kitchen conversations

i wanted to go out to the kitchen to get a soda, but there were no cold ones in the fridge because there's no room in the fridge. it's hot, i didn't feel like putting a shirt on, so i opened my door and looked out there to see if anyone was out there, and no one was, so i went out to the kitchen without my shirt on. i had to be out there too long. i had to put sodas in the fridge, and pour the last of my chocolate milk in a fresh glass. when i started waking back into my room, is when fred's idiot friend came in from the back yard, and i know he saw weird little me with my homeless gloves and no shirt, thinking i'm fucking mental because of all the shit fred's told him about me. so i pictured in my head on the way back to my room, his thought was 'that kid is fuckin' mental'. so i sat down and had an imaginary conversation with that guy, and said 'well, you know, oddly enuph, i actually tried to explain that to you morons'. and he'd say 'you did?', or whatever the average morons says in that imaginary situation that never happens, or scenario, with that pompous accent like michelle used to say. and in my head, i'm thinking of whatever his inquiry might be, to have me explain my mental to this idiot. and i just start going off on all these little pathways in my head. and i get to where i'm saying, 'yeah, there's a thing you can look up on the internet. it's a webpage called wikipedia. and on it, you can look up whatever you want. it's like an encyclopedia, but current and growing and evolved. it's amazing. you can learn whatever you want on there. but the amazing thing is, no one does it. no one even created the site, it's run by a little grey alien dude the government keeps locked up in a dungeon below area fiftyone. he apparently survived trying to land here. yeah, big fuckin' mistake, huh, little guy. won't be tryin' that again. anyway, you can go on this site, and get this typing device called a keyboard, and hit the letters 'ptsd'. and take a little gander there. it stands for post. traumatic. stress. disorder. now, figure this, what it means is, if someone's an asshole, and they abuse their daughter, their daughter is going to grow up with something called ptsd. it means, if you've been hit in the head, you're gonna have a headache. for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, right? well, for irresponsible actions, there's some fucked up shit. some consequences. and some people are too stupid to deal with those consequences, so their kids usually end up on jerry springer. are we following along? cause that explains why i'm insane, but anyway, on this wikipedia thing, there is no limit to what you can read about and learn about. it's a digital doctorate, free of charge, and no one knows it exists. but it's okay, because the letter 't' in 'ptsd'? whatever word that letter stands for, is not in my crackhead uncle's vocabulary, so that's why he's out there telling his friends so much misunderstood horseshit about me. but you can go on wikipedia anytime and look that up, it's a wonderful invention, it's better than tv. pumping endless hours of brainwashing thru a box in your homes. and those children are so fucked up now, that they don't know they can suck endless hours of education into their homes now, to bring them out of this funk into a collective utopia that would make their parents look like idiots, but technology is a wonderful thing, and my daughter is the next stage of evolution. so that's why i'm completely fucked in the head, so you can move along now, cause i know you're bored shitless with this imaginary conversation, but thanks for talking to me, i was too poor to have any imaginary friends growing up, so that's why i don't believe in god, does that answer your question? have a good time with your little friend now. go easy on those funny soda cans, you're gonna grow up like your uncle. when no one tells their kids that, the entire family grows up that way, and then no one has a clue that you're the family titus talks about who live in a particular house. what were you saying about insane? i forget, must be these pills they have me on, or the society out that window i can't be a part of, i don't know, but something tells me something's not right, and you look pretty uneducated to me. run along now. this yellow wall is warmer than you.

misery and agony

well, since i never got to tell anyone who cares about my morning, i guess i'll tell my blog. yesterday was fucked. i came home, my head was not right, no one would talk to me online, so i figured i'd drive up and get a case of beer and a burger. i had twentysix bucks left, i figured i could get a case of beer, a burger, and a bag of cereal for that. i went into fry's to look for my mike's hard lemonade six packs. they didn't have any. they had twelve packs, or mike's hard lemonade lite. so i ended up having to get the lite, and by then, my brain was so fucked price wise, that i just left the store without any cereal or anything else. we're still out of kleenex and toilet paper, so i can't shit, and can't wipe the tears off my face, once again. it's something i wrote in my poem 'god's gravity' that i lost. i hate this life, i hate this world, i'd much rather put a bullet thru my head, than sit around waiting for someone to like me. so i left fry's, and got my burger, and drove home. i sat here for a while, trying to get up the appetite to eat the whole burger. long story short, last thing i knew, i was half way thru my burger and my first beer. next thing i know, i'm waking up this morning. that's the second burger in a row i've wasted, i've got five full bottles of warm beer next to my bed. but i wake up this morning, and i get a huge pop out of my neck finally, so my first thought of the day, for once, is not 'this fucking mucus', but rather, 'oh, it might be an okay day'. wrong. god decides to nosedive me straight into the ground. i miss my girl. i sat here... i turned my computer off, so i wouldn't keep hoping for some life to shine thru it. and i just kept it off. i smoked a cigarette, figuring i'd enjoy the quiet morning, and the birds, and pretend i was homeless alone this morning without any power, because i pretty much am. no one's going to talk to me online, no one's ever going to care about me. so i laid down for a minute after the cigarette, and just started crying. i sat up, wrote my daughter a little suicide note, and cried my eyes out for about half an hour. had to clean my face with rough paper towel. you know, when you see that person... sitting alone in their room... all electronics off... crying their eyes out... well, when you fail to see that person crying their eyes out, is when you fail to see that person kill themselves. and then it hurts you that they're gone. you'd think you'd learn from your mistake.