andrea and marco

Ciao, Andrea e marco. volevo ringraziarla, in modo molto, per aiutare me out, ed essendo bello per me. ho voluto dirvi un po' circa la mia giornata di ieri mi è stato molestato da una guardia di sicurezza tre volte ieri, dopo aver tirato un coltello su di me, all'interno della Seven Eleven, sulla fotocamera, il giorno di Natale, egli è la guardia di sicurezza e lui stesso senzatetto. Egli piace solo a molestare altre persone senzatetto. Così ho intenzione di scrivere una lettera, inviare copie al sindaco, governatore, notizie locali, e capo della Seven Eleven e sto prendendo il suo lavoro. sono stato anche molto... stitico negli ultimi mesi, che ha colpito la mia salute e la mia mente, e io odio Che la parola, ma non riesco a tradurre la poesia in lingua italiana. Così mi dispiace se non sto nel miglior umore oggi, ma non vorrei perdere questo per nulla. ho davvero apprezzare tutto ciò che avete fatto per me e io vi ringrazio sinceramente. mangeremo? E fare di voi ragazzi sentono come cibo asiatico oggi? Questo quiznos non fa abbastanza carne sul loro panini, ho bisogno di una mucca per pranzo. sorriso! Si tratta di un giorno migliore rispetto a ieri!

christmas morning

yesterday was the most horrible day i've had in months. i had to encounter the coldest, most cruel people on the face of this horrid fucking planet. selfish, stupid, incoherent, rude, belligerent... consumers. my least favourite creature. consumers who ignore you on christmas fucking eve. aside from that...

i woke up this morning without a dime in my pocket. walked to seven eleven, trying to get a hot chocolate. asked some guy in his car for a couple bucks for the hot chocolate, he gives me two dollars, but tells me to give the other one to this piece of shit bum by the trash can. so i had to get my hot chocolate with one dollar. i walked into the seven eleven at the wrong fucking time. some hot snob girl walks in, followed by two ignorant crackhead fucking nigger pieces of shit... believe me, i don't use that word lightly, i don't like it, i'm not concerned with skin colour at all, but when you have to be such an obvious piece of human turd, you're just deserving of that label, i'm sorry, that's the way i fucking see it, deal with it. and i'm stupid enough to follow this perfect little crowd in there. i asked the lady if she could possibly spare a dollar for a hot chocolate. she of course ignores me, which makes me feel like she thinks of me as no better than the crackroach niggers in the store. meanwhile, those scumfucks are crowding around me, no matter where i go in the store, they have to stand in my way. every time i try to make my way to the counter to ask the guy, they're right infront of me, so i have to stand and wait as always to get anyone's attention. right about that time, two cops walk in. oh, this is fucking great. so i start ranting and growling because... i can't hold it in at that point. i can't get the clerk's attention, cause he's busy with the hot snob and the two scruntfucks. i'm assuming all three of them are cracked out of their fucking minds, and this close to having a threesome in the store. the idiots won't stop drooling over her ass, which is making me fucking sick, and want to puke all over everything. consumers. there are only two clerks working in the seven eleven, one is dressed for a break, and the other is the dot indian dude that never translates with me. so i ask the guy on break, just desperately trying to get out of there as quickly as possible, but i never get my way, i'm not allowed. i asked him if i could get my hot chocolate for a dollar, without even thinking, he says ask him. i said 'he never understands what i say, would you mind asking him for me'. but he can't get a word in between the indian clerk and the two crackturd idiots, cause they're having a merry little christmas in the store, asking for hot dogs, just having a good ol' time, cause they're allowed to, especially if they belligerently barge right in and demand their path in life, 'high, i'm here for coffee, get the fuck out of my way'. yes, sir, absolutely, sir, very sorry, sir, please excuse my stupididity. scum! they get all the attention and i get none. as always. so at that point, with the cops over by the hot chocolate area, and i start growling with hatred, cringing down into a hateful little ball of blackness and toxic death. the store clerk finally says yes, i can, so i squeeze between the cops, grab a cup, fill it as quick as possible, dump a couple creamers in it, get the lid, and walk the fuck out. disgusted, disturbed, sick with myself, hateful, growling, screaming in the street at god, cops all over the fucking place... merry fucking christmas. i've been ignored by more people last night and this morning, than all of san francisco combined. i hope you sick puke fucks have a wonderful fucking day. i walk over here to the starfucks, hook up my computer, turn it on, check my email hoping for even an automated merry christmas wish, or something nice from the two humans i know on this wretched planet that might pull my heart out of the depths of hell this morning, sun glaring in my eye... fucking nothing. i get an automated message from fuckin' shaquataetae.

i fucking hate you. i fucking hate you. i'm surrounded by the worst of human scum, this is why i don't do fucking holidays, i fucking hate you all! your god won't show his fucking face, cause he knows i'll slit his fucking putrid goat throat. i fucking hate you.

i am the coming of a new age
stained we still stand tall
i am the coming of a new age
and i will never fall
i've seen the questions of a new time
seen but never heard
i've seen the comings of a new time

i wish to god i could slit my wrists this morning.
unfortunately, i've got something to live for.

i fucking hate you.

...
oh yeah, and yesterday morning, i tried to use the burger king bathroom. huge mistake. three people walked in on me because they can't lock their bathroom door. idiot number one and three was this braindead fucking scumpuke piece of shit, not a thought in his fucking skull mellon. just stands there staring at me. so i walk out of the bathroom, and start screaming at everyone in the burger king:

i guess there's no privacy anymore for people who can't afford to take a shit.

idiot behind the counter says in his drooly drooly fuckin' accent cause he can't speak fucking english! says 'get out'.

i said no, you should be proud of yourself, you can't even lock your bathroom door when i pay you a quarter everytime i go. high class!

then i look at all the idiots trying to eat their breakfast, and i say 'oh, i'm sorry, enjoy your breakfast, hopefully someday you'll figure out not to shit where you eat!'.

human fucking scum. fuck your holidays and fuck you with them. they've always been just an excuse to consume more. you fucking scum. what happens when we throw down the credit cards and products. what happens then? you can't afford to ask yourselves. you can't afford to see my perspective. hell, you can't even afford to give a shit about it. you must be so proud of yourselves. humanity can buy products and eat and shit and eat and shit and eat and shit and eat and shit. consume, consume, consume. i can see the word 'scum' in there. you make me fucking sick.

my standards are so much higher than yours, they don't even involve you.

...
aaand now we have christmas day. right around noon, i had a pleasant encounter with the security guard for the seven eleven. the short, fat, black, bald idiot with the sunglasses, i'll get a picture of him on here eventually. i was arguing with him because he was harassing another homeless lady, who's obviously out of her mind, and he was calling the cops on her, and that shit makes me sick, so i... well... my mind's fried. he kept harassing me, followed me into the seven eleven, and ended up pulling a knife on me... i hate all these terms so much, i hate even having to say this shit, i sound like a barbaric neanderthal myself, makes me fucking sick. they have no clue or care what ptsd is, or what nonviolent people... i cannot wait to have my religion behind me with these moronic fucks. i cannot wait for the day, when they figure it out. if only there were a god to pray to, please, lord. i wanted to tell him the line i had going for a while, 'see you on judgement day', but i didn't get the chance, but please, god, let it be soon. this man pulled a knife out of his pocket, inside a seven eleven, on christmas day, and he's the security guard!

it does give me pleasure at least, that it must really chap his ass that he can't do shit to me. i've been through this shit before, hell, half of it's here on my fuckin' blog, or facebook. i've taken these fuckers down before, i can call the cops on this asshole any fucking time i want, he's probly already fired, real fuckin' responsible behaviour, if his job's not already gone, i can take it any time... cause my mama taught me how, and they assume i'm stupid, and i haven't been through this shit before... god, what fucking morons. mom, they're still learning the hard way. can you believe this shit? too bad she can't email me an eta for armageddon. but the good news is, i made fortysix bucks, a swirl of people issues, triggers popped like a minefield... i'm gonna go get stoned. hope you have a wonderful christmas.

...
and again last night, still kept trying to fuck with me in the store. i'm taking his job. it's almost seven am, i say that's a good time to get started. he'll be fired by noon today, and that's right around the time i get free lunch. i realized last night, though... and i'll say this on stage. i'm going to use him to launch myself. he'll be the first head i step on, he won't be the last, and i will never apologize again. it's time to stop waiting around to meet people. it's time to get started on myself. in the next few days, i'll try to work on forming a daily routine that involved open mic every night, panhandling every day, at certain times, and keeping what cash i need to stay ahead of each day in my pocket and not going below that, and i need to find a better area of town, and email monique asap. thanks, mom.

the next hour

what do i want to do in the next hour. i've got about ten bucks.

i need to find somewhere dry to smoke a bowl.
i should get a cheap burger or something to eat.
then go to the library and watch something good.

i can either leave my laptop on, or shut it off.
i don't know how long i'll be in the rayne, i should shut it off.
do i want burger king or seven eleven. i also need new socks.
these white ones feel more out of place than i do.

it's two pm. twosday. what can i do on a twosday.
i need to call the dmv eventually, but i'm dreading that.
i need to email an apology to sandra, and a thank you to carol.
i also need to get zach to make my computer behave.

but what as far as getting a home...
even if it has wheels...
where can i look...

i refuse to use craigslist and drown in spam.
i'm always ignored on freecycle.
invisible on every other site.

brett's no longer an option, just another ripoff idiot. as usual.
my people issues and uncomfortability are still... skin level.

if only i could focus on anything. i need to think. brain still hasn't rebooted.
i've found myself dead in this spot, no direction from this corner.
is it gravity, or time? or me?

what do i need to get out of here?
what can happen?

meeting someone?
open mic attention?

i feel nothing in either direction. what happened to my heart?

momentum i built in san francisco is gone.
i need a piece of reality. just one direction.

i miss doctor bupp.
speak to me, my friend.

...
four pm. well, i actually panhandled for a few hours. got two big sandwiches from romeo, couple bucks. rainy day. although, just before sunset, the rain stopped and the clouds started thinning, so it got this really nice yellow glow right around sunset. i took a few pictures of it. i love that. watched iron man iii. liked it more this time. all in all, a beautiful day. except for my stomach. i don't know how much longer i can... keep this up. what can i do to get a home. no one will tell me. it's either unrealistic waiting lists, or... my own talent. but how the fuck do i use that. what the fuck do i start off doing. i'll email monique from wings of laughter, and see what she says. that's a good idea, i meant to do that weeks ago.

dear starbucks ii

you are always very nice to me at this starbucks. and i appreciate that more than you know. so i should apologize and explain myself.

you should know, it actually triggers my ptsd every time i'm asked to buy something. i can't help that, however i try to keep it to myself until i'm able to get therapy for it. when you don't have an address, it makes it that much harder to accomplish.

i'm ozzy draven. i'm here to hopefully put an end to poverty. i want to put a stop to the way poor people are treated. it seriously bothers me to see poor people pushed around. i, myself, hate being told to move, when i'm standing on a sidewalk panhandling. people assume i'm dumb, that i don't know the laws. they think of me as a piece of trash they can just kick further down the road. and that makes me sick inside. and sometimes, i'll admit, it's hard to control myself in those situations. i have given many people a good tongue lashing for it, surprising them by how intelligent/insane i seem. but i truly wish that rich people could ever understand; money is no reason to treat a fellow human that way, i don't care if they're drug addict scumbags, thieves, liars, i don't care, there's no excuse to treat a person that way. personally, i don't like them either, i don't trust them, they have stolen from me, ripped me off, and worse. but if i acted the same way, i would be no better. no one else is going to help these people. especially not the rich.

that being said, i understand, in the societal perspective, that you have a store to run, with an image to keep. if it were my store, i wouldn't want dirty looking people camping all around it either, believe me, i understand.

but please understand where i'm coming from as well, and hopefully, with a mutual understanding of eachother, you'll have no reason to think any worse of me. i don't like doing this, or even talking about this, in fact i'm shaking as i write this, but it has to be done. i've been through too much, and come too far. i'm surprised i'm still standing, but while i am, i have to do what i can to put an end to poverty. i hope to give people like me a place on this earth to go, to wash this monetary society from their souls, to see the world with new potential. i hope to do this the most peaceful way possible. but we all need an answer.

rich people live luxurious lives, while poor people slave away and can't even afford to buy a hot chocolate every morning, and i'm beyond sick of seeing it. money does nothing but disturb me anymore, and makes me cringe at the thought of it. maybe i have gotten a little too lost in my world. it's hard to explain, and people never believe me, but when i close these two eyes, my third eye sees utopia. the future that's not that far away. potential. hope. peace. harmony. life. the same thing john lennon saw. that's what i spend my days thinking about, i've spent my life researching, learning, contemplating. beyond all the music, books, movies, clothing, foods, electronic inventions and other assorted creations i want to release into the world, that's a key piece. i hope to start off making my music, and once i get to meet some of the bigger minds in this world, through that path, i can leap toward the big goal.

please don't think any worse of me. i'm sorry i brought that up, i just couldn't hold it in today. i saw that more this morning than most others, and i apologize. please forgive me for speaking up, it's not my place, and there's currently nothing i can do to stop it. so it's best to stay silent. my mind has been through so much, though, that sometimes i don't remind myself of that, and i make an ass of myself. please understand, you did nothing wrong. it's just the bigger picture that i'm seeing, and those small obstacles... i sometimes stumble over. i'm very sorry. please enjoy your holidays, and forget that i said anything. and please, give me a chance. hopefully, it'll only be a couple more months, and i'll be out of your hair. till then, i try to just stay as invisible and unseen as possible, because my issues with people are hard to control. please forgive me for making a scene, i truly did not intend to. thank you again.

technical difficulties

just posting a small one to see if my blog is working. why is it, that when i use a windows computer these days, i run into way too many... roadblocks, obstacles, what's the word. everything takes so much time, it's so fucking difficult or impossible, and i spend hours just waiting for folders to load. folders full of files i already have on my fucking computer, it's not downloading time, it's just loading time, how fucking stupid is that, and am i the only one who thinks this is stupid. i don't remember having to do that shit on windows xp. waiting for folders to load. it doesn't matter if it's a folder full of high resolution wallpapers, a gigabyte worth of files, or a folder with one album in it. the folder containing the birthday massacre's pins and needles album, that folder alone takes at least a minute to load, each time. and it's displayed in list view. not details, not thumbnails, and it doesn't matter where i download that album from, this has happened on three laptops of varying speeds now, that folder always takes so long to load. i watch it loading. track one, in the dark. waiting. track two shows up. waiting. track three shows up. that stupid bar going across the top, why the fuck did they think that up, just to make you feel like it's gonna load faster, when they designed it not to. why would they design a computer operating system that's this stupid? i just don't get it. why do they have to have so much control over our desktops.

and they say 'well what if someone else needs to use your computer'.

then why do we need passwords?

seems like this could be figured out, and simplified, with just a little bit of thinking.

i picture walking up to any screen. touching my thumb to it, and it ripples and loads my desktop. remotely, from wherever my home computer is running. back in the day, they used to call this remote assistance, but i always wondered why the fuck the only use for it, would be for tech support. no, you idiots, it's remote access, meaning you can access your running desktop from anywhere. then they came up with syncronization of files, but didn't think to put those two together. yeah, microsoft should not be in charge. either that, or they should have hired me, but how would they know, they can't find me on their own internet, which tells me they don't know what the fuck they're doing.

but i would like to walk up to any screen. just big pieces of unbreakable glass, touch screen, thumb print technology, all that shit, you touch your thumb to it, it ripples out and loads your desktop as it looks right at that moment in your home. or wherever you have your home computer set up. resolutions don't matter anymore, as you can shrink anything you want to fit on whatever screen you're on, and still be able to read the text. that could have been done when high definition finally came out. but no one figured out to implement that either. but you load your desktop, and you're able to do whatever you want on there, it's connected to the internet like your compass is connected to the earth's magnetic energy. i can't wait to figure that one out. no more charging, no more wifi, this was in the earth the whole time. everything electric uses magnets, then why can't my laptop run without being plugged in? my compass doesn't need a battery.

but walk up to a screen, touch it, and it loads your desktop. you can show anyone you want what's on there, you can set it to recognize your girlfriend's thumbprint if you want, so you can both use it, or anyone else for that matter. you can restrict their access to certain things, if you like. people can see what your desktop looks like, you can show them something, flip through pictures, play a movie, music, whatever you want. but as soon as they touch that screen... their desktop loads. no one can make changes to yours, and if they do, those changes are logged in the home computer, so they can be reversed later. no passwords. no security. no insecurity. people feeling safe enough to share their digital lives with whoever they want, and not having to worry about 'is that guy gonna delete my movie collection'.

i imagine hearing someone walk by and look and my screen, and say 'wow, dude, your desktop looks cool, nice button'. won't be long till that's made into a popular bumpersticker, 'nice button'. fine print underneath, '©OzzTek Industries'. OzzTek is just a button, and from there, it's a fully customizable menu that plays your files. that's all it has to do, since everything software wise is inherent in the menu. it's customizable, which means you can add to it, if there's something you don't like, you can change it or remove it... for example, if you don't like listening to music at all, you can disable or remove the audio playing portion of the menu. if you like. if you no longer want to see pictures of your dead mother for whatever reason, you can remove or disable the picture showing function. you don't need three different picture displaying programs, because you can edit and change the one you've got however you see fit. if you want the forward and back buttons to display on the top corners of the picture, with no frame or anything, and a delete button on the bottom right corner, and nothing else... that's your choice. i encourage it.

you just know what the fucking government would say though. 'but that gives everyone a different desktop, and freedoms they shouldn't have with files, and that could create total chaos and anarchy!'.

what's wrong, scared of a little freedom? scared of people growing out from under your control? scared of people opposing you? or are you just trying to breed individuality out of us, so you can have an army of mindless clones and robot slaves? i'm doing this to give people their desktops back to them. freedom with your own creativity, wherever you wish to take it. whether it be visual arts, audio, literary... it's up to you now. no more paying six grand for adobe software. just edit the menu. configure it however the fuck you want.

i picture walking through a street where there is a row of screens. fuck libraries and their dinosaur computers, this is right outside a row of stores in downtown wherever. there's a bike rack, a charging station for those electric cars, maybe a water fountain in the background, people walking around... and there is a row of screens, and some of them are being used by people, to check their email, send an email, show a friend a picture, whatever. i'd love to walk by that row, and see everyone's desktops looking as unique as possible.

that girl there, with the cute blonde hair, and the pink dress. i picture her desktop having flowers on it, and little animated bees flying from flower to flower. and when she mouses over one flower, her ozztek menu pops up. when she right clicks one of the bees, another little ozztek menu pops up, and in that menu, she just has a few of her favourite picture files. maybe there's a little picture frame in the top right corner of her desktop, and it displays some of these pictures. no more taskbars with uniformed icons, and unchanged google chrome icons. no more white screens. no more white anything. i want to see white, grey, and black, gone from people's desktops. i want to see colour. shapes. designs that are not bound to anyone else's limitations. set your mind free on your very own desktop, with no limitations.

if you want google chrome, but want to make changes to it, you can do that. all you really need is the browser in ozztek, and you can make it look and work just like chrome, or you can make it look and work however the fuck you want. if you want the icon to look like chrome's icon, that's very unimaginative of you, but go for it. if you want your browser icon to look like jupiter, like i do... that's your choice. you can make it look like a stink bug, if you want. or a mechanical fish, i don't care. just as long as everyone has something different. i want to see a girl with flowers and bees on her desktop. i want to see a guy with rusted mechanical gears on his desktop, and his buddy next to him with shiny metal lookin' sharp things. little strips of pink for his girlfriend. mainly, i want to see colour. no more grey, no more white. one girl typing up an email in a pink window. and all the window needs, and all she has displaying, is the top field, where she can just click and select a friend to send it to, type in the subject right under that, and then type the message in the pink square, and then click the desert rose coloured send button. you don't need a bunch of other shit there. if you want the attachment button to show up, just mouse over a certain corner of the email, wherever you decided to put it. it will appear, click it, little box pops up, drag your picture into the box, it shrinks back into the email, uploads the file, sends the email. the guy next to her sending another email, and behind his email, he has a picture of a naked lady. in the lady's right hand, he can choose the recipient of the email, say his friend blob. and that's all it has to display. to: blob. in the lady's left hand, says subject: hey, douche! and on her belly, you get to type your message in a font that looks white and gooey. her nipple is the send button. when he clicks send, the lady walks off the right side of his desktop. that kid wins my creativity award for the day. down the street, some old man, looking up some information on retirement, his desktop looks all 'war hero' with a captain america style goin'. some big star is his ozztek button, but it doesn't show up until he mouses over a certain area of his screen, like... captain america's head, for example. mouse over captain america's head, and a star appears on his hat thing. he either left clicks for one menu, or right clicks for another menu. he has a secret hidden menu with military files hidden in the lady's bra, who's walking through the background of his desktop. you can animate whatever you want, have everything else stay still... like the whole captain america scene is still, but he just has this one lady in the background animated to walk around the street behind captain america. and when you click a certain way on her bra, a little envelope flies out, he opens the file in it titled 'notes on freedom', types something into it, when he closes it, it's automatically saved, so no unnecessary boxes popping up asking you redundant permissions like 'are you sure you want to save the changes to this fi...' shut the fuck up already! yes! if you think those are annoying, you can stop seeing them. if you think the windows task bar is ugly and annoying and misplaced, you can change it, you can get rid of it. all the icons on your taskbar, you can have in one menu. all the rest of the icons in your start menu, you can have them in another menu. you can have as many menus as you want. mouse up to the top right corner of your desktop, right click, there's a menu just for porn. mouse over to the top left corner of your desktop, and left click, and there's a menu just for your cooking recipes. bottom right corner, there's a menu for all your movies. if you right click that same menu, it opens and shows a short list including netflix, youtube, and naked news. you can have it show just icons, or just text, whatever you want. you can customize the icons. say you want the naked news icon to be just a picture of a tit. youtube is a picture of an old smashed television from the seventies. netflix is a picture of a cartoonish worm whose eyes occasionally blink. you can set the icons to display horizontally, or vertically, or diagonally, if you feel like it. you can change it anytime you want.

'is not this simpler'... loki.

anyway. that's it for my morning cup of brain spew. mind snot. thought boogers. oatmeal.

i'm so confused today. i wish things could be easier.

dear runaway god

okay. here's a blog post that might actually help. if it doesn't help other people understand me, at least maybe it will help me understand my situation a little better.

part one: my life in five minutes.

snot is running out of my nose. it's very impatient, it whines like a little baby, and this is constant, throughout my day. my neck is so stiff, it constantly needs to pop, so i'm looking like an idiot trying to pop my neck all the time. my skin itches because of the clothing. i have never found any clothing that ever fit me right and didn't itch like crazy. i loathe clothing on my skin, but you fearful fucks tell me i have to have it because you're scared of skin. not only do i have to wear clothing, but i have to wear it twentyfourseven now, thanks to your greed, selfishness, and apathy, and i have to wear lots of it to stay warm. thanks for that.

if i sit by a seven eleven and panhandle, this is what i go through within five minutes. i try to light a cigarette, but i can't enjoy it because i'm constantly having to spit every ten seconds or less, because my stupid mouth overproduces saliva unless i get major cottonmouth going. so i get my cigarette saver, put the cigarette out, spit a bunch, shoot snot out my nose (called snotrockets®), have to pop my knuckles every minute or less, cause they won't stop bitching either, and if i don't pop them, i'm just not able to do what needs to be done. eyelashes in my eyes, goopers (eye snot strings and crusties) in my eyes making me unable to see what i'm doing, eyes watering, oh, don't forget to pop my neck again, okay try to hit the pipe, no, have to spit again, more snot out the nose, spit again, inhale, pop my neck, pop my knuckles, spit again, try to finally take a hit. recover from that. more snot, more spit, more popping of neck and knuckles, inhale deeply, now i need to either burp or fart. my body can never decide, so i have to contort my body to decide for it, but that never works. if a burp actually comes all the way up, i'm surprised. if a fart comes all the way out, i'm more surprised. it's called gastroparesis, look it up before you sound stupid. oh, yeah, and keep 'complex ptsd' in mind this whole time, too. cause if people walk by me and piss me off, there's screaming stuffed into this menu somewhere, and that kills my throat more. i don't want to scream at people, i don't want to hate people, i don't want to be angry and hateful, i want to be away from people. people don't understand that, but it's not just ptsd, and that's not just an excuse. i'm antisocial. study that. oh, stay focused, i'm still spitting and snotrockets, and knuckle/neck popping between hits here, and we're only up to one hit. okay, try to take another hit. take a deep breath to calm and loosen the stomach, pop the neck, spit, snot, oh, no, got a fart coming, so i sit up and try to... nope, it's gonna be a pussy and retreat, causing more pain. okay, start over. breath, snot, spit, neck pop, take a hit, exhale. no coughing, no recovery required, praise jebus. pop neck, deep breath, snot, spit, try to take a hit, nope, i can't light the lighter until i pop the bitchy knuckle. okay, start over. snot, spit, neck, breath, take a hit. success. breathe, now you got a burp coming, pop the neck before and after, but that gets fucked up in the middle by having to look at someone walking up to me, or a hot girl walking past, which makes the burp retreat like a pussy, causing more pain. now i have this sharp, stabbing pain dig into my back. relax, breathe. snot, spit, burp, neck, breathe, knuckles, scratch face, scratch nose, scratch nose again, spit, dry off mouth, scratch nose again, finally a burp comes up, stomach pain, chest cramp, relax, breathe, try again. snot, spit, breath, neck, take a hit. okay, success. give it a bit to kick in, light the cigarette. this whole time, i'm trying to keep my headphones in, to drown the world out. i'm not allowed to have my headphones in. i'm too poor to ignore people. not like the rich who ignore me so well. the shinier the shoes, the stiffer the neck. i take a couple hits of the cigarette, someone walks up to me asking me for a cigarette. no, i don't give out my cigarettes, i panhandle for a pack of my own every day, there's nothing stopping you from doing the same, it's easy enough to make a sign and stand there for two hours. i hit the cigarette again, and just when i remember to put my metal back in my ears, i get maybe two seconds of raintime, and some other idiot walks up to me asking me for meth. what part of i'm homeless are you dumb fucks seriously not understanding here? i don't fucking have anything! headphones back in the ears. next time someone asks me for meth, i'm going to... not hold back the scream, and them i'm going to ask them this...

'maybe you can answer something for me... (screaming at them) what the fuck are my headphones doing out of my ears!'.

okay, after about five cigarette hits, put it out, grab the pipe again. wipe my stupid facial hair out of my way, how fucking constantly annoying that shit is. that's a whole category of annoyance all its own, so i won't go into that one. oh, have to pull a gooper out of my eye, cause i can't see shit. oh, now that i see something, there's a hot girl walking past, and my uncontrollable male bobblehead just can't miss it. girl seen, breath taken, neck popped, knuckles popped, spit, snot, spit, snot, spit, snot, breathe, pop neck again, try to burp, no, that one went rogue, we're gonna have to track him down later and execute him. more snot, more spit, breathe, take a hit. nope, have to pop my neck in twenty different directions first. breathe, swallow, spit, snot, back pain, breathe, take a hit. success. relax, breathe deep. god forbid the evil burp demon releases the hiccup monkeys, i start screaming. screaming is my way of holding back the bullets. when i smile at you, i'm holding back screams. don't act like you understand how much i'm holding back when i'm looking at you. i've already been through this too much more than you. and the fact that you haven't studied your history, cause you still say 'columbine' when you see me. don't debate me here. you always do, you're the most predictable phony, and there are seven billion clones of you, you plastic martyr. i never wanted this hell, this prison body in a prison world where nothing i see do i want to see, but that's my fault, blame that on my, i'm your scapegoat, too. yes, master, you're right, dominate me, your majesty. and you wonder why i envision slitting your throat every morning. oh, wait, i have to let some 'i hate' grunts out, cause that little thought just tore though my mind like a bullet from hell. okay, breathe, sit straight, burp, get the snot and spit brothers to shut up for a second. i don't know which one's whinier, the redheaded stepchild, or axl rose. i'll let you figure out which is which. who was worse when it comes to 'bitch, bitch, bitch', was it my family, or my own body. who was better at destroying my life, was it my family, or my own fucking body? who destroys more of my moment to moment enjoyment? well, now that i have my family out of the picture...

we're only up to the third minute. breathe, neck, snot, spit, burp, try to take a hit, no, i'm being asked for meth again by an incoherent fucking zombie, do i look like a fucking methhead to you! is there anything about me that says 'moron' to you? what is it about me that says 'scumbag'? do i look anything like you? does it look to you like i make the same horrible choices in life that you do? get the fuck away from me before i start stabbing methheads like some fuckin' superhero! you wanna debate how serious i am, which is my predicted reaction, or do you want to take the smart route and fuck off! nope, stand there and bitch at me some more, like i can hear you with machine head in my ears, you fucking moron! how many of you idiots do there have to be! cut off the internal screaming warfare, breathe, relax, focus, pop the neck, knuckles, release the snit spot brothers, burp, no, that one went awol, chest pain, back pain, stomach pain, knee pain, adjust the ankles, oh, shit, now my eye is filled with sidesluts, which fills my mind with hatred, my body cringes, internal screaming session for about three seconds, shut up, focus, breathe, relax, sit straight, burps, fragments, snot, spit, knuckles, neck, breathe, take another hit... success. spit is finally slowing down like wolverine in japan. send the assassin to track down that rogue burp. get his ass up here before i stupidly stab myself to tear him out. minute four. try to take three hits, hopefully that will be enough to finally turn off the spit and snot faucets. burp, cringe, pain, close deep inside this body, hide away for a second, wish to die, to not be here, shut the concrete out. look up, open your eyes, focus, breathe, neck pop, try to take a hit, nope, being asked for meth again. buddy, you don't even see my hand on my pocket pen right now, do you? are you not realizing that this can be used as a weapon? or that i know where your jugular is? you're assuming i'm stupid and dumb and uneducated like everyone else. and if i am educated, i'm only educated by too many movies like the rest of you. god you people are imaginative. have you forgotten what intuition is? or was? how about common sense? i wrote the eulogy for common sense on my blog, no one ever read it. it's still there, if you want to try and prove me wrong. yeah, i know common sense is dead, i know compassion is dead, i know sympathy is dead, but i'm hoping intuition is still finding its way through the fog from one monkey island to another. maybe it will find amelia earheart, and she can fly be back to timothy leary's bus, and i can drive the sixties back here. that fog is thick enough, the cops will never see me. trust me, i learned a lot from that show, mama told me to. i feel sick. full body pain, i cringe, sit up, focus, breathe, stop your mind from screaming, stare at the ground, headphones, fart, spit, wipe mouth, scratch face, deal with the uncooked muffin topping under this stupid hat that was designed by a squirrel claiming to be ceo of nutsocks, inc., but i think they just spelled crazy wrong. my head's getting pulled three different directions, left is a hot girl, right is a guy i could ask for change, but up is where my focus is being pulled by my stupid neck. fuck this, take another hit of the pipe, stop the internal ranting, breathe, sit straight, focus, no, i have to adjust my pants before my stomach kills me. that proves to be as difficult as subhumanly possible. getting close to minute five. bobblehead, burp, scratch, stomach pain, snot, spit, neck, knuckles, breath, sit straight, try to take the hit. nope, bus drives by, blowing wind and trash my way, i have to close my eyes and turn my head, because knowing my lack of luck, every piece of that dirt will avoid everyone else, and land right in my eyes. happens every fucking time, i don't see anyone else walking away digging in their faces like i have to.

if you think for even a second that i wanted this, or that i enjoy this, then i just gauged your sanity. don't believe me? fuckin' say something. some of you look at me, like 'how disgusting'. first of all, what, you're not human, too? just because you have a trash can in your home doesn't mean you're not disgusting, too. you call yourselves sophisticated, but in my eyes, if you were really sophisticated, you would have figured out a way to evolve to the point of not having to shit anymore, thus your sewers wouldn't stink up the streets when i walk through your neighborhoods. even in the nice neighborhoods, i can smell you. stop the rant, shut up, close your eyes, do not look at people, do not look at people, do not fucking look at anyone, control your fucking eyes! close them, keep them fucking closed! metal in the ears! breathe, relax, sit straight, burps, cough up a little toxic puke for satan's forehead, okay, the dragon is still inside me, i feel good, if only i could get my email program to shut the fuck up right now, i get nothing but automated messages, and they're popping up like every five minutes, you fucking annoying world, shut the fuck up, what part of leave me alone do you not understand. stop the rant. snot and spit are slowing down, take another hit. breathe, relax, sit straight, neck, knuckles, take a hit, fart, burp, don't let that one turn into hiccups, hold it, stop everything, close your eyes. relax, let it go. approaching the end of minute five. light the cigarette, see if i feel stoned enough yet. tongue is dry, breath has slowed, heart's still shaking, but numb, a pain from my shoulders all the way down through my wrists, makes me cringe, flesh feels less sensitive, thoughts are calming.

that's a good five minute glimpse into my day. that's if everything goes as best as possible.

part two: my daily prayer.

dear dead god. please shut this body up. get it to stop hurting, annoying me, killing me, get it to shut the fuck up, i've been begging you for thirty years now, i know you're not there, but if you're too much of a pussy to show your fucking face to me, then i'm destroying your entire manmade religion in your name. why can't you get this body to give me just five minutes of peace. why is that too much for me to ask. why can't you show your face to me? you show it to a billion delusional morons, but you can't show me a fuckin' thing. i've seen no burning bushes, i've heard no fucking voice. am i too much of a scientist, do you already hate me that much, do you know that i'm your enemy, is that why you won't show your face to me, because i'm here to destroy you? tell me, asshole! get this fucking body to stop hurting, god! your idiot followers tell me i don't pray well enough, i never put enough heart into it, or that i use unacceptable language, but i know that the real heaven doesn't have censorship laws, it's the fake heaven where all the plastic children go when they die, it basically looks like a toy store with clouds, i've seen it, you put your credit card in the door when you die, and however much money you died with, that's how luxurious you get to live up there. that heaven, the fake toy store heaven for christians is on the third floor of the target walmart mall building, and i told you from the beginning, i'm never going there, real flesh doesn't fit through the plastic slot. but your godbrain is made of legos, so you can't figure that out.

a poetic line from my twitter:

i wish i could carve this pathetic meat sack off my soul, so i could truly walk around naked.

no, the real heaven is where people with hearts go. i wouldn't expect that factoid to hurt you, is plastic flammable? oh, sorry, didn't read your label. who wrote your label, they misspelled your brainwashing instructions. hey, god, if you're really up there, or if you're at least claiming to be up there, or if it's just a few idiots claiming that you're up there, or if aliens or other gods or conscious creatures and beings of whatever sort are actually up there, if there's anything real out there that can hear me, please, i'm suffering in the hell of this body, and i just want to see something better than concrete, please, i'd give anything, i've already given everything, what more do i have to give to be free of this nightmare that everyone else seems to enjoy, and if i'm in misery, they tell me it's my fault, but they don't understand that credit cards are just slave chains, and if i don't want to be a part of it, i'm fucked, they don't understand that, god, how do i tell these people, how do i make them understand, and stop disagreeing out of ignorance and stubbornness. how, lord, how? aliens, gods, timothy leary, whatever the fuck is out there, please, does anyone hear me. can anyone hear me. i know i've never had anyone to pray to, but please.

i hear about these other metal bands getting started, and i always read that 'they had friends who all shared the same interests'. like in flames, and their buddy bands, at the gates, and dark tranquility... for example. they were all responsible for pioneering swedish melodic death metal, because they were all already friends who shared the same interests. says that right on wikipedia, on just about every fucking band's page. why was i never allowed to have anything like that? i've never had that! does anyone else realize or give a shit, i've never had that! how the fuck am i supposed to start a band with people i can trust, when i'm thirty seven years old with zero lifelong friends with any talent, let alone similar fucking tastes as me! i'm about as unique as a thumb on a hand, there's no one... why do i even ask. why do i ever open my fucking mouth. i know there's no ear, visible or not, listening to this. i know how bands are supposed to be started. i'm doing it the completely wrong way, and i'm hoping there's a reason for it. cause this path is lined with disaster. but it's my only choice, because i don't have a credit card, i can't just go to a metal show and pay and get in, i have to try and beg my way in, meeting all the wrong people standing outside, and getting led on wild goose chases of insanity with these seriously lunacious fucking people, yes, i just came up with a word, i couldn't think of anything crazy enough to describe you that hasn't been clichéd because of you and your overpopulated plastic playpen mall. god, i cringe. i hate. i hurt. is this making sense to anyone else yet, will anyone ever read this, god? will i ever be heard even by the right people. must i get swamped by morons outside a place, which pours blood all over my people issues, when i should be inside, not wasting one more moment, talking to the rockstars who know how to do this shit, the rockstars who already stand against a system like this, so hopefully, in theory, they'd have no problem with giving a fellow sprout a little boost. but no, the record exec has to come flying through the window like a supervillain, saying 'no, no, no', they love to say no a lot. way too much, i think. makes me wonder what their mother said. but anyway, they come flying through the window like they were watching the whole time through hidden cameras stashed there by little 'brother' slaves. boy, these terms. anyway. with the amount of farts that are not coming out of me, i could spontaneously combust, and i wish i could time it right, and take out a mall with me. at least they couldn't call me a suicide bomber, cause a: it wasn't suicide, and b: it wasn't a bomb. even if it was minimally intentional to die in a mall, but why would i want to die in a mall, i had a nice place in washington picked out to see my last sunset if this goes wrong. why do skinny guys have to wear shirts that say 'paris' on them? when it comes to attracting women, that's just cheating.

dear lord, please. some magical ear in the sky that's more evolved than i, please. whatever aliens are up there who aren't buttfucking the government puppets, anyone, please. this body causes me constant pain. it's driving me insane, i'm not able to think. i cannot get this body to shut up and leave me alone. the soul trapped inside this body, was built to stand on a stage and rock the shit out of that thing like an earthquake. like a lego boat in a bath tub.

speaking of, i'm gonna make my own 'proper' children's rhyme.

rub a dub dub, three ladies in a tub... may i get in?

that's the way it should have been written. can we travel back in time, shoot the author, and call it even? move on?

no one can hear me. i know for a fact that there's no god up there, but these idiots won't even let me finish that sentence alone, and they refuse to believe how serious i am, cause you know, scientific fact and evidence don't mean shit to them, but i know for a solid, concrete fact, that there absolutely is no god in the sky, oh, but yes, keep spitting your horse shit into my ear, i need to hear it again, cause i obviously didn't hear it well enough the first ten billion times, maybe you can do a better job than the last four billion retards to sell your same product, nope, still not buying it, sorry, i can't afford your god, he's too greedy for me, but oh, that's not good enough for you either, you have to interrupt and dominate this conversation even more, yes, cut off my speech, talk over me, stand over me, look down on me, yes, master, i hear you, yes, master, i didn't know that yet, wow, how fascinating...

this lady yesterday, standing there for about ten minutes, trying to convince me to go vegan because it's the source of all the mind control in this world, and all the problems and all the slavery, is because we're killing the animals and getting bad karma from it...

are you people really that fucking insane?

let me put it this way. when i design my utopia, there will be no bibles there, no beliefs, no control, no money, no need for it, and no people like you telling other people what to do based on opinion. you know what there's going to be a lot of? well, we're all gonna be sitting around with huge smiles on our faces, smoking a shitload of weed, cigarettes, and eating a bunch of meat. because meat is still healthy, and if you don't think so, you're more controlled by misinformation than you know. animals don't give off bad karma. if you end their lives correctly, you can eat worry free. you don't need to be so brutal and bloody. design a little natural serum that ends their bodily functions peacefully, quietly, wish them a safe journey, and then get the village idiot to carve that shit up, cook it up, and serve it. see, once the animal is dead, peacefully, he's not going to care what you do to his body. hell, my mother didn't, when she died, she donated four hundred pounds of mistakes to science, but don't worry, they aren't starving. anyway. if this was done with the slightest bit of logic, and not superstition and paranoia like you idiots... we'll kill our own animals peacefully. we'll farm our own shit without your chemicals. we'll do everything without your input. we'll still be eating a lot of meat, smoking a lot of weed, and there ain't shit you can say about it. we do not want your suggestions or opinions or beliefs, and the sign says, no solicitation for the long hair freaky people. the fine print just underneath it, says 'fuck off'. if you're not a long haired freaky people, you don't belong here. how's that feel? you gonna slaughter another indian tribe? what do you have to worry about, you've done it before, and not even the internet can stop you, right? god, you're stupid. and predictable. which makes you look even more stupid.

but thankfully, i'm not as stupid as i look, so we're functioning on a few more brain cells over here, but you can debate that if you want. we'll put it on youtube, on the 'who looks dumber' channel. we get some shiny ratings, and we don't even give a shit about ratings, go figure. so yeah, lots of meat being eaten the right way, instead of being paranoid and going the complete opposite direction, running from the problem, by saying 'just stop eating meat all together', rather than being logical and saying 'let's just fire all the butchers who can't do their job right'. or, ooh, even further, 'and if they try to find work as a butcher again, we make them walk into a volcano'. or, even better, 'instead of finding future work as butchers, maybe they should work in a lego factory, where there are no children or animals. maybe if you got them some girlfriends, some weed, and a few metal records, they wouldn't have the urge to bludgeon animals in horrid ways like unruly children in vacant back yards, god, this fucking stomach! god, get this fucking body to shut up and leave me alone, please! how many years do i have to ask and be told i'm not asking well enough before you fucking hear me, or before your followers give up and stop trying to convert me, like it's still a fucking requirement to live a good life! when are these people going to let god and the need for his crutch finally go, let it fucking go! it's been two thousand years, it's twenty fifteen, he hasn't shown his face, three armageddon deadlines have been missed, we found a fossil named lucy, how much more evidence do you fucking need, you stubborn fucking children! stop selling me your fucking lies, and making me scream at you with hatred! shut the fuck up! i got something to sell you! i can't wait to take this all the way. i want to have my minions go out into the streets, passing out flyers and pamphlets, and shouting 'save your soul from the lord!', god, i can't wait for that. the world's first televolutionist, cause it's about fucking time, i can't wait to offend you all as much as possible and see that look on your face that says 'priceless', cause when i do, i know that the word 'price' just became that much less relevant, and that's exactly what i'm shooting for. figure it out. i know your god doesn't exist, because i'm trapped in a turd, being forced to watch a bad movie that's way too long. i know that your money is just a very intricate series of slave chains, but you don't realize that i am unattached. i have let go. i no longer tolerate that shit. are you not hearing me, no, obviously you're not, because you're still fucking talking, and i'm having to sit there and nod my head like a good little slave while you rape my ear against my will, hello!!! i do not tolerate forced delusion, are you understanding me! i never once believed in your god, not for one day in my life, yet you still sell me that product, you try to make that choice for me, because you don't know any other way to communicate with me, and you don't think that's sad. fuck your god, fuck your dollars, fuck your beliefs, fuck your words, get the fuck away from me before i stab you in the fucking neck! did you hear that part at least! so this lady keeps interrupting me and talking over me and won't let me speak, and just keeps repeating herself, puking this horse shit into my fucking ear, and finally, to get her to finally walk away, after ten minutes of being forced to listen to something i clearly don't need to hear again, cause i tried telling her, i love eating meat, i've had vegan friends, i know all there is to know about it, i think it's lunacy derived from paranoia, but i can't tell this lady any of that, because she'll interrupt me every two fucking words, so i finally, to get her to go away, i sit there and just keep repeating the words 'i know', over and over and over again, louder and louder and louder, and louder, and more, and more, and repeating, and repeating, till she FUCKING HEARS ME!!! I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, TRUST ME, YOU DUMB FUCKING BITCH, I FUCKING KNOW THIS SHIT BETTER THAN YOU, YOU FUCKTARDED TOXIC GOATCOW!!! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!! I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, (getting even louder and louder and louder, and more aggressive, repeating) I KNOW. I KNOW! I KNOW!!! I KNOW!!! I KNOW THIS!!! I KNOW!!!

she finally says 'oh, you do, well, good', and finally walks away.

what the fuck makes you people think you can dominate me and try to change my mind to fit in your mold that fucking brutally! what makes you think you're going to get away with two thousand years of that karma, and you're worried about a few animals and how pissed they might be in the afterlife? why does there need to be an afterlife, are you that scared of not existing? what the fuck is wrong with you! if you're scared of shit, why do i have to be scared with you, does it comfort you to know that everyone's paranoid? in that case, are you more fearful now that people are waking up and realizing there's nothing to fear, and more of those people are coming out of the woodwork, and i know you try to ignore them like they're crazy, but we're ignoring you for the same reason, and you're not realizing that, which is of course our fault, what is it you want to hear i wonder???!!! what the fuck is wrong with you! we try to tell you simply, by saying 'neaderthal yearns to dominate everything out of ignorance and fear', but you're not seeing the connection, which really makes me wonder, cause i'm gauging the shit out of your iq right now, and i'm trying to defrost it to see if there's anything that shouldn't be thrown into the volcano, but all you're seeing is terminator movies and fantasy while i'm saying this, but then your cops tell me i watch too many movies when i try to say that i know the laws and i know my rights. wow.

i was proud of myself. i told yet another asshole cop where to stick it the other day, and i'm still free. wanna hear this bonus track story before i end my prayer, god? sorry, i know your answering machine doesn't drag on this long, even though your fucking preachers do, but sure, sever my tongue again, i love that, master.

i was laying on a sidewalk. since i've already been taken to jail for laying on a sidewalk, and had the charges dropped, i can basically tell this cop whatever the fuck i want, there's nothing he can do to me, because laying on a sidewalk is not a crime. oh, yeah, i know, watch how this one plays out, i had more control over this monkey than he even knew. he pulls up in his car once, and tells me to get up, i said okay, he pulled off. and of course, two minutes later, he comes back, pulls his car up, gets out, immediately starts being a prick and blaming it on me. i started trying to talk, but not even one syllable was heard, even by myself, cause he kept spitting these orders and commands out of his mouth, which i can't hear, because i'm trying to talk, asshole! does anyone realize that? it seems like the dumber they are, or the more authority they have, the more they talk and the less they listen, and i wonder if there's a connection. why do i see neanderthal fur sticking out of their uniforms? their breath smells like... clan of the cave bear, that's what that smells like. i smell daryl hannah. but he won't listen, so i have to shout over him, which he blames me for the 'hostility'. yeah, okay, mister guntoting lunatic, i'm the one who's hostile, sure. i'm the one who's carrying a gun because that's the job i decided to get, so i take out my self blame on anyone but myself... wow, okay, yeah. anyway, i was trying to say, officer assbag, if you'd care to shut your dominant authoritative mouth long enough. i can tell you everything you need to know...

he interrupts. you fucking moron. seriously? that needed to be said just then, that it's my fault? so within two seconds of pulling up, he's demanding that i 'turn around and face the wall'. so i finally just shouted out over him, 'no, i don't have to'. he looks at me, and says 'you don't have to?'. i tried answering him, but apparently he didn't want an answer, he says 'i can have thirty more people here right now' blah blah blah. i interrupted him. i know, my mama would be proud already. i interrupted him, defending myself, saying 'no, i don't have to, because i'm no fucking criminal!' i got to 'cri...' and he cuts me off, not hearing the 'minal' part. oh, i'm a good writer, you're not getting past me. all this 'hostility' could have been avoided, keep in mind, had this asshole just done his peacekeeping job and kept his hostile fucking mouth shut. but okay, i'm the slave in this situation. he starts 'calling for backup' (for one homeless dude, i know, what a puss, right?) on his shoulder talkie device, so i cut him off again, and this time, drowned out his interruptions, which is impossible for me to do unless a certain trigger is hit.

you still think i haven't figured out this ptsd crap yet. you still think i'm dumber than you. you still assume i'm just stupid, that i can't possible know all this shit, only fictional people in movies know this much shit, so i must watch too many movies, that's obviously the one and only possible answer ever, so put it on wikipedia and finalize it.

wrong.

i interrupted his little backup call, playdoh show. and just kept plowing through these words:

i can tell you everything you need to know in five seconds if you'd shut your fucking mouth! i'm ozzy draven, thirty seven, father of two, no warrants, no probation, no parole, because i'm not a fucking criminal, so stop treating me like one!

even though i finished what i was saying, do you want to know how far through that i got before he started talking?

i made it up to the word 'warrants', and he starts saying 'then get out of here and don't come back, stay away from this street'.

it's not a broken record that you guys sound like, cause i've heard broken records.

you guys sound like clones.

have a blessed day. praise jebus beiber. god's a vegan, yes, i know.

god, i can't wait for the day... it's coming soon, i can smell the pamphlets. i can see the sun shining off the streets as the people walk by. the most definitive feeling, the most informative visual, and you guys have no clue what i'm talking about because you don't know shit about synaesthesia, you just think i've seen too many xmen movies, but that tells me somethin'...

shows how much you know... i am a mutant. you try proving that to christians. google says mutant is a word, christians is underlined in red. hmm... oh, sorry, did i offend your sense of humour, did he run off? sorry. get a new one. maybe one that's not designed by the plastic god company.

falsify your existence on this planet. i see how people in starbucks strike up conversations, and i see them sitting there listening to everyone else's story. never mine. what happens to me, you would never believe, but for some reason, i still feel obligated to convince you. as if it serves as a reason to get me a place of my own to live.

there's a new lesson aching to be learned. go ahead, keep running and hiding from it.
there's a new idea yearning to be learned. and witches on stakes to be burned, oh my!

i've been evolving from you since you were burnin' witches.
you've been in denial and darkness the whole time. self inflicted delusion.
a creature of darkness in a mind of questions; that which does not question.

my head shakes in disappointment too many times each day, but it's all my fault.

oh, yeah, and one more thought for this blog post. another constant annoyance that i wish i had the right to separate myself from.

i'm sick of looking at people. i used to have my dual monitor computer in my room, and outside my window was a fucking brick wall, so i never had to see shit but daylight. i could focus on my computer, my thoughts, my movies, whatever i wanted to do. but sitting in a starbucks, i can't control my neck. it's turning left and right to see all of you, but i'm tired of looking. i wish to god i could control my neck, my eyes, and tell them, stop looking at people, stop talking to people, say only what's necessary and save everything personal for a book, not one detail revealed before necessary, don't look at these people, don't talk to these people, stare at the ground, find ways to feed yourself without having to say one word, keep your metal in your ears, do not take them out, eyes on the ground, shake your head no, get in that habit, instead of the instinct to be nice...

which is a revelation for me... being nice is an instinct for some. then what does that make 'being mean'. freud?

eyes to the ground. metal to the ears. block it all out. the sign speaks for you. don't look at them, don't talk to them, do not take your ears out, just disappear, be invisible, you know how better than anyone else, and you've proven it. trying to be seen is your mistake, you're inviting methheads and drug addict scumfucks and crackroaches, and that's all you invite, what is it about my energy that invites methheads, but not potheads?

i'm not a drug addict! i'm a pothead. can i not attract any other potheads? all i attract is drug addicts. why! that law of attraction horse shit, i can't buy it. none of this world's superstitions or beliefs that they have tried to put on me to define me... have never worked. i'm not just an unnecessary puzzle piece in their puzzle, i'm from a whole other puzzle, with completely different lines and curves, and they're still trying to define me as something like them and put me in their moldy little box, what do you think they would do to actual aliens?

you're purple and you can teleport? well, unless it's fictional, or out of a fictional bible, we can't believe that, so we're just gonna say that you somehow magically fit through the mcdonald's drive through speaker, and then the food gets here, and you also believe in our god.

i wouldn't expect the aliens to shake their heads in disappointment, cause they probly have evolved another physical reaction for disappointment, like pissing upward, or tapping their legs on the ground.

you know those radio djs, how they have little sound clips of things... i always wish i had a little sound clip of bill hicks' pompous laughter to play at any moment, like a little clicker in my hand, and whatever speakers are around me at the time, it would play bill's voice, like the voice of god, through these speakers, with his pompous laugh, 'eh-heh!'. like, 'you really expect me to believe that?'. he says so much in that tiny little nonverbal reaction. that's poetry to me. condensed meaning into minimal words. brings a whole new meaning to 'from concentrate'.

so... that's my story for the day. part one: pain. part two: god. part three: cops. part four: people. cringe.

now, i need to find a restroom that won't kick me out after two minutes. you humans are fucking retarded. these bodies are not designed to shit in two minutes. but everything is a portable single serving convenience to you. individually wrapped forks for your protection from retardation and brain cell warfare. intellectual terrorism. copcakes and starfucks microwaved rubbery plastic nuclear fuckin'... your food makes mcdonald's look real. compared to mcdonald's sausage and egg mcmuffin, yours looks like the playskool version my cousin used to have. you don't realize that, do you? and you call this health food. i bet you that tofu is just leftover eighty year old whale blubber, and you guys are eating it thinking it's healthy, and that you can believe and trust what the people who made it tell you, no, that looks like fuckin' expired whale blubber to me. either that, or fish from men in black iii. you should watch more movies, and be less useless. fuckin' tofu. tofurkey. tofuck you.

fuck vegans are just one more controlling religion that i'm against. don't think you can cram me into your mold either, if you haven't learned from the lack of christianity in me, i'm a customer you're never going to have. just mark it as a 'no sale', tell your boss you failed, and leave me the fuck alone. why do you HAVE to sell me? you've got seven billion other mindless clones, why do you need me? am i the only real soul in this world? is this the path of temptation? are all these little jungle delusions trying to hook me for a reason? for who? where is my prison in this world, and where is my heaven, and how do i define the two? i honestly feel like the devil himself is behind every single store window, pulling his finger in, that big smile, taunting me to buy any and every product, any and every belief, so long as he can snag a little chunk of my soul each time, so i'm easier to control, more submissive and docile, and willing to do what he tells me. but i feel like all these people are just fake plastic puppets, robots doing his dirty work, in a lost world, where i'm the last person, the last soul that's still real, and needs to be acquired by satan industries, just so evil can pour through this world... so it's one attraction after another. one conversion attempt after another. this chain of people, and i have to say no to each one of them, why? that's only the work of satan, cause on down that line of people, i can see clearly the setting we're in, the faces, and his face behind each one. i can see it. know he's behind all this. products. beliefs. control. why do i have to be sold? why? no one's ever answered that, they refuse. but why, why do you have to keep selling me your product to this day, when i have refused to buy it for thirty seven years straight now? do you think one of these times i'm going to give in and say okay, and you get to claim victory, that you just killed the last unicorn? what the fuck world are you living in? i see satan in every store window. you don't. you sell me his products like you're his employed salesman, but he's not paying you, you're paying him, and that screams 'perfect slave' to me. but not you. maybe you were sniffing glue and got some in your ears, need a qtip? wake the fuck up. i will never buy your product. i will never hold a bible in my hand. stop trying. you will never win. it's a fruitless endeavor. my soul cannot be acquired. because i'm honestly not the least bit interested in your products. all i'm interested in is getting the fuck away from you, as far as possible. you'll never understand that.

so, from now on, this is my vow to myself. whenever someone starts shoving their beliefs down my throat, trying to sell me their bible product, i'm just going to start selling mine. which means i should type up a funny little thing and memorize it, so i can just spit it out quick, without being interrupted. or, as i told my psychiatrist, being intentionally brutally verbally slaughtered. how many times do i have to say it. so, i'll type it up, perfect it, practice it, repeat it, and get it ready. get it stageworthy, practice it on people on the street, and if they still don't listen, i'll take it to the stage, record it, put it on youtube, and STILL NEVER BE FUCKING HEARD! AND I CAN PROVE THAT BECAUSE FIFTY PEOPLE A DAY WILL STILL COME UP TO ME EVERY DAY TRYING TO SELL ME THEIR SHIT EVERY FUCKING DAY!!! AND I WILL HAVE THAT FUCKING PROOF!!! BUT PROOF DOESN'T MEAN SHIT TO CHRISTIANS ANYWAY!!!

actually, that needs to be part of it, the fact that proof doesn't mean shit to them. anyway, i'm done, i'll work on that next, but yeah, i need something good to say, to sell them my religion, instead of... letting them speak.

have a wonderful day. kiss my multithumbed ass. and during the typing of this blog post, i got ten automated emails. count them, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine... fucking will you shut the fuck up!!! leave me alone, you fucking robots! ten automated emails popping up while i'm typing this. ten. i could show you a screenshot of my mail program. ten! and reverbnation should be ashamed of themselves. why are you the worst one?

dear god,

it's not my fault that you ran away.
abandoned your post.
left all your fans without a sequel.
but there's a new god coming out.
it promises to be a 'blockbuster'... pun intended.

sincerely,
evolution.

dear imageshack

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good morning, bad night

i've finally gotten a few excellent pieces of advice lately. one lady named kena, this morning, told me about poor kids radio. i have to look them up when i get time. last night was extremely windy and cold, i woke up with a throat full of dirt, it hurts to swallow. i was in so much fucking pain last night, i thought i was losing my mind. good god, that's an ass. sorry, distractions. anyway.

near the end of every month, when i'm waiting for my disability check... every month now, for a year and a half, near the end of each month, i meet someone who says they'll help me. but when i get my disability check, it goes to them, and i'm left with nothing, and the money didn't even last till the fifth. i'm left starving, sober, and having to panhandle every fucking day. why does this keep happening, why can't i stop meeting people who demand my money, why can't i say no? because i fucking hate saying no, and i fucking hate money. exchanging money for a place to live, that concept is so fucking retarded to me, i'd honestly rather die. i'd rather just not be in your world, because i'm sick of having to pay for shit you shouldn't have to pay for. no one understands this, no one gives a shit, but anything you turn into ash or turds, or anything you sleep on or in, should not cost fucking money. that way everyone would have a fair shot at starting their fucking day, wouldn't you say? if everyone started off their day with about ten points, every day... if you did something nice for someone other than yourself, you get a point. seems simple enough to me. humanity could finally be free to unite, rather than letting their opinions and beliefs keep them divided. can this not fucking happen? ever? am i just never allowed to have money in my hand? to have the few reasonable things i need to live each day? and you excuse this world as fair? how can you possibly be that stupid?

i'm really hoping this month might be different, but from the looks of this city, i'm seriously doubting it. all people are simply out to fuck you, to steal from you, and to not care about you. making friends costs way too much money these days, and having friends is just... fucking stupid. constantly asking myself, waiting, wondering when they're going to give up, take my cash, and disappear. when they're going to treat me rudely. the first sign of them shaking their head no at me. that look in their eyes when they've made their choice, right before the mask changes. that moment when the disappointment transfers. i've seen it way too many times to give a shit anymore. you wonder why i fucking hate you all, why i won't even give you a chance. my trust has been buttfucked by too many assholes. twist that through the little black hole in your mind. humans make me fucking sick.

i thought about writing a poem called 'owning humans'. trying to remember strings of words that i have thought, is like digging up fossils, trying to extract their dreams in liquid form, and putting them in bottles for the rich to call 'perfume'. piecing together my thoughts is like building a puzzle, but rather than cut out pieces, it's pieces of broken mirror. anyone can appear broken in that moment.

i know other people have made it through this shit with their lives, but i don't yet understand how. i read marilyn manson's book. i have yet to read nikki sixx's book. i have heard the stories. i know this is possible. and it has to happen soon. will i ever get to tell my story. will anyone ever care. would i still give a shit anyway.

i picture the next time a girl tries to touch me, if i shudder at the touch, would it scare her and make her leave.

i actually can't picture the next time a girl might try to touch me. i honestly doubt it will ever happen again. i know exactly how invisible i am in your eyes. why do i feel so fucking insane. have i already lost too much. why is my heart, why does my heart feel like this, i've never felt this before, and i've been through some pretty horrid shit, but it feels like an eternal nightmare black hole of misery on one side, and agony on the other. but at the same time, i know you cheery happy fucks never like to hear that downer shit, so what's the point of telling the story. i don't have much faith in you anymore. if my story would reflect that, and explain that, would it matter. would anyone give half a flabby fuck.

coming from a life where you've never had any worthwhile friends. where you've wasted twenty years of your life doing what you never should have done. watching your dreams waste away on the back burner for twenty years. because people kept telling you there was other shit you needed to do.. for them. 'take me to work, get me food, i'm late for my appointment'. every moment, every question, every time i was asked, i knew, as hard as a rock in the center of my brain, trying to pull the light switch string, i knew harder than concrete that i was wasting that moment, that i was needed elsewhere, that i was supposed to be doing something else. this gravitational pull, tilting the earth, but never quite dropping me next to the right person. people don't fucking understand this, but it's not easy for me to make friends. i've been antisocial since birth. i come from a family where i was never allowed to speak, to be heard. i come from a family who was really really good at talking to people, but no fucking clue what they were saying, but they'd sure shove their opinion down your throat against your will. they were good at it.

she'll never look at me.
she'll never see me.
just stop fucking looking.
keep your eyes fucking closed.
metal in your ears, smoke in your lungs, misery in your pants.

and i should be wearing a skirt. i fucking hate these pants. who would put this uncomfortable shit on their skin, and then demand that everyone else do it as well. how far out of their minds were they?

i can still taste dirt on my tongue. woke up in a pile of leaves that resembled a park in new hampshire, even though i was laying on a concrete sidewalk in los angeles. apparently god felt the need to blow every piece of trash on this earth at me last night. i was screaming at people.

thought about doing this bit on stage.

i can prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt... i know you guys don't want to hear this, you'll do everything you can to deny it, i know, but i can prove that your god does not exist. i know, i know, relax, you're just my hallucinations anyway, we'll get through this. but come on, open your mind for just a second here. i can prove, i have proof, that your god never existed. and i feel if i say this, that we can finally let it go and move on. learn to love eachother again, instead of keeping excuses between us. we're all assholes right now, i get it, but i think we could all put down our swords if we realized we no longer had a reason to hold them. would you like to know how i can prove that your god never existed? because...

factoid number one: there are seven billion people on this planet.
factoid number two: one seventh of them are without a home.
factoid number three: ...the wind blows.

that right there is literally all you need to say to disprove the existence of a god.

i'm not apologizing for that one. there's no way i'd be sorry for that one. i don't feel bad, i feel fuckin' great. lighter, happier, and fuckin' free. infact, i could repeat that.

i've begged your god to stop the wind, to turn up the thermostat, to leave me the fuck alone.

when i was eight years old, i actually gave the one honest prayer of my entire life for my grandmother to stop screaming at my mother. i took an hour long walk around the block, and when i came back, i could still hear the screaming from the street. from the entrance to the apartments, i could hear my grandmother smashing dishes on the wall. just psychotic, and my mother still having to sit there and take that shit. as soon as i was old enough, and after that prayer opened my eyes to the truth, that i was all alone on this earth, i started defending my mother against my evil grandmother. i was lost in no fairytale, i saw it get about as real as it could. my mother never deserved that abuse. but she loved her mother. as a child, that broke my fucking heart. no matter what you do to help someone you love, they'll always choose someone else over you. always. if you had money, you could put money on it, and then you'd have more money. if i were smart enough, that's how i could have gotten rich. betting people that my grandmother would scream at my mother today, place your bets! fuck it, i win again!

i'll get you next time, gadget!

it was always my mother and i vs the world. and now she's dead.

my grandmother died in march of this year, at the age of eighty five. thirty years older than my mother.
my mother died at the end of may, this year, at the age of fifty five.

you tell me: was it worth it?

does life mean anything? does it matter at all? or is it simply matter?

i know one thing, your dollars don't mean shit in the scheme of things. ask carl sagan's ghost. i'm sure he's still counting galaxies. i can still hear his voice, saying 'billions and billions', and my mother laughing at it. echoes of sanity, once within the walls of delusion, now free to roam... and count.

yeah. life's never been fair, and it's not supposed to be. i should have killed myself years ago. how can i possibly dream of starting a metal band, if i'm never allowed to finish a fucking sentence?

that is not a hypothetical or rhetorical question. it's not a philosophical debate, and it doesn't have a fucking price tag.

if my dreams succeed, the last price tag you'll ever see is the one on your toe. hopefully, you'll thank me for that. but more than likely, you'll hate me thousands of years into the future. blaming me for the loss of... whatever. not caring what i've already lost. if i made it big, the person who would have been most proud of me, my only true lifelong friend... my mother... in my mind, i can see her back there in tucson, sitting in her bed, sun shining behind her, and she's sticking her fist in the air. 'that's my son!'.

how can i dream of starting a metal band, if i've never gotten to finish a sentence?
how can i dream of being heard, if i've never been heard enough to even get used to the concept?

my entire life, every fucking day of my life, people constantly talk over me. interrupting me. shaking their head no at me. telling me what i should be, how i should act, how i should dress, how to talk to people, what words to say...

saying things like this... infact, i wanted to do this bit on stage as well...

next time i mention to someone that i really need therapy, and before i can get the word therapy out, they've already started shaking their head no at me, and they tell me 'dude, you don't need therapy'... i'm going to calmly stab them in the throat with my pen, and when all the idiots get involved thinking it's their business... i can just show them this blog post. this blog post is my proof, my defense, and all the reason i need. and if the judge has an iq above the temperature of the room, i'm quite confident that he'll say 'yup, nope, he's right, let him go'.

lawyer gets a confused look on his face, and the judge says 'he warned the guy! i mean, technically, he warned the guy a thousand times, it's just too bad knowledge isn't cloned, too'.

truth.

like the paddles zapping you back to life.

frank zappa you back to life.

i miss my mama.

one christmas, my mother waited till midnight on christmas eve, outside a tree lot, to get a free christmas tree. just so i would wake up the next morning and see a christmas tree. decorated and everything. that was my mother.

god, i miss you, mama. i fuckin' don't know what to do without you.

people constantly have to talk over me. every fucking day, just talking over me. they let me get about five words out, and their mouths just open up and this loud gibberish starts pouring out like toxic turds, clearly not giving a fuck what i was saying, just telling me the words in their minds. incoherent, psychotic, deaf, dumb, and blind. no wonder, look at the drugs you're on. i could have told you that, but apparently you need an imaginary god to tell you. the only way you can be convinced of anything is by your own delusions. how fucking sad is that.

i can hear all your diagnoses spewing out of your mind toward me, though.

'he's justifying his reality'...
'he's making excuses'...
'he thinks he's better than me'...
'he actually thinks he's sane'...
'he doesn't understand that there are other people on this planet'...

buddy, i'm waiting for a doctor to truly analyze my brain, so he can tell you what's in it, and then i'll pay your god to back up that message, and then we can finally all smile when you've finally shut your fucking mouth.

my mama had a pin that said 'closed minds usually have open mouths'.

invisibility. in a plastic world full of porches and people with that look on their face. i don't think they realize that i know exactly what thought is in their minds at that point. i can read it on the surface of their eye like an acid trip caressing the tongue. i know exactly what you're thinking. this perfectly coiffed model idiot just walked past me in this starfucks for example, holding his latté... he gives this slow eyed look out the window, and then turns his head just like the models do in the movies, with that slow blink, half look, direction change, you think i don't know what that thought is? it's fucking obvious! it's uglier than i am! this is verbatim what's going through your mind at that moment...

'i wonder who all is looking at me'.

you wanna know one difference between me and you?

i'll let you take a wild guess, but i'm sure you'll misunderstand the purpose, cause nineteen ninety nine really fucked you guys up, especially those of you who never studied your history, but come on, give it an honest try.

the black trench coat is a dead give away.

and if you say 'columbine' one more fucking time, i'm gonna stab you in the throat.

no, see, long before the matrix made a compromising superhero out of neo...
before two teenage idiots gave trench coats a bad name on cnn...
before michael moore made any fucking documentaries in bowling alleys...

trench coats existed.

if you watch the movie 'the crow', with brandon lee? trench coat. you'll notice at least one other connection, if you're paying attention, there. but that movie came out in nineteen ninety four.

back in nineteen ninety one, there was a comedian recording a comedy show called 'revelations' in london... he wore that trench coat best.

and that's the sign you need to look for. fuck those teenage columbine idiots, they were morons! this should be obvious to you, but since you flunked history, i'll give you a little catchup. not the condiment, you idiot. pay attention.

rewinding back through history. whether it be history channel, discovery channel, the show cops, or old westerns, whenever you see a trench coat show up... you idiots are looking for the wrong shit under that coat.

you shouldn't be looking for weapons of violence, and shotguns, and crap like that.

you should be looking for a certain... i don't know... i would use the word 'swagger', except that some idiot named ice cube eternally fucked that one up. now that word is dripping with oil. but you look for a certain attitude. you look for that symbol, that sign, that eye. almost like he's dancing within the coat. can you see it yet?

when he's the man who wears it best... that's all you need to know. so everything that happened after nineteen ninety nine... you can just let that shit go now. agreed?

okay, so... the difference between me and mister model douchebag looking out the window?

i'm obviously not wondering who's looking at me, without acknowledging that they are, just feeling those eyes on your skin, knowing that they're there, wanting it, needing it, never deserving it. i know everything behind it. you can debate that all you want, but you're only wasting your own time. why would you give a fuck about what i see anyway. exactly, you don't. i don't give a fuck who's looking at me in that way, i don't give a fuck who thinks who is better than who, and i certainly don't give a fuck about people like you. whenever i do look at a woman, i see their eyes never even contemplating to move in my direction, cause they're too concerned with whoever they think is better than me. that's exactly how retarded your society is. i'm not just antisocial. i'm the enemy of your society. i'm only here to end it, so we can move on.

your eyes are the most dishonest part of you. the more plastic your skin, the more revealing your eyes. cause there's less and less in there to see. i know what's in your mind. and i know what goes through your mind when you actually do lay eyes on me. cause it's only for a split second before they gracefully raise to go out the door. tell me this isn't your exact thought... even if it's in less words with less effort than this (forgive me, i'm a writer, after all).

'he's ugly trash'...
'he's not worth my glimpse/glance'...
'i shouldn't be looking at that'...
'why do those losers look at me'...
'what's with the columbine getup'...
'does he have a twelve gauge under there'...
'should i be worried'...
'don't even look at me'...
'i'm beautiful, you're so not'...

before you debate that, get a lawyer and a psychiatrist to analyze that, and then get them to analyze how honest you are with yourself about the world you live in. i'm sure an iq check wouldn't hurt.

anyway. that's my morning. trying to stay out of the freezing wind. out of your god's wrath on homeless people.

it's you who says we have to sleep outside, while you're in your comfortable house, watching people play poker on television, not even giving one honest thought toward the fact that because of you, there is an entire seventh of this human race, who are sleeping outside. one billion people, out of seven billion people... sorry, your calculator is outdated, let's put it this way. there are seven people standing on this tiny little planet. five of them are happily watching espn on their big screen television. one of them is responsible for keeping this money shit going, so they're actually in some dark satanic dungeon right now, chanting rituals and drinking goat blood, so we're not going to worry about him for the time being. anyway. out of seven people standing on this tiny little earth, five of them are actually sitting on a comfy, warm couch, being lazy, and thinking they've earned it, that they deserve it.

one of those people is sitting outside, starving, freezing his ass off, and the only thought you can fart in his direction, is that he should get a job like the rest of you, so he can afford his own life. you're unaware of the fact that we're fed up with this money horse shit, we don't want a boss poking their fingers in our chest constantly, we're tired of being told what to do, and having no real answer as to what is acceptable on this earth. no living standards, half of you are on the wrong drugs, lost in a haze of confusion with a lack of logic or education. all you can think, is that the homeless dude should get a job. but he's going to have to work for guy number four, and guy number four is an asshole with anger issues who works in a slaughter house because he likes killing things to take his anger out, but he gets bored with being stuck in the same life every day, so that extra added anger he has to take out on you, aka the homeless dude trying to get a job. just to afford a warm bed to sleep on every night, and something to eat when they wake up the next morning. and you justify that with excuses, calling it fair, and not realizing how wrong you are. did you not hear me say that we're fed up with this horse shit, the fact that our only option in life is to get a job working for some asshole who treats us like shit, for a minimal wage that only usually barely affords the rent for an apartment, meanwhile we're starving every day, we spend most of our day slaving away in a seven eleven, so we don't even get to enjoy sitting in our home... what the fuck is the point, why do you think that's so great, and why can't some of us have another option in life? those are not rhetorical questions, and if you don't have the answers, i'll fuckin' think them up, publish them, copyright them, and charge you every dollar you have to read them. because i fucking hate you, and i want you to know that. you haven't deserved that comfy couch and television combo this whole time, simply because one out of those seven people is not enjoying their time on this planet. you're ignoring that, which makes you the problem. you stand between us on the street, and the dude in the dungeon who's controlling how hard the wind blows on us. there is no god, i already proved that. so the only one to blame... is not me, for not getting a job... it's you, for having a job. for supporting this system one day too many. actually, several decades too many, but who's counting. i've never given much of a shit about the past, i'm much more concerned with what comes next, cause i haven't had fun yet. i haven't had one good day doing what i was supposed to do yet. especially if i'm considering doing it with the people i'm supposed to do it with, cause having fun and being social are two different things for me. you'll never understand that. and you'll just continue to call me the lazy one. may i remind you, i have no couch, asshole. i have no television. and i'm in so much pain, it hurts to even sit down, because all i can sit on is concrete and cold hatred. you trash, your lies, your alcohol, your fears, your hypocrisy. and i know you still don't know what that word means, but you sure get furious everytime you hear it.

i gotta go, i've got a bowl to smoke thanks to kena, and i've got a tooth falling out, and dirt to cough out of my throat. at least it's not as bad as when i saw rage against the machine in phoenix. our snot was brown. piles of kleenex with what looked like worm turds in them. that was a good night. at least i still had four walls to go home to. hopefully the wind has died down, and the temperature has risen a little, and i can actually light the bowl.

this is me. clearly, i'm not you.

oh, yeah, and the dude in the dungeon? well... just watch 'truman show' and get back to me after you actually read this, cause if you can't at least be not lazy enough to read my blog, why should i be not lazy enough to work for you selling starfucks products. think about it, asshole. phil collins already wrote that fuckin' song, you just haven't heard it yet, but you'll blame that on me, it's all my fault. that's called a scapegoat, and you need to stop that one, too. it's your god who's telling you to act this way toward other people. fellow humans sharing this planet with you. greed, selfishness, beliefs, they all need to go. you're to blame, good god that's an ass, jesus lady, what do you feed that thing? sorry. why the fuck did i come to cancer city. plastic central. hateville, usa. why, lord, why.

you'll never realize...
your god makes you superstitious.
your god leaves you buried in tradition out of fear.
your god makes you blame me for all your problems, thus making me your scapegoat, your slave, your puppet for abuse.
your god makes you lie, spewing illogical nonsense, but not responsible enough to practice what you preach, which makes you a hypocrite.
your god tells you to trust your government, thus we're all trapped in this never ending slavery machine, spinning away, spewing out blood and bones with every turn, no dollar ever trickling its way down to those of us who need it most, but want it least. and you'll never understand this enough to give us another option. that's why i'm here.

that's just one of the numerous reasons i hate you. whether you deny it or not, my hatred is justified. more so than your excuses in support of a monetary society. basically, on the scale of things, i'm trying to say you need to stop being so stupid and blind. before long, you won't have a choice. you'll have to leave your comfy home behind and learn how to live life like we have. because that's what you deserve. judgement day is coming. but i'm not so sure your god's going to be on your side, and i'm not so sure it's going to be god. the fact that money is the root of all evil, but you guys never took that thought far enough to see the source of it, the fact that money says 'in god we trust' on it, but there's a 'separation' between church and state for whatever reason... it needs to be said, but church is state, and you're in denial. the writers of your bible were nothing more than capitalists. it was a scam. you bought a lie, and you're drowning in shame. i'm sorry, but it's not my fault. that was your choice. and whether you like it or not, your bad choice was responsible for my existence. simply because i never liked authorities poking their fingers in my chest. i'll be holding my breath till you understand that. if money is the root of all evil, and if money buys you god, then there is no god. you bought a product from the wrong salesman. who, like my drug addict uncle, just so happened to be the best salesman out of the two. he's been trying harder, for longer, and you didn't catch that. didn't they even put that in a movie? let me guess, you didn't see that one, did you? yeah... choice. free will.

the demise of unity.
the death of connection.

what a fucking joke. the american dream, 'yeah, come over here, get a job, and live your dreams'...

said by a dude with fresh native american blood on his hands. you don't even wonder why we call them 'native americans'. what the fuck that term really means. indians, and the confusion of the two. god, you're stupid. you're twentieth generation stupid. so you're twentieth generation to blame. the longer you support this system, the more wrong you are. after humanity finally unites, and just before i die... all i want is to take a breath.

kinda like that boondock saints joke. genie grants three wishes, black man asks for all his people to be back in africa and happy, mexican asks for all his people to be back in mexico and happy, white dude asks for a coke.

your mistake. and a big one at that. not that you'd ever claim responsibility. figure that, terrorists are actually more responsible than you. they claim responsibility for their attacks. but you on the other hand. god, that delusion must be thick.

i want off this fucking planet so goddamn bad, i can taste the storms on jupiter.

will you ever learn. will you ever care. will you ever let that credit card fall to the ground. and embrace your fellow human. it's been two thousand years, what do you say? hugging time? forgiveness? my head keeps feeling like it's going black. my tooth is falling out. so loose i can feel air going through it whenever i move my tongue.

i miss my mama. i could tell her about my tooth, and she would care. whether just the look in her eye, i knew. she cared. she was the only person i could ever tell half this shit to. i miss you, mama. i can't drive fifty five.

but apparently you did.

enough rambling. time to dig dirt out of my eyeballs, wipe the tears and snot, and dream of a restroom of my own.

back when the idea of a monetary society was first suggested, i wish i had been there to say 'what a fucking joke!'. yeah, make people hate and fear eachother through generations of plastic... the falsening of our very flesh.

genetically modified foods for genetically modified people who look more like the mannequins than the mannequins look like us. which came first, the human or the mannequin? hmm...

i didn't need to be genetically modified. i've mutated. evolved.

apologize for what? tell you what, this is your new job, your duty in life, so says god himself...

you're responsible for the apologies from now on. get to work.

...
and one more thing, on a side note... this is seeming like a very weird day. after yesterday when i met the singer of la guns, and then that brutally cold and windy night last night... it seems like i'm seeing more famous people today. before that, i had this veil over my eyes, and i wasn't recognizing anyone. it also seems like more people are watching me for some reason. looking at me more than usual. i know how invisible i usually am.

how do i meet the people i need to meet? such an alien concept to me. would i even recognize them?

otep shamaya. maria brink. brian posehn. i know they all live here, but i think the only one i'd actually recognize is brian posehn. i already recognized andy dick, but then again that dimple chin is pretty fucking obvious. who on this earth can't recognize andy dick? see, that's not saying much. okay, brain, shut the fuck up now. publish, post, close, shut down, pack up, walk out, smoke. now!