psychedelic two

further defining the division between psychedelics and psychotics.

psychedelics are anything in the direction of love and truth. psychotics are obviously the opposite.

the way i see it, psychedelics start from the ground, and go upward, toward the sky, or consciousness. psychotics start from the level of concrete, and head downward. so from the concrete up, you have marijuana, which i want to rename 'peace'. then you have shrooms, peyote, and ayahuasca. this is just as far as the drugs go. then, from the concrete down, you have alcohol, television, crack, meth, heroin, money, and bibles. in that order. meaning bibles are the lowest psychotic on the scale. you biblethumpers should be ashamed of yourselves.

but psychedelics are not limited to drugs, neither are psychotics. psychotics are anything addictive.

psychedelics also include love, touch, compassion, sympathy, giving, understanding, listening, art, passion, poetry, etc. psychotics also include weapons, violence, aggression, hostility, rap music, popular products, etc. you get the idea.

i think it's important to make this division in reality, because no one else sees it. but i see so many peaceful people being subjected to violence, when there's a simple solution. the brodawgniggahomies do not belong in hippie territory. you bring violence and psychotics, and we don't want that. you've chosen your side, now get the fuck out. haight street should be hallowed ground, sacred land for hippies and nonviolent people. you violent idiot fucks get the fuck out. take your violence and psychotic drugs with you.

stella asked me the other day, can't you be both. no. not in my definition. i believe it's important to choose a side and stick with it. if you're psychedelic, and you're doing psychotics, you're just hurting yourself, and distancing yourself from the rest of your family and people who love you. being an evolutionist means having responsibility over yourself. get yourself off the fucking drugs and be a responsible human. i managed to stay off psychotic drugs my whole life, with the exception of television. which in my eyes, still means i'm no better than the rest of you. i hold myself responsible for watching television, and i'm ashamed of myself, disgusted with myself, for not saying no to it sooner in my life. i'm just as scarred as the rest of you. don't think i don't know that. don't accuse me of thinking myself above you. in ways, i do, which i think i've earned, and in other ways, i don't. it's my personal perspective, and i have a right to it.

it should also be further defined, that psychedelics, the higher you go on the scale, are in themselves the cures for addictions, especially ayahuasca. it has been said by others, ayahuasca cures addictions, which i think is not only amazing, but inspiring. i wish others thought that way. i wish i could find someone else who sees this the way i do. it's very obvious to me. but if ayahuasca cures addictions, why hasn't it been all over cnn yet. that's the irresponsibility of the psychotic government, plain and simple. they try to control our reality, thus they don't let us form our own opinions, they leak only what information they want, and poof, you have masses of controlled slaves. you push crack, meth, and heroin on the streets, plenty of weapons, and never enough cash, and watch them, like rats trying to climb out of a barrel. i'm sick of that sight, i never wanted to see it.

i hold things against society. like having shown me that sight, when i never wanted to see it. having these drugs on this planet when i got here in the first place. it sickens me. and i hold it against you. it's not about blame. it's about someone being held responsible, liable, for such irresponsible acts. you call yourselves leaders that accept no blame. that's no leader. i'm appalled that someone has to point that out.

but if ayahuasca is the cure for addictions to psychotic drugs, then we have the cure for your horrid nightmare of horseshit lies. thus i will make evolution a religion, and we will offer a twelve step program which frees you from the grips and chains of psychotic drugs. seems so obvious to me. humour, that's another psychedelic. and nudity. skin. flesh. don't forget that.

when we create our own community, it will be important to separate from society for a while, but after we have achieved some level of harmony and productivity in our community, we will offer the ability to reintegrate with society, using your talents and technology to do so. we will be allowed to operate through society by our own law, as they recognize that we can be responsible for ourselves. they will not be allowed to use any hostility toward us, no aggression, no violence, which will allow us to walk around naked, not have to pay for any products, simply walk into a store naked, ask for what you need, and walk away. the nudity, or some form of a visible eye on you, will be your identifier, and the only way you can and should be identified. no more id cards, no credit cards, no wallets, no photo id, no fuckin' fingerprints and running your name and all that shit. you do not need to identify us, we identify only as evolutionists, you can tell us apart by the nudity or the eyes, and we are officially collecting what's ours out of the national debt that no one has a clue about.

all that money that they claim is in the national debt. i can tell you the truth about it. consider it step one of your twelve step recovery program. to know the truth about what you're owed.

even though there's still not one fucking ballsy human brave enough to talk to be about this idea, i will keep writing it here, because i believe it is important, and will someday come to fruition for all the right reasons. i know i'm not alone.

visibility prayer

this is the best i can explain... me. my life. this concrete reality we exist in constantly tells me, every day of my life, that i don't belong here. in so many painful ways. there's no sidewalk i can walk down where i'm not in someone's way. there's no corner of a room where i can stand where i'm not in someone's way. there's no moment i can talk when i'm not taking up someone else's time. and it's always some selfimportant douchebag who thinks he owns everything, and has the authority to push me around, and has the knowledge and life experience to have to teach me a lesson. i'm so sick of these pricks. but i constantly feel invisible. no one sees me, no one hears me, no one finds me valuable. those who do, say i'm too negative, too overwhelming, and they all disappear. i've been smelling scents, even with other senses, that have been giving me serious flashbacks to my childhood. i actually don't know what else i want to write today. i'm too sleepy, too hungy, and headed downtown for the free food. and i need to get out of this twisted little town as soon as possible. the weather here is evil. i'd like to get up to northern california. my brain isn't working.

four twenty

okay. what can i get off my chest today, so i can enjoy the day. i feel invisible. other things that are hard to explain and people never understand. but i feel invisible. on a day when i should be visible by someone. actually, i don't know what else to say at the moment. i had some thoughts last night, but as soon as i opened the voice recorder on my phone, my brain just shut up, and now it won't talk to me. it's like my brain's even pissed at me for never being heard. i keep meeting more and more people who seem to hear me, and then they still just vanish. i exploded yesterday to a lady, and she actually acknowledged that she heard that the louder i screamed, the louder reality got to shut my voice out. she heard it. no one's ever peered through my eyes before, and seen my invisible little world that way. i feel bad for yelling. i think i scared little and her sister. when are people going to stop being creeped out by me, and just realize they have to take me the way i come, i can't become more them to make myself appeal to them anymore than i can stand rap. i wish someone could understand that. i know what the fuck you all listen to, i've heard it so many times i could sell it to you, since when is being unique a bad thing. when you ladies are ready to date a guy with... i don't know... good taste in music... you let me know. when you kids are ready to listen to music that puts hair on your balls, you come find me. till then, i've got headphones, and i like being unnoticed in such a painful way.

stop seeing only the negative in me. i'm sitting there on hippie hill trying to radiate positive energy and all my hopes and dreams all around me, and be a magnet of positive energy, attracting people or at least their eyes in my direction, almost like i did with a psychic once, waving this big bright telepathic white light hand out of the top of my head, saying 'pick me for the free reading', but i still could not be more invisible. the trench coat is a joke, people. it's my second skin, it's my colour, it's what i feel comfortable in, i don't like your clothes and your colours, and your style, i've got my own, thank you, i'd like it to be appreciated as unique and not creepy, but that being said, the trench coat doesn't mean you should see me as a walking black hole, that's a sarcastic joke, too, poking fun at the awkwardness of society, it does not mean i'm full of negative energy. yes, i've got some anger issues i need to work on, but that's better handled with love, not alienation and separation, and yes, i post angry things online that are always misunderstood, but no one has enough love in their hearts to see through the negative in my words to find all the bright radiating positive and potential to be loved and appreciated by the right eyes. i even begin some of my stories by saying that i'm sick of talking about my negative past, and i'd rather talk about a more positive future, but then if i say the slightest negative thing about my past to inform people, they still call me on it later, like they're telling me something i don't know, and i need to be educated, because i'm being too negative around positive people trying to have a good time. yeah, i'm trying to have a good time, too, which is why i phrased it that way, you douche, thanks for pointing it out again, like i'm such an asshole i need to be called out constantly for being such an asshole, thank you, but yes, i said i was already aware of the fact that it sounds negative, and that i sound negative, which is why i started out with the positive... goddamnit, does this shit have to be explained this many times to people who still walk away, do i have to keep repeating this shit this many fucking times, lord, seriously, is there no better way to be heard by someone with ears in this fucking world, i don't even have a god to talk to, or an imaginary fuckin' friend, fucking nothing, i've got my music to share with no one, i've got blogs, i've said my blog line so many fucking times, i could cough it up in alphabet soup after inhaling. what the fuck. yes, i started off saying i know my past is negative, thanks for pointing it out again, like i wasn't fucking aware, asshole. yeah, yes, i'm a negative asshole, nirvana already did that song, fuckin' machine head covered it, i used to own that cover, i could download it again illegally, what the fuck do you want from me! i'm tired of plastering on a fake smile for you people to appeal to your fears, instead of speaking my truth the way it comes out, and not worrying about how fragile you are, and how easily you get offended, and how quickly i overwhelm your fragile little eggshell mind as i'm telling you that i am the acid trip, yes, i know it's a big concept to get, but if i did it, and you listened, and your minds could handle it like i have faith they can, then we could have a worldwide four twenty party like this every fucking day, we could never have to worry about another dollar or empty belly ever again, we could unlock god if you could just give me enough acid to get my neck to pop, am i seriously the only one who thinks this shit, and if i am, then you're goddamn right i'm bill hicks, and you fuckers shouldn't have forgotten about him, he tried to get you away from those fuckin' products the first time, but hell, he just became another fuckin' product to you, and i saw that when i saw a spam message posted as a comment on a youtube video clip of bill hicks doing the marketing and advertising bit, like their own little demonic fuck you to a great unicorn dreamer spirit that chose not to leave this world behind... yeah, i get that that's alot to comprehend, that's why i've been patient with you people for twenty years now, but i'm getting bored, and lonely, hence my people issues, i'm hating money more and more each day i don't have what i need to enjoy life, while i watch the rest of you fuckers enjoy life without having to look at this hideous darkness, i want to start burning every dollar i see, literally, that's not part of the joke, that's my frustration at your deaf ears supported with credit excuses and choices of what products you can buy when i'm the best fuckin' product you can't buy, but trust me, i'm being hopeful and positive, and trying desperately to radiate that, but all you fuckers see is the black trench coat, and think what america wanted you to think when they had two little snotbrained fuckin' teenagers with too much energy drink and vaginaless videogame angst blast the shit out of a school fifteen fuckin' years ago, which means you all have forgotten the point that 'bowling for columbine' made as well, because it wasn't a popular enough or promoted enough product, which means you'll buy whatever the advertising demons will sell you, that's all you see when you look at me, and i fucking know it by the look in your eye, and how quickly you all get creeped out and walk away, you think i'm fuckin' stupid? i'm a people watcher, you fucking roaches!!! i honestly want to get on a stage and tell people i'd like to try a little experiment, and before i give them any part of me or my words, just ask them to shout out for as long and randomly as they want, what they think when they look at me. because none of you see bill hicks. none of you see anything about the trench coat, pre columbine in your history books. what are you using your phones for, if you all have the exact same collection of music on each clone. and to think, i want to create a core operating system, where you get to basically create your own operating system, own your own desktop, create your own computing environment without the control that windows and all those fishcracks force onto your goddamnit people, uniqueness is not a bad thing!!! wake the fuck up!!!

i imagine that girl having a computer where her ozztek menu is a flower with a little bee flying around it, and when she mouses over the flower, the menu appears in a colourful little scroll thing, with a beautiful glittery font, and she can choose to open chrome, or play her music, or write in her journal, right from that first menu, or she can customize whatever the fuck she wants at any moment... or, i know that's blowing your mind, but hang on, there's more... order now, and this guy will be able to make an iron man themed desktop, with his ozztek button looking like a rusted mechanical gear, and when you mouse over it, the gears move inside, and you have to click on it to get one menu, where he can order his daily pizza hut motel loner special, or watch free anal porn, or, if he right clicks the button, he gets to browse the internet, or browse victoria's secret for purple panties with pink letters that say 'heartbreaker', like my wife used to wear. i know, far fuckin' out there, right? don't let anyone steal that idea, you know it's got ozztek written all over it. but anyway, back to the whole trench coat thing. prior to columbine and matrix have been wiped from your memories by the wrong media choices, and you don't understand that. fuck the media, make a choice of your own. fuck the task bar and the start menu, if you want your clock on the top left corner of your desktop, you should be able to control that, and no plastic fuckmaggot on earth named bill gates or mark suckmybag or zack fuckyerburger or alien ipod öyster cult leader nazi clone number three should be able to tell you fuckin' good heapin' loads of fruity pebble rainbow weed horse shit gift baskets of fuck gluttony not to! do you need someone to tell you that??? yes, i like my words, no one else says that shit! can someone else appreciate them without needing to see a price tag attached? is that too much to ask of these creatures that traded their hearts for credit cards? i don't fuckin' think it should be, but this concrete reality tells me every day that it is that way, and they have so many ridiculous paper excuses justifying why it has to stay that way, yes, i get it, wash it through my fuckin' brain one more time though, i'm not sure i've got it memorized verbatim just yet, oh, wait, do we need to look up the word verbatim, well shit, i've just lost half my brain, we've gotta start over, but first, chuck has to take a shit, that one cost him a burrito.

relax.

fuckin' breathe, or i'm gonna shove a nugget down your smoke stack fuckin' steak house. you're yelling at me telling me to relax. you're the idiot, it's already on my fuckin' blog, beatcha to it.

thought of a funny yesterday. walk up to someone and call them... 'fuckin' bowl packer!'.

what a good day that could start, huh? fuckin' bowl packer!

yeah, i'll pack yer fuckin' bowl!

oh, you can pack my own all night long!

and then you get a chain of laffter going.

here's a game no one's tried in twenty years. lay in a circle, on your backs, to where each person's head is laying on another person's belly, in a chain. and you lay there, and person number one says 'ha!' once, and then person number two says 'ha!' twice, and then person number three says 'ha! ha! ha!', and you keep going until someone can't... you know... keep their cookies. especially if there's refer in that madness. there, there's some free fun you can have, no dollar required.

now, back to the trench coat thing, cause i feel like i need to get past this. my wife looked right past my trench coat and penetrated my eyes, straight into my soul, like no other set of eyes ever could. you can't tell me she's the only woman capable of doing that. if so, that's one boring fuckin' world, and i ain't partied yet. she leaned in my car window, dove into my heart, defining love at first sight, and didn't give a fuck about my layer of tank armor. if none of you ever get that rush in your lives, what the fuck are you spending so much money for? facebook ain't doin' shit, i can prove that with a pipe and a couple nipples, you don't need to do a national poll study for that one.

columbine wasn't the definition of trench coats. neo wasn't the be all end all of trench coated superheroes. you have any clue how many teenagers i've had walk up to me and say 'hey, you're like the matrix!'. thanks for stating the painfully obvious again, kid, run along now. thank you, i already own that movie, there's more out there, but yeah, sure, have a beer, kid, fuck it. i'll do the neo dance for you like the fuckin' jukebox i wasn't in my last life, hooo, there we go, i feel better. or how many black ladies with eyegouging nails pointing in dangerous directions in ptsd minefields i've run into who have to say like broken records, 'hey, you like them columbine crackers, you got a twelve gauge under there?', good lord, no, hunny, i'm nonviolent actually, those idiots were retarded, i hate guns, i think all weapons and bibles should be tossed into a volcano, or left in los angeles when it hits the bottom of the ocean, with justin blooper's fuckin' overfluffed product wig, anyone here feel like playing a tool record? i think i hear bill hicks laffing over here, there's a fairy leading me this way, see you on smoke cloud number nine in heaven's smoking section.

i used to buy copies of bill hicks' live dvd, because i'd loan one out to a friend, and never get it back, but i'd miss watching it myself, so i'd just gladly tell them to keep it while i already ordered a new one... poverty fuckin' sucks. you have no idea the gifts i'd love to give you all, but they aren't valuable to you, just like nuthing i say is valuable to you, i know because you keep walking away.

if i had a dime for every time you walked away, you could bet your bottom dollar, i'd be filthy rich by noon today...

that's a line from an incubus song no one's ever heard. just look at the view count on youtube. i bet you can't even google it.

no, i'm not like the columbine idiots. bill hicks already did that joke, actually, talking about that very thing. two men on acid jumped off a building, what a tragedy.

what a dick. fuck him, that moron's ruining it for everyone, and he should be made an example out of, not being used to set an example of those of us who didn't fucking jump! get him off the news, spray enough acid at the screen to wipe his face off that fuckin' glass mirror tube, he's a fuckin' waste, we should be glad he's gone, he's no longer here fuckin' it up for everyone, yeah, let's fuckin' celebrate! fuck cnn, they do not dictate your reality! timothy leary said that one.

if your dead heroes came back and quizzed you on the last twenty years, i think they'd yak. that's just my personal opinion. maybe i'm wrong. hell, i hope i am. is that not positive enough for you?

you don't realize, you shiny happy people enjoying your shiny happy world are oblivious to the fact that anyone could hate these products, because they taste so wonderful, and all the pretty colours, i'm sick of it. i'm wondering why you're not. i'm trying to be positive, but in you only seeing the negative because of what society has taught you, to hate and fear the trench coat, instead of what anything prior to those movies has taught you, like the old westerns that bill hicks used to watch, as he was dreaming of being that lone hero, spreading knowledge and fearlessness wherever it is needed, you never saw that video? fuckin' it's free on youtube, what the fuck pop product crap are you searching for? i'll give you a little browsing tip: don't click the recommended crap. or the advertisements. i know they have the excuse that 'well it pays to keep the website there', no it doesn't, wikipedia does just fine, shut the fuck up.

watch a fucking bill hicks video for free on youtube, would you? educate yourselves for four twenty? enlighten yourselves? perhaps even... i don't know... laff? that's not illegal yet, is it? how much does it cost to laff these days?

goddamnit.

i shouldn't have to say this shit, but god tells me i do. not your god, my god, the one who never returns my calls. other people find five bucks on the street, i've found so many empty cigarette packs, i could recycle them through my teeth and digitally print a five dollar bill out my ass. i can only do fives and ones, though, you rich fucks are out of luck. i'm the five dollar robbin' hoodlum. you can't catch me, cause there's an elf distracting you, and a leprechaun about to steal your pot o' gold weed, cause my daughter owns the fuckin' raynebow. and i copyrighted that.

yeah, i'm nutty. i dance naked in the rayne and laff at raynebows. what's your idea of a good time?

my wife loved that.

i wish someone could see my positive and use it as an excuse to bring a smile out of me, rather than seeing the negative and using it as an excuse to walk away from that creepy weirdo in black cause he never smiles, well, maybe he never smiles cause no one fucking looks at him, and people keep walking away from him, kinda like how a fish might feel when you keep pulling him out of the water, and throwing him back, like he's not good enough for that weird heaven of twisty light above my bubble head. poetry is a lost tongue among the product fed.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness. starving, hysterical, naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn, looking for an angry fix. angel headed hipsters, burning for the ancient, heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night...

throughout human history, as our species has faced the frightening, terrorizing fact, that we do not know who we are, or where we are going in this ocean of chaos, it has been the authorities; the political, the religious, the educational authorities, who attempted to comfort us, by giving us order, rules, regulations, informing; forming in our minds, their view of reality. to think for yourself, you must question authority, and learn how to put yourself in a state of vulnerable openmindedness; chaotic, confused vulnerability, to inform yourself...

i never forgot about my heroes. and i'm proud of that. that's the positivity radiating from me most of every day, until you fuckers point out my negativity by trench coat observation alone, and piss me off, and then blame it all on me, like i was an asshole in the first place, just like my family was so fuckin' good at, which triggers my ptsd about the issues, which is why i've said so many times that i'm sick of talking about my negative past, and wanting to talk about positive future topics, and writing all this horrid vile puke shit on a fuckin' blog no one will ever read. now that i actually said all that, can you stop claiming that you said it first? just to make me look dumber than you?

cause i guarantee you i'm not. i can spell the word guarantee. i don't listen to music that's too popular, and i think you all should move in that direction, but seven billion people are more comfortable with their cloned security... god, please. is it too much to find a fellow deftones fan here? the band themselves are only a couple stones and a bowl away in sacrafuckin'mento, machine head's right across the bridge, motley crue is rockin' something down in los bad angles. wrong directions to the right fuckin' party, if you know what i mean. my friends brad and andy, and no, not brandy together, were driving through a reservation looking for a local death metal show many years ago, and brad sticks his head out the window at one point, proudly exclaiming that we're lost in the middle of desert death dirt nofuckin'where and could use some help please, by shouting in a metal slayer voice 'big wompum noise!'.

that's called humour. you can download it on youtube, but i prefer the collection i had, and i'd love to share it with you, if you all could spare a fuckin' dollar already!!!

when your wallet rots in your hand like the delusion it was, can you finally fuckin' call me and let me know. fuckin' tweet me, i'd love that. to not get an automated fuckin' message, i could play reruns of ren and stimpy jumping for 'joy!'. which, by the way, i once won a game of scrabble against my grandmother with, by getting thirty nine points for the word joy in the upper right corner of fuck you ville, grandma. you old fuckin' cancerous nonsmoker. fuckin' trash bag.

if she had smoked... my mother would still be smiling... with teeth.

i'm bill hicks, and i'm reincarnated now, and i smoked so much in my past life that my mother in this life needed a fuckin' tracheotomy. no joke.

thank you, i'll be here all week. waiting for a microphone to find its way into my hand.

like the cover of relentless. wind blowing.

i love my future friends. those who aren't overwhelmed by me. thank you ahead of time. although... y'all are a little behind. is it daylight slavings, or nineteen eighty five? anyone got google?

missing dinner

well, i decided, fuck dinner and fuck the psychic, i'd rather be lazy for the rest of today and stay here and write. i feel like i need to. i felt like i needed to yesterday. so, back to the story of my children and the destruction of my life that no one thinks really happened. and you call me a skeptic. mutherfucker, i'm a scientist. i put skeptics to shame.

my son was born december twentyninth, two thousand seven, at seven:fiftyfour pm.

because the mother of my children was a total fucking goat roach slob, cps got involved. oh, she'll blame it on me till her vocal cords cough up a death rattle of snake venom and crackhead cum, but that's just part of her psychological diagnosis, you see. i'll give you an example of what a slob she was.

her and my mother were exactly the same. don't ask freud about that one, ask christopher titus instead. they would both sit and watch the reality television show 'hoarders', and they'd both say 'at least i'm not that bad'. while my daughter's crawling over these adult sized piles of trash around me. go ahead, you flaming fucktwat, blame that on me again. i'm listening real well.

so, cps got involved, and the case started january twentythird, two thousand eight. my son was less than a month old at that point. and this is how the case got started. they took her and i into a locked room, and paid no attention to me, ignored me, silenced me, excluded me from the dealings in the room. if you don't believe that, don't worry, it won't matter long, you're on my shitlist.

oh, and by the way, for those questioning who's at the top of my shitlist, who's going to be the first one i kill on this godfucking goatpuking planet, i'd love to introduce you to your answer. here's item number one on my shitlist:

Daddy's Shitlist:

1. god.

does that enlighten you properly?

now, with that out of the way. they locked us in a room, but only talked to her, the weak one. i kept trying to strengthen her during the... what i call, the vulture seduction. you've all seen those interrogation scenes in the movies? i might make it through those, whereas she would flop like a fish on an engine block. she was sitting there in tears, and they kept pushing her for an answer, to make a decision, whether she wanted them to 'just take leary for now', or 'take both the kids'. they were trying to see how strong of a parent she was. when she buckled, and said the word 'coerced', there went my kids. try blaming that on me, go ahead, my ears are wider than the gap in your resumé.

that was january twenty third, two thousand eight. i remember the day, which pretty much proves all your little theories wrong right there, if you can pay attention enough. almost out of time again. i hate limitations and restrictions and concrete. you take my kids, i'll take your money. just guess how serious i am.

fuck it, i'll leave this here, and get back to it later, if i stay. i hate breaking my thoughts like this, but your wonderful libraries dictate it, in hopes of being 'fair' to everyone. but you all know in your hearts, it's unfair. remember, i do have a flabby ass now. and you sure got a pretty mouth.

my negative past

okay, what's next to talk about. the fact that i no longer want to even talk about my negative past because people who can't handle it, but ask the stupid questions anyway, like 'where are you from', and all that small talk horse shit, i'm just going to tell them to read my fucking blog, and could we talk about something more future worthy, like how can you help me build a new community, and shit like that. let's get to something productive. but because people can't handle me talking about that, and start thinking of me as a 'downer', i'm sick of those shiny happy people that think life has to be good at all times, and that i'm not allowed to have anything bad to talk about. when in my eyes, they're the downers with the horrible tastes in music. a collection of singles downloaded from itunes, from the recommended and suggested page, of shit that everyone else is listening to, and shit they play on the radio. i fucking loathe you people. get some fucking taste and stop bitching about me. i'm not the reason for the frown on your fugly fucking faces.

so here, i will try to get through as much of this horseshit of the last three years of my life as quickly as possible, since no one wants to hear it, but it has to be fucking said and repeated constantly for people to feel like they know me. you know what would be easier than that, by the way, is if i only said this shit once, and you all fucking heard it. and you call me lazy. you've got wikipedia at your fingertips and you don't use it.

so, let's see. end of two thousand three, i met the mother of my children. horrid skanked wretch. fucking goat roach. i'm glad she's permanently out of the fucking picture. only took me ten fucking years. she moved her slobbery into my apartment, and from there, i was never able to hold my own life in my own hands again until recently. my daughter, rayne, was born march second, two thousand six, at seven:twenty am. she was born in our bathtub at home, the way she wanted it. you can argue that one all you want, i give a hootin' hears a whore fuck. i just love saying my daughter's birthday. doctor seuss' birthday, march second, two thousand six, seven:twenty am, she weighed seven pounds, eleven ounces, just like her brother. when she first opened her eyes, i saw the fuckin' future in there. but we'll get to that, and your disagreement with it later.

i'm sick of people thinking they can tell their version of my story better than i can.

my son was born december twenty ninth, two thousand seven, at seven:fiftyfour pm. he was also seven pounds, eleven ounces. they had sevens going for them. my daughter's full name (minus my last name), was rayne miakota. the rayne is one of my favourite things on this planet, and miakota is native american for wolf moon, or dancer of the moon. i can't remember which anymore. so in her name, i gave myself a comforting memory, of my connection to the earth, the storms, the thoughts and visions i get from stormy and colourful skies, and the moon from my dreams. my son's name is leary samana draven. he was named after timothy leary, his initials are lsd, and his middle name is a word in meditation breathing for the moment between inhaling and exhaling when your body and everything pauses for that moment of life.

by the way, this is for all the nonsmokers out there. i'm going to say this on stage when i can, but i feel like this is another obvious bill hicks statement that needs to be made, because no one fucking knows it. but i like to educate people. all you people that don't smoke, and eat veggies, and drive priuses, like you're doing something good, because you're worried about your futures, and your health... you people creep me the fuck out, get a grip. does this really need to be pointed out, and said in bill hicks' words? here it is, ready? drum roll...

i'd rather enjoy the moment. now.

that's why i named my son leary samana draven. i hijacked timothy leary's soul back into this world illegally. let's see what your leaders can do about that one. i like to enjoy the moment, instead of saving up for a future that never fucking comes, but i constantly have to worry about, and never get to enjoy, fuck you. my son's middle name is samana. thus i smoke.

when i get my kids back, they will have their intended names. rayne miakota draven, and leary samana draven. then, the next boy i have, i want to name him...

ready?

Judge Kickass von Draven

that's right, you uncreative fucks, i'm birthing superheroes into this world next.

did you need a rockstar to think of this shit? shows how unimaginative you fuckers are. john lennon certainly did die, cause you fuckers let him. all he is now is a tshirt in a fuckin' store window. some fake wannabe hippie shop on haight street, where the wolves buy their sheep clothing. you sick fucks.

so anyway, pay attention to the dates here. oh, shit, out of time, and dinner time, gotta go. i'll continue this shit tomorrow.

Nils

Small note to self for now. Lots of shit to ponder. Knights. Self health. Stop talking at all about the past/negativity. Was that it for now. How to change perspective enough.

traveling story three

okay, just to finish up the nico night, then i have to go to dinner. nico and i were sitting in this little hidden bush area, charging my phone, and this asshole comes up, and starts saying shit like 'you're trespassing, you're stealing, i'm having this plug taken out, if i see you back here, i'll shoot you', and on and on and on. wow, what an anal little fuck.

okay, so obviously i have to point this out, because he didn't think of it.

but dude, i'm going to say this as nicely as i can. this is what i should have said to him, verbatim, that night when nico and i were tripping on acid, and charging my phone. keep in mind, nico is only eighteen years old.

excuse me. we are not trespassing. have you noticed where you live. this is haight street, mutherfucker. this is hallowed ground for hippies. you're a yuppie, you're the enemy, you scumfuck, you're trespassing. and if you ever do anything to harm me or this brilliant kid, i can get fifty hippies lined up at your door waiting to teach you a lesson in 'gee, i'm wrong, boss, how can i make up for my stupid mistake'.

you're all yuppies. you're all the enemy. just because you can afford to own something, doesn't make everything yours. haight street his hippie territory, and timothy fuckin' leary gave it to us back in the sixties.

go fuck yourself, eggtwat.

i can't believe i had to point that out. is that how stupid this cold hearted credit card world has gotten. i think that's fucking sad, and it's all your fault. anyone who carries a wallet, i want you to pay for this shit. from now on, every dollar i see, i'm going to burn it. it's time to take it down.

let morons like this be the inspiration for it.

traveling story continued

okay, where did i leave off. bellingham. i spent one week in bellingham washington, and that's all i could take of that backward little town. so i spent from august seventh till like the second week of january in seattle, and took a bus up north to bellingham, and... let's see... i got to bellingham on a saturday evening, and left on a saturday evening. i left on the bolt bus, for forty bucks down to portland oregon. first time there in fifteen years, you'd think i could have had a nicer time. i got into portland late saturday night, january twenty fourth. i walked around downtown for a bit, looking for a spot to sit, smoke, sleep. i sat infront of some fancy store window, scraping a bowl of resin. these hot ladies passed by me, and one of them looked at me, and said 'would you like to smoke', the others giggled, i said 'sure', but they wondered off around the corner and never came back.

i wish i could remember so many of the stories between here and there. i've forgotten too much, haven't been able to post it all online, keep losing shit... if you think it's fun being homeless, you're sofa king we todd did you should go back to first grade, and do not pass go. you get a dunce cap for the rest of this party. corner of the class, naked on a stool, trying to think of jokes and puns about your sit you ation.

anyway, hopefully along these lines, i'll get to fill in parts of the story as i remember them, but all in all, this is pretty fucking retarded having to piece together parts of my life to tell single serving friends who weren't there for these parts of the fucking trip anyway, but whenever people ask me where i'm from, i'm fucking sick of answering that question, as it leads to me telling about my negative past, when that's the reason i'm traveling is to get to a better fuckin' future. so people, cut the small talk, stop asking me where i'm from, like it fucking matters. i'm from the fuckin' future, you'll hear the story tomorrow, smoke a fuckin' bowl and go to bed.

so, yeah, oregon. i got there saturday night, january twenty fourth, passed out downtown. woke up in a different spot down town, on a foggy, beautiful sunday morning, quiet, peaceful, oregon's special brand of fog, on my wife's twenty third birthday. happy birthday, baby. while i was in oregon, i was harassed three times for smoking pot, jailed twice of those, and they're about to legalize it in july. what a bunch of goat tards. they apparently just needed one more little scapegoat posterchild for their war on drugs hypocrisy. fascist scum. you normal fuckers have no clue what that did to my pride. before that, i was proudly telling people, i'm thirty six, father of two, never been arrested, never been to jail, never done a stupid psychotic drug... thanks, portland, for fucking that up. one of the times the douchebag pig was arresting me... first of all, they never even charged me with smoking pot. but the last time, when the scumfuck was arresting me, he said he was arresting me for offensive littering. wow, okay, first of all, offensive? wow, that's a little harsh. and secondly, since when did we arrest people for littering. why be so violent and aggressive for littering. because you're a neanderthal, that's why. doesn't take a moron with half a booger on his nose to figure that out.

and third... i hadn't thrown anything on the ground. i think he was literally just calling me trash. asshole. and when he had me up against his car, raping me of all my possessions and sentimental trash, his cop buddy walks up, and he says to his cop buddy, 'almost friday'. fucking douchebag, it was a monday fuckin' morning. do you have to be that much of an asshole, do you have to make it so obvious that you know your time is up. i wish your dick was big enough that i could shove it up your ass, and have you actually fuck yourself. i guess your head will have to do...

am i the only one who's this fucking sick of cops, and authority, and law enforcement, and concrete credit hearts and advertisements flashing in our faces... i really wonder how pleased you all are with these shit plastic fucking products. mcdonald's has tasted the same for eighty fucking years now, when is it going to get old for the rest of you fucks. and when will you stop looking at me like i'm crazy for not wanting to pay twenty bucks a day for free heart attack with every burger and free cancer with every fuckin' fry. you can shove my truth down your arteries and fuckin' choke on it.

while i was in seattle, i got myself a laptop. i didn't get paid on black friday, so i had to wait for cyber monday. i walked into a best buy on cyber monday with four hundred bucks to spend on something fast. i got the slowest thing in the fucking store, that shouldn't have even been made let alone sold. it was so below its own minimal requirements, that it died because of that. lasted me a month. then, just before i was about to take it back and get my money back, which meant losing all my files, cause there's no fuckin' security of any sort for poor people, and you rich fucks think you're doing some good. i could prove it to you with a piece of cardboard and a sharpie. before i was able to take it back, it got stolen along with my windows phone phablet thing, my sd card, headphones...

if one person on this godfucking planet wants to say right now that life is fair, and that everything bad that happens in my life is my fault, if one of you morons wants to take the chance of telling me that again right now, go the fuck ahead, i need more people on my shitlist. god's still at the top, though. position number one. i like to call it, love position number one. you figure out the pun and emphasis. it's not my job to help you get the joke anymore. if you don't get it, i get to enjoy watching you be left out. because for thirty six years now, i've been left the fuck out. life's fuckin' fair, for who.

so after portland, one of the douchebag cops that arrested me the first morning, some old fart hippie wannabe, told me, 'you need to go down to san francisco, that's where all the hippies are, haight ashbury, that's where you need to be', and sold it up like a shiny fuckin' product. i got down here, there's no fuckin' love down here. it's hard enough to get free weed every day, let alone cigarettes or food or anything fucking worthwhile, all i get is people issues and unhealthy hatred and anger. yeah, thanks, doc. so this is my taste of california. some of the dumbest yuppie scum i've seen walking this earth. haight street is lined with yuppies? have we gotten this shit on youtube yet? get alex jones down here, he needs to see this shit. i've even seen fake hippies. do i need to point this out? just because you can afford to buy the cool colourful hippie clothing in the stores doesn't make you a fucking hippie, it makes you a wolf in sheep's clothing, and we can smell you fuckers and your fake plastic perfume scents from miles away. do you think we're fuckin' stupid?

and that leads me to something else that needs to be said. the other night, this kid nico and i are tripping acid, or trying at least, and looking for a spot to charge my phone, which there are none in san francisco, by the way. good little traveling tip there. someone should put that on a street sign somewhere. but i don't know how this genius little kid, eighteen years old, found this electric plug that night, but we sat there and charged my phone for a bit, and were talking about funny stuff, and he goes off making a sign that i never got to see... suddenly this guy who apparently lives in one of those houses gets home and starts yelling at us for being there. this is a great story, cause it needs something obvious said about it. even some douchebag in the castro was this fucking psychotic, and i feel like both you fuckers need to be called out on this shit. it's gone on long enough, and it's time you whiny little fucks stop. so pay attention.

even number one, only a morning or two before mine and nico's acid trip night. i slept on someone's doorstep in the castro, because i was feeling safer there than on haight with all the new shady hippies flooding in, and a couple gangster homie thugfucks that seem to think that neighborhood has become theirs for whatever reason. when i woke up that morning, i sat up and smoked a bowl, like i prefer to do, instead of just bouncing off the concrete like a delayed equal and opposite reaction and walking on looking for more concrete and less people before i even get to enjoy my morning and shaving the stress off my mood that you fucks cause in the first place, but we'll get to that when i get a therapist again. apparently you can't find those anymore either. you fucks need to get your priorities right.

but anyway, i woke up, and this gay douchebag yells out his window at one point, 'get the fuck out of here, you're trespassing', and has to get all fucking gaydicktard hostile at me for being, what i shouldn't have to remind him, is a fucking traveler. as i'm picking up my stuff and walking away, i'm yelling back at him, trying to tell him to relax, he seriously needs to grow up, he doesn't need to be so hostile and violent. but i say, 'dude, get laid, smoke a bowl, relax', to which he responds 'i do that all the time'... and i felt like saying, 'the fuck you do! i can prove you don't with an instant replay button, you unfucked jerkoff!'. after which the pigs had to fuck with me for riding a bus for free, when there's a big fuckin' sign saying that disabled people can ride for free, but oh, it has that super small fine print that people who need glasses can't read, but that's completely fair, and it says you have to show proof, well fuck, clarence, ya got me, i'm just a stupid traveler without proof of anything, because i travel light, and don't like to carry your stupid trash around on me, and papers of dead trees weighing me down, hell, i don't even like having to identify myself every time you point your fuckin' stubby finger at me, you fat fuck.

so that wannabe faggot had to be called out. you live in the castro, you idiot. do you seriously need to be reminded to grow the fuck up, and realize you're living in san fucking fran fucking cisco, next to haight ashbury... hippies, travelers, potheads, you're going to have them all sleeping all around you, because some guy named timothy leary was born when your grandfather killed himself from the great depression, you chucklenuck fuck. i gotta get to the rest of this later, the computer's telling me to shut up.

traveling story so far

okay, so i'm just going to start talking to my blog, cause humanity sucks goat roaches. here's my traveling story so far. the most i can remember. and it stems back from before it actually started.

june of twenty twelve, i met my wife. long story very short, we were only together for a year and a half, and for that part of the story, look for that blog post. she left me december thirtieth, twenty thirteen, day after my son's birthday, day before new years, leaving me alone for new years. and her birthday was january twenty fifth, she was turning twenty two, and it was to be very special.

because she left, i lost the apartment we had just gotten to overcome homelessness. her and i became homeless in july of twenty thirteen, because of the mother of my children, that scagly goat wrench. vile horrid hell hound from which i hijacked a couple vital souls. long story. but july twenty thirteen is when everything fell apart, and i lost everything, and kept on losing everything, until i lost my wife. when i had gotten the apartment, i called my mother asking for my cat back as well, and couldn't get a coherent answer from her as to what happened to him. he's either dead or otherwise gone, though, which breaks my heart, but i haven't even gotten to grieve over him yet.

in the months after losing my wife and the apartment, my fragile sanity woke up on wet pillows every morning, sleeping in my mother's hospital bed in our vail house, while my drug addict knuckle dragging neanderthal crackroach piece of shit scumfuck goatpuke uncle ruled the house and slept in my old room. fatfartsmellystinkin' fuckin' loser reject. i'm sure he's the one who put my mother in the coma just to get her out of the house. but that's another blog post.

there was a gap of tears and weirdness between january and june of twenty fourteen. i felt like the shell that had been me had cracked and fallen away, leaving a reborn little boy, but with the same eighty year old turd fuckin' body, just dragged through more streets.

but, one weird morning in april, the mother of my children called me. basically, through a long and confused and chaotic series of events, which was her nature, she somehow got herself up to spokane washington. she was sent up there too look after some douchebag that needed no help destroying his own life. she calls me, and asks me if i want to come up there. without hesitating, i said yes, because hell had just destroyed my life yet again, and i had been waiting, praying, begging, and dying to get the fuck out of that turdfest for so long.

the last time i got out of there, ties in with my acid story, which is another blog post, but my first trip was when i was eighteen, it was a bad trip in hell, because hell is a nonpsychedelic city, hello, welcome to shitty wok. my second real trip, was up in oregon. i left hell when i was twenty years old, june of ninety nine, i was working at a place called convergys, selling at&t to old fucks who didn't know what their phone was, and got the chance to move up to oregon. when i was up there, i had two good trips. first one was perfect, second was liquid lsd, cracked the sky wide open for me, i've been on ever since. read my poem morons.

so i waited, and prepared, and looked forward to the day i would leave that ghost town of death. i packed my shit up, broke my uncle's phone, cut the stereo and television cords, reported him to the police, and drove off just before the sun rose. the sun was rising over the airport just as i was taking off in the plane. it was beautiful. a sight i never thought i'd get to see. that sunrise was the last day of may, twenty fourteen.

june first was my first full day in spokane. i was staying in a trailer with the fat scagged goat gash that birthed my children, the dinglewhopper that she was supposedly helping, and two douchebag fucking wannabe lesbian teases. total skank wanks not worth the time it takes to puke and put the condom on. tazra beck couldn't sell a beer if her bush were a bottle opener. i fuckin' tweeted that.

anyway, that horrid story only took nine days to fall apart, believe it or not. that's the magical wondrous work of that fat scaggy goat whore. she's a hurricane of destruction, and looks even uglier. on the morning of june tenth, i woke up in a car, to have her be the one to come out and tell me that i was no longer wanted there, and she of course had to blame it all on me, of why the whole house took nine days to fall apart. uh... unless you're retarded... she was living in a trailer. it doesn't take three little pigs to blow that to shit, it takes only her. i challenge you to prove me wrong. hell, at this point, i challenge you to track her scugly ass down. i used that change to spin her off in a bad direction and finally get her permanently the fuck out of my life. i had to.

and for all you idiots who think everyone needs to fit into the standard christian societal mold of what a family should be, i'm going to tell you right the fuck right now, there's an evil organization in this delusional world called cps. before you go telling me any shit about how i lost my children, like you know my story better than i do, and think i need to be taught a lesson from your dumb ass, you need to shut the fuck up and do your research, because i know that closed minds always have open mouths, and i'd just like to prove myself right every chance i get, because i fucking deserve it after listening to your fucktarded ass so many years, you're fucked in the head, and i have proof, so you need to shut the fuck up and do your research, i would start by going to fightcps.org and memorizing the mutherfucking site like i did. i went warhead against a government organization for two years of my life, do you think i'm stupid? i think i have a better understanding of this delusion than you do. in fact, i'm betting on it. and i'm not dumb enough to gamble.

anyway, morning of june tenth, i found myself homeless in spokane. i got myself to a hospital, got signed up with health care, got myself to a (whatever type of fucking mental place they call them at this point, you fill in the fuckin' blanks, that's no longer my fuckin' job), got signed up there, got myself to a shelter, showered with naked men, woke up the next morning, talked to a couple doctors, got free food, showered with naked men, woke up the next morning, got myself a girlfriend, although she was a nineteen year old version of the horrid kanker cunt we'll just refer to as putrid gash at this point, because by now you know who the fuck i'm talking about. i don't know why that's the only type of girl who's attracted to me, besides my fucking soulmate. keep the date in mind at least, though. i got a girlfriend on june twelve. one of my days. you won't get that till a later blog post, so for now just think of it as my own floyd song. one of my own wall times. for what sense that makes to you. you can tell how much i give a shit at this point. if i had two turds in my pocket, i wouldn't give you one. they're worth more than you being used as ammo toward a white house of a particular shape. hell, i'd use you as ammo if i could drag you that far. but anyway.

so i dated that wretch for about a month, till i figured out i wanted to be alone. after i was away from her, i was standing one evening, watching a sunset over a river, with nothing but me and the trees and the earth and the sunset, and the river, and myself, and my music, and i had this big revelation that took about an hour or two to wash over me, and i felt immense enjoyment for the first time in years. i had to realize in that amount of time, that i was alone, for the first time in my life, i was truly alone, my feet stood alone on the earth, i had no more hands hanging onto my feet any longer, i was free to walk this earth as i pleased, for the first time ever, free to just walk in any direction without something pulling me back, calling me back, dragging me back, begging me back, i was fucking free. free. god, i couldn't say that with a deep enough breath in my lungs. free.

i stood there, looking at the river and the sunset, and i thought to myself, if i'm going to rebuild my life, i'm going to do it right, i'm going to the big city. i bought myself a greyhound ticket, and got myself to seattle. pay attention, i've already succeeded at way more than my family ever thought i would, and it's only august twenty fourteen. fuck them. fuck them with a very hot branding iron pulled straight out of satan's ass in hell. fuck them with it. fuck them with it till they'd make a good burger patty. i want to see the word 'angus' burnt into the meat.

so i got to seattle on august seventh. it was a wonderful time. for the seattle part of the story, read that blog post. i ain't your fuckin' google docs slave.

anyway, i got sick of seattle, after spending the winter freezing my ass off up there, so i asked someone where i should go next. a couple cheap skanks working in a jimmy john's because they couldn't get a titty job at shiny schlong's, told me to go up to bellingham, because it was a good place to be homeless and panhandle. bullshit. for their punishment, they get to go up there and try to panhandle their way out. dickropes. ooh, missing lunch, gotta go.

april in haight

let's see. i've finally started telling people to read my blog when they ask about my negative past, so i might as well start talking on this damn thing again. see if anyone actually reads it yet or not. see if anyone cares, if anyone can afford to give a good load of rainblow horseshit.

march sucked. i was lonely, unnoticed, ignored, excluded... as always. i tried to be noticed, i tried to make friends, i got nothing. first of april showed up, i woke up, got my money, spent it on some new friends. bought suzie a new twenty dollar pipe, bought everyone lighter leashes, a bunch of food. thanks to my bank continually fucking me and getting away with it, i only got about four hundred and fifty bucks this month, and spent all of it on them, and as soon as the last dollar was gone, so were they, and i still can get no love, or attention, or weed, or cigarettes, or care, or heart, or eyes from anyone on this hateful fucking street.

i'd like to thank the old fart in portland for telling me to come to a town that was so depressing it actually made me want to kill myself. i came alot closer here than i did in seattle. that's sad.

i'd also like to say here, how sick of money i am. at this point, i honestly want to start burning every dollar i see. this body is in so much pain, but i can't even afford the eyes or heart of another fellow human on this planet to give half a shit. but i want to create my own community that does not function on money. if i'm really the only person that gives a shit about this idea, then i might as well just kill myself. i'm sick of all of you chasing after the same dollar. you've forgotten that humanity is valuable, infact, you've taken the value away from us and placed it in a piece of toxic nuclear holocaust green paper. that's your fault.

i'd also like to say, i'm sick of having permanent fifth wheel syndrome, and no one even noticing. the other night, i was trying to trip on acid. this girl nikki kept teasing me, asking me all these questions, like 'have you ever had sex on acid', and when i would try to answer her, saying no i haven't, this other jackass would take her attention, and i wanted to stab him in the throat with a pen. then, she'd say 'have you ever taken a shower on acid', and when i tried to tell her that i've never been lucky enough, that asscracker had to butt in again. needless to say, my acid trip i was trying to enjoy made it really easy to feel those cuntslugs fucking about three hours before they said so, which made me fucking sick to my stomach, and of course killed my acid trip.

so guys, i'd like to point something out here. you know the term cockblocking, right? even though, as much as i truly hate that term, and how crude it is... but do any of you dumb fucks have any idea how much you've done that to me? do you scumfucks think that's fair? have i ever done it to you? do you have a wallet? are you worth anything? do you personally know mark zuckerberg? do you have michio kaku's phone number in your google contacts? fuck no you don't. so get the fuck out of my way.

and ladies, i could tell you in so many ways how truly blind you are to any of this shit. and me. are any of you ever going to notice me, and how heartbreaking it is to feel so invisible to you. are you ever going to give a shit about anything but yourselves. too many of you ladies are complete and total sluts to every wrong idiot guy on this fucking planet, every half toasted pile of fucking clone plastic, every short haired, empty suit fuckin' phony, every talentless, heartless lugnut you can find... except me. why do you have to do that. why do you have to pursue all the wrong guys, and completely ignore the good ones. what the fuck is wrong with you. would you like me to show you the size of my cock, and how fast my tongue moves? cause i know that dickweed that the girl nikki fucked didn't have a fucking wallet, so what are you looking for?

i'm sick of all this shit. and if i can't create a positive community around me of people who might give half a fuck about me or any of my ideas, i might as well take a rocket ship into outer space with motley fuckin' crue. people tell me some of the dumbest superstitious things when i ask them what i'm doing wrong. and i'm sick of hearing it. i'm a scientist, ladies. figure that out.

i exist on evidence. proof. truth. i breathe logic. i speak poetry. if you can't understand that, then go back to fucking school. stop blaming me for all the things you don't understand in this world. instead, you could realize that i have been a people watcher for the last thirty years, and you might ask me, you might like to hear some of the things i've observed about you fuckers that i guarantee none of you want to hear. go ahead and blame me, i'll take the scapegoat role for a little longer, till i plant that little concept in your heads, lick this little dream delusion into your visual cortex with my lizard tongue.

anyone have any clue who i am yet? anyone curious?