talking to myself

'tears falling from the sky
words from a lullaby
everything beautiful dies'... tristania.

i feel so alone. i've truly got no one to talk to. i hate this world in such an unhealthy way, and i've got no one i can tell. whenever i get a moment to relax and sit on my computer, i have to get right back up again. whenever i get a chance to use a restroom, they come banging on the door. everytime i get sat somewhere, some jackass tells me i can't be there, like i'm some piece of trash he can just kick further down the road. whenever i get a chance to sit and smoke, i immediately have to get back up again, cause this stupid body won't leave me alone. i haven't gotten a moment of pleasure out of this life yet. i've got to battle seven billion idiots before i can. if it's not my nose running, it's my burps. if it's not my burps, it's my neck having to pop. if it's not that, it's the fucking wind blowing.

i wish there were a god i could kill to get that wind to stop blowing.
i really never thought i would grow to hate nature this much.

it seems like my music isn't heavy enough for me anymore. i'm still not willing to dive down to death metal, but i used to have a massive collection of some heavy fucking records. bands that no one else has ever heard of. i used to be so proud of that shit. i remember playing a mix cd for andy, trying to impress him (like that would ever happen), and i remember playing 'only inhuman' by sonic syndicate, to see if he would be impressed by that tricky drum part near the end. nope. fuck no. what a fool i was to think i had an actual friend. or someone who shared a similar taste in music.

it's becoming apparent to me that i'm just never supposed to have any fuckin' friends in this world, i stick out so much, no one wants to be daring enough... i fucking hate you people. all of you. lost in a world of opinions and paranoia. you sicken me.

some douchebag threw my sleeping bag in a trash can this morning, so now it smells like beer and shit, so naturally i reek now, too. i can't get the smell out of my nose, i can still taste it, and i honestly think i got a cold. i fucking hate people. i fucking hate people. you people don't hear me saying that every morning when i have to wake up off this concrete of yours, and go walking toward the seven eleven for my hot chocolate, but yeah, i sound completely fucking insane, ranting through the streets about 'why, god, why can't we have a superhero who kills drug addicts, why, lord, why!'. and between that, this heavy breathing utterance of 'i fucking hate you, i fucking hate you', i sound like the song 'syl' by strapping young lad. which, i call that song 'dawning'. but i've always liked sunrises. you'd have no fuckin' clue about why. and why would i expect you to. i fucking hate you people.

i see all these people living around me. spending money. it's painfully obvious to me, every minute i notice, that none of these people are ever going to want to touch me, or talk to me. i already know they're just there to fuck me over, that's their only purpose in life. how immune do i have to be for this. cause i'm about ready to give up.

if i have to pry my head through this ceiling of concrete and retardation and reality television, just to succeed in getting the fuck away from you permanently, to where i get no more junk mail, no more advertisements, no more authorities poking their fingers in my chest... what the fuck is the point. you all can tell me your opinion of the point, but you're fucking wrong, and the more insistent you are, the dumber you look. this is a game of who can be more stubborn, you idiot.

i fucking hate you people. all of you. there is no way out of this. this sickening excuse for a world you've created, where everyone has to 'fit in', and no one can 'fit out', because there's not even a fucking term for it! stick out, stand out, fit out? i'm a fucking thumb, fuck your phrases! see me as what the fuck i am, i am here to oppose you, thus i'm the thumb, the evolution of an opposable digit, so it can smack the rest of the fingers upside the nails, and tell you you're fucking wrong!

but i need to get that out of my head. it doesn't matter that you're wrong. it just matters that you no longer have control over everyone. those of us who want nothing to do with you and your dollar derby frenzy, should be allowed to walk the fuck away, live in the woods, and... you get the idea.

i sound so sick, so mental, walking through the streets every morning, every night, growling to myself, 'i hate you all, i fucking hate you all', i sound worse than my hateful grandmother ever did, and i know for a fact that none of you give a shit about how much that sickens me. no one cares enough to know the story anymore, even though i've told it a billion fucking times, but my grandmother was a hateful piece of shit. her entire life, hateful, angry, evil. with no good enough excuse as to why, other than her mother was evil. so that gives you an excuse NOT to change. fucking moron.

i'm sick of talking about my past, coming from stupid people, only to encounter more stupid people, i'm so fucking sick of stupid people, why can't i meet anyone with a fucking brain! this is fucking sad, do you not care! you're fucking stupid, stupidity is the norm, and you're too stupid to care! and you don't see anything wrong with that!

i had started saying for a while, that 'i'm allergic to ignorance', but i felt like that didn't have the punch it needed. it wasn't offensive enough to make me smile. because i smile more when someone's face sours, getting that look of being offended all over it. none of you realize yet who the fuck i am, but that's a key part of it.

please allow me to introduce myself, i'm a man of... class, and taste.

subtleties and subtitles.

when i offend someone, it puts this little dose of joy in my heart. it doesn't happen often enough anymore, cause these monster truck idiots are so desensitized to anything and everything with passion except hostility. and they don't see anything wrong with that! god, are you there, can you smack the shit out of your people, please? they're too dumb to learn anything, didn't it say in the rule book, that if they're too dumb to learn, that you should pull the plug? is there a magic potion you can toss down here?

i don't even have a god i can talk to. no imaginary friends, no real friends, no methhead sideslut girlfriend... cause they're all on fucking meth. which sickens me in such a dark, evil way. so many women... so many women... drugged out of their minds on meth... so many women... do you really need that many! why do all you fucking women have to do that shit! so fucking many of you! i can't find a single one of you who only smokes weed, why the fuck did every single one of you have to get caught up on that shit, and date the guy who got you started on it, while he's dragging his pants on the fucking ground, what the fuck is wrong with you!!! i can't even begin to tell you how much that sickens me, and i'm a fucking poet, i'm a writer, i do this shit for a living! you can't even care enough to know how fucked that is! and that's even more fucked! why can't i find one fucking woman who's not on meth!!! what the fuck is wrong with you! god, i fucking hate you all! so goddamn much, it's unhealthy! i hate you more than your god could ever know. i fucking hate you! get off the fucking drugs, or kill yourselves, you fucking losers!

it's sickening, that i can't find one pothead girl to be my friend, but every crackroach scumfuck in the world has a little sideslut hanging off his fucking arm! yeah, that's fair, god. yeah, really? seriously?

i wish i had a god to talk to. i wish i had a therapist to talk to. i wish i had a friend to talk to.

i'll never have anyone. ever again. no one will find me interesting. if they do, it will only be for five minutes until the star of the party steals the spotlight from me. that always fucking happens. as soon as i get anyone's attention, it's taken away from me by some loudmouth piece of monkey shit. usually black, sideways hat, dragging pants, obnoxious, belligerent...

'this bog is thick, and easy to get lost in, cause you're a dumbass, belligerent fucker'... tool.

but for a while there, i was saying that i'm allergic to stupidity. that doesn't cut it. and no one understands the new term, even though it's perfectly worded.

i'm an intellectual supremacist.

i want to draw this little comic of a zombie walking up to another zombie on the street, one says 'got any meth', and the other replies, 'got any brains'. and the zombie keeps walking, and comes up on the next zombie, and asks 'got any meth, to which the other zombie replies 'got any brains'. he keeps walking, in this incoherent haze, and finally comes up to me in a trench coat. he asks 'got any meth', and i reply 'got any intellect?'.

by the way, i'm not sure how many people are aware of this factoid here, but i get asked for meth twenty times a fucking day. now, i know how stupid you are, and i know you need a calculator just to figure out how old you are, let alone what an intelligence quotient is, so i'll make this really easy for you to understand here.

that's twenty different people a day, because if it were the same people, you'd think they'd eventually get the hint, so no, it has to be twenty different people a day.

that means when i wake up, and get my hot chocolate, and i'm sitting by the seven eleven panhandling, smoking, and enjoying my morning, conceiving big ideas, there's going to be some walking dead fucking zombie walking up to me before eight am, to ask me for meth. then, around ten am, i'll see another one. then, around noon, i'll see two or three more. then, between one and two pm, i'll see four more. from two pm to five pm or sunset, there's at least eight more. after the sun sets, i'll get at least ten more.

i don't know if anyone's paying attention here, but if this is such a popular drug, and everyone's on it... don't you think it would be a little easier to find? why should they all have to ask me? i remember back in the day, when i was a pothead and had a couple pothead friends, i remember if i wanted weed, i could call a pothead friend, and get my weed with minimal hassle. now, it's impossible to find weed, even though weed is supposedly legal, and there are even apps, like 'leafly', that help you find weed stores, but it's still impossible to find weed... but at the same time, i'm getting twenty people a fucking day...

i don't think you're paying attention here...

TWENTY PEOPLE A FUCKING DAY!!! TWENTY FUCKING PEOPLE!!! TWENTY PEOPLE WHO DO NOT KNOW ME AND ARE NOT MY FUCKING FRIENDS, ACTING LIKE I'M THEIR FUCKING FRIEND, AND ASKING ME FOR THE MOST SICKENING SUBSTANCE ON THE FUCKING PLANET, LIKE I'M IN THAT FUCKING GUTTER WITH YOU! LIKE I'VE MADE THE SAME BAD CHOICES IN LIFE!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! IS THAT HOW STUPID YOU ARE, AND DOES THAT EXPLAIN WHY THERE ARE SO FUCKING MANY OF YOU!!!

people can't stop telling me, 'this is los angeles, if you don't like meth, you shouldn't have come here'.

i don't think anyone's understanding a fucking thing here. i have to explain it like i'm running a fucking day care center, but i really wish anyone could try to understand how fucked this is. i need to explain this to you. i shouldn't have to, but i need to explain this to you, you need to know this. try to understand...

los angeles is where talented people go to get famous.
spokane washington is where drug addicts go to be sad and die.

there's already a big difference right there, but incase you need it enlightened more...

i have talent. i came here to pursue my talents, not waste my life away on bad choices and bad drugs and sadness and 'poor me, no one likes me, so i'm just gonna drown in drugs for the rest of my pathetic life'.

yeah, i really have an urge to be you.

but anyway, let me say this part again...

i came to los angeles to pursue my talents. if you want to get strung out on drugs, you should go to spokane. that's where all the losers live. talented people should live in los angeles, and should be ashamed to be this close to this cancerous deathfest. am i the only one who thinks that? then i'm the only human on this planet. go ahead, debate that, i'm sure the crickets would love to hear you.

i'm so sickened. and i've got no one to tell. i'm truly alone. i've always known this, that i'm truly the most alone person on this sad little planet, that old soul rogue rebel who always walks alone, but when no one recognizes you, it can get a little too dark on this road. these children didn't study their history, so no one was expecting me. i sure thought the trench coat would be a dead giveaway, but these people can't remember anything past nineteen ninety nine. which befuddles the fuck out of me, cause i was born in nineteen seventy eight, and i remember that before we had bowling for columbine, and the trench coat mafia wannabes, and neo the compromising superhero, back before those losers existed... trench coats were considered cool. the more rare they were, the cooler they were, because only a certain number of people wear that skin properly. the oldest of us.

i can feel half of you thinking i'm delusional right now, but i've been trying to tell you for years, i don't give a frog floggin' fuck what you think, and you still seem to think i do, which tells me you haven't been listening, but we'll get to that later when your finally shows up for the armageddon show, but you know...

i wear it best.

yet all people can seem to do, is criticize me for the way i dress and the music i listen to. i've never been one to point fingers, cause my mama taught me that pointing was rude, as is staring, but apparently she didn't teach the rest of you... but... let's just say it's raining cats and thumbs on this seven eleven loser named jesse right now. god, how i've hated that name. one of the gayest male names there could ever be. 'i'm gonna be halfway girly, but still start with a 'j'.'. can i suck your cock right now, i really need to get this cancerous lump of horse shit out of my throat before it grows a name. it's already got thumbs, hurry up.

i will never hear voices laughing at me again. whether they think it's 'at me', or 'with me', doesn't matter, no one fucking laughs anymore. which depresses the fuck out of me even more since i defeated my depression.

people have tried to tell me, that it's not possible to 'defeat your depression'.
people have tried to tell me, that once you go insane, there's no coming back.
people have tried to stuff me into their fearful little mold a lot.

but once in a while, some freud brained antizombie bad ass trench coat mutherfucker comes along and teaches us the truth. those of you who have forgotten that, should go back to school, because you don't deserve to be here if you don't know who the fuck john lennon was.

people have tried to tell me that sanity is so limited, that intellect has only been defined so far, so that's only as far as the light shines, people have tried to fill my head with a lot of retarded limitation crap. for how many years now? i could ask you if any of you were responsible and accountable. and if you claim to be, i just proved you wrong, but we'll get back to that.

people have tried to fill my head with so much, so many of their own fears, their limited knowledge...

they're not realizing. i'm the guy who comes along every so often to set shit straight.

i'm here to show you that it is possible to defeat your depression. it is possible to lose your mind twice in your life and still come back. it is possible to not fear anything, it is possible to train your third eye to see the future...

and all you dumb little scruntroaches who think it's not, like you know everything there is to know on the topic, and there will never be any new information, no new discoveries, no new journeys, and that freud only lives once...

god, how can i put this simply...

on the spectrum of our history...
in the eyes of evolution...
from the perspective of charles darwin...

if you put a little dot on the history map where charles darwin is petting a neanderthal on the head, and then rewind back about twenty thousand years, and put another little dot on that part of the history map...

this is linear, of course... pay attention...

before charles darwin discovered evolution...
before the neanderthal got violent with his nerdy tech support buddy...
before the monkey ever picked up the gun and the credit card...

leave it to the retard to be proud of 'i was here first'.
leave it to the outlaw to be proud of 'i was here last'.

what i would give to be the last man standing on this silent planet.

on the linear, historic timeline, there's a dot where charles darwin was born. then, twenty thousand years before that, there's a little dot where you took a shit on a log that you were proud of...

now, try to look at those two little dots through the perspective of sigmund fuckin' freud.

these glasses might help...

yeah, there you go. nice and clear. see, you're a loser, thus you already lost thousands of years ago. you call this twenty fifteen. i call this three years away from the deadline. it is you who should not be here.

i think i actually got a cold from that dirty sleeping bag.

but anyway. i have to get these clustered thoughts out of my brain before they fucking choke me and i have an aneurysm. i never get to speak to anyone. as soon as i open my mouth, they open theirs. i cannot finish a sentence, i haven't finished a sentence in years. if i get to speak at all, it's for no more than five seconds at a time, and apparently, that's what humans think is a sufficient conversation, an efficient way to communicate and relay messages and information.

there's another comic drawing. if only i could draw.

guy number one talks for five seconds...
guy number two talks for five seconds...
guy number one talks for five more seconds...
guy number two talks for five more seconds...

and that's how a company functions, children!

now onto our next lesson, how to get rich without lifting a finger.
rule number one: whips and chains excite me.
rule number two: sticks and stones do break bones.
rule number three: you own the words to do the rest.

every time i try to pop my neck, it really feels like my head's going black, and that i'm about to be evicted from my own skull house. i've got constant eyelashes on annoying me, snot, my throat, my neck, my back, my legs, my knees, my ankles, my knuckles, nothing will stop annoying me. if anyone was paying attention for the last ten years, they could at least remember that part of my story, that that's how the mother of my children 'fell in love' with me, was because i was ranting about my nose and how it won't leave me alone and won't give me a minute of enjoyment out of this life, it's constant snot, and if i try to pick this nostril with a kleenex, i can only do it once, because the other nostril won't stop whining, and needs to be wiped now, and it can only be done once, cause i have to go back to the first one, and the eyelash in my eye can't wait, and itching on my shoulder can't wait, the fart bubbling around in my belly won't wait, the back pain won't let me think, my neck needs to be popped, oh, but wait, i'm still just cleaning my fucking nose, i've got the nose of a two year old, oh, but wait, i have to burp first, cause that one really won't wait, oh, now i have to run to the restroom cause that won't wait, i was just trying to smoke a bowl, but now that whole shitfest has gotten worse, because now if i need to get up and run to the restroom, i have to pick up my laptop, put it in the case, zip it up, fold up my bedding, walk two or three blocks to a restroom, be told that i can't use it unless i'm a customer, so i have to walk another block to another restroom, and i only get two minutes in there before some overauthoritative jackass has to come banging on the door, no matter what fucking time of day it is, there's always someone more important than me, so that just adds to the stress i have to deal with just trying to get this body to shut up long enough to let me fucking breathe and hit this fucking bowl, and if i could hit the bowl enough, it actually works, and this body shuts up, and i can sit there and breathe, and enjoy a movie for once, but you know me so much better than i know myself, so go ahead, why don't you tell me how the fuck i'm supposed to live my life, as if i haven't been told yet. let me see if i can recite it verbatim from yesterday's forced conversion attempt. let's see, you think i should stop smoking weed, dress better, get a job, listen to more popular music, and try to be the clone on that side of the street. is that about right? oh, yeah, i forgot... bibles. yes, i know, your god is lonely with seven billion empty heads, that's why he's still sending you after me after all these years, he wants to infiltrate the only living brain on this planet, yeah, i get it.

i can't wait to start passing out my pamphlets. converting people to my religion. i cannot fucking wait.

first of all, god forbid we finally create a religion based on truth, or at least the search for it.
and secondly... god fucking forbid! god fucking forbid we finally have a religion designed the right way.

you all can have your lunacy and as much hypocrisy as you want, and enjoy looking stupid for as long as you're comfortable, with your scientology and mormonism and some truly fucked up, insane religions based on superstition, delusion, and nothing anywhere near truth...

and then we'll do things our way. who are you to tell us we can't? god?

fuck no, you're not. especially if we're designing our own god, we don't have to listen to yours anymore, but i'm sure you'll persist anyway. you stubborn, closedminded, pathetic piece of suffocating sloth shit!

my throat's really starting to hurt. i fucking cannot stand people. i fucking hate you all so much, you disgust me. always trying to tell me how to live your life, and not realizing that it's wrong. no wonder god's not still here, if he was, the sky would be raining flyswatters and thumbs.

sorry, i guess that visual analogy is too big for your box. where's larry the cable guy when you need him?

the truth is, i know who you are, and i don't need you to convince me otherwise, though you try like satan himself, behind that watery, shapeshifting mask of lies, lizard tongues, and secrecy.

you figure that's the way it would happen, right? if god were to find satan to finally end him... don't you think the comic book version would go a little like this...

god: you're satan, i've got my eye on you.
satan: no, i'm not satan, truly i'm not, i'm stan, they just spelled the name tag wrong.
god: no, you're satan, you can't fool me.
satan: no, really, i'm just the tech support guy, really.
god: are you actually trying to convince me that you're not satan? i can see you hiding under black darkness and fear.
satan: dude, i'm totally not satan, i'm stan, i'm here to install your cable.

don't you think, based on intellect alone, that's how it would happen? basically? i mean that's how i see it. that's how i've always seen it. if you're defined as being a coward... how the fuck are you going to act like anything but?

you can have all the knowledge in the world, it doesn't make you a better person, it just makes you harder to track down.

a human vaginal wart named vasego taught me that.

i should have known, coming from an idiot with 'ego' in his name. i don't even think he knew... well... i guess that doesn't matter, but... people truly never don't underestimate how observant i am. how many negatives is that?

i never don't not do that.

i'm sure i could find some way to cancel out all the evil in this world. for a while, i thought it was if i could prove that i am actually the reincarnation of bill hicks, but on second look at that courtroom... yeah, maybe i'll backburner that one for a while. the way this bulldozer is running out of gas and spirit, i don't think we're going much further. it's like when mom's clutch died on the way back from ozzfest in phoenix. eight kids and a fat mother crammed into the cab of a tow truck. yup. thems was the good times.

but mom's dead.
life doesn't matter.
in the eyes of death, it never will.
time still scrolls on.

in fact, black sabbath said it better.

so i vowed that life is just a burden.
cause you know there's never been a winner.
try your hardest, you'll still be a loser.
the world will still be turning when you're gone.

there's also a little sound clip in devin townsend's 'life'.

'in death, not only are the mightiest and the most humble brought down to the same level, but we're not different from any other organism'.

and of course i'm loving the new sirenia album. five bucks to the first non drug addict to guess why.

god, where are all my brains. i miss you guys so much. being here alone is too dark.

all the brains that i've written about. like in my song 'i'm bringing thinking back'...

all the greatest minds of the world
looking out through the glass in a museum
like a memory covered in the dust of brain cells
get ready, cause i'm bringing them all back
it's time to get the fucking blood pumping...

where are you. it's so dark here, where are your minds, those bright lights i've seen on the hill at night, they have followed me young and into tomorrow...

where are you...?

from galileo, to isaac newton, einstein, charles darwin, bill hicks, timothy leary, terence mckenna, robert anton wilson, john lennon, ganghi, they're all fucking dead!

i know reincarnation still flows through these veins. you can't convince me otherwise.

seems like talking to myself, i actually feel more sympathy and compassion than from anyone else.

how fucking sad is that.

goodnight, loneliness...

maybe you'll be less invisible tomorrow.

at least you're not as sad as brian posehn's fat feelings. i'm still too metal for you, though.