3ye popping up between my shoulderz, the only one awake. a monkey on a bike deliverz a telegram. 'you're the only one'. it's a skool room. i'm in a skool room, of an elementary skool, in phuking kanzas. what the phuk imagez iz my mind seeing man. and why iz no one else here. where did timothy leary go?