Thursday, January 31, 2019
stranded
radiator blew again, stuck in dollar tree parking lot. apparently waiting for a tow, don't even know when, i'm broke till monday. charging in the library, trying to ponder patreon stuff. hard to think with so much pain. the pain in the heart, the loneliness, is always the worst. that's the part no one seems to care about.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
the tree of evil
here's an idea. I've studied money my whole life and I've decided i want nothing to do with it, so describe the whole tree of evil sprouting from the roots... from my perspective as i see things, to explain to people how I'd rather live in this world. is that possible?
trapped
i left the house to not be lazy. all i've managed to learn in five years, is that physical pain, depression, and loneliness, along with trauma, and being unique in a society that doesn't care about uniqueness, and condemns it... that you don't get recognized unless you're fluffy status...
i made a friend, got a laptop and a van, lost the friend...
i can't motivate myself to find the right people...
do i just not realize how socially fucked i am?
i feel like writing 'female atheist metalhead with herpes wanted'... knowing i'd have to add at least the word 'sober' to that, or whatever other item from my list of hatreds that just makes it more confusing and harder for people with short attention spans to get... it's not right that i have to hate so much shit, i just can't understand why the dumbest shit has to be so fucking popular that it chokes out...
why do i feel like i've said this before...
because i've already said most of this shit...
still stuck in the same loop.
will i ever find anyone.
twosday night
just a tiny note for the night. i'm parked in georgetown. i am so very lonely, it keeps me stuck. it hurts. i need to get food and chocolate milk in the morning. trash can, socks. and talk to sophia tmrw. i need to figure out something to do, but there's nothing i enjoy anymore. the physical pain. it's nice and quiet where i am right now. i don't even enjoy youtoob anymore, this phone pisses me off, i can't do anything on it... I'll put this on my blog.
timeline for jennifer
my timeline.
i don't want to tell the stories again. of my mother, my grandmother, everyone else... so... fuck it, i don't know, looking back is just pointless to me.
no more looking back.
1978 born.
job at aohell, met the mother of my children just before my twenty fifth birthday. distracted by my wallpaper for a minute. now it's a mushroom, okay. i hate everything. that was two thousand three, september. so that means... fuck those dates, there is no valentines day. just like there is no god, no fuckin tooth fairy, no fuckin santy claws. so... yeah, lost my aohell job in... two thousand two, met goatroach in two thousand three, started dating in two thousand four, biggest mistake of my life. i never wanted to do with my life what everyone else wanted me to do with my life.
god, i hate everyone. really trying to focus here, only talking to my fuckin self.
my daughter was born march second, two thousand six. seven twenty am. the mother of my children was born january second, nineteen seventy one. my mother's car was a seventy one chevy nova. my mother was born october eight, nineteen fifty nine. the stock market crashed on october twenty nine, nineteen twenty nine. my grandmother was born the day after that. imagine being pregnant, and the day before you give birth to that child, the world goes to shit. if you've seen 'the crow', my grandmother was born on devil's night, the worst possible day in recent history. i was born in a good year. generation x, libra, along with my mother, and year of the horse. look up my birth chart, but that doesn't mean much to me. meant more to the mother of my children. the year i was born, bill hicks started doing comedy, and nineteen seventy nine started off with black sabbath kicking ozzy out. i used to remember so many other little dated factoids from around that time, but... not anymore. i was born september twenty six, nineteen seventy eight, six:twelve pm. i don't tell people where anymore, and really... only when it's being put in the book, will i say it that one last time.
after my daughter was born, her mother got the crazy idea in her head that after putting me in psych wards "failed", that she and the baby weren't safe around me, so she left for florida with my daughter, and left me with an apartment full of crap i couldn't move alone, no one to help, and rigged it to where the apartment owner needed us to leave, so i had to be out and couldn't take anything. stayed with my cousin for a couple months before compromising and moving back in with mom even though i didn't want to. most of all the stupid choices and compromises i made in my life, were because i was avoiding the streets, but if i had been homeless twenty years ago, i would have built up my own life already by now...
moving on. god, it's hard to talk about or even write about this shit. even thinking about it, just puts me in the worst mood. i'm just super stoned right now, in my van, after chiropractic with genie, and drowning in her deep brown eyes. gorgeous little woman packin' a massive soul.
got this stupid stomach to shut up this long, but feels like it's waking up again. worse than a baby.
i really thought i could do this without my brain stopping. kickstart this motherfucker, man. come on.
two thousand six. march second, rayne was born. three months later, goatroach takes her to florida. at that point, as far as i was concerned, our relationship was over. when she came back from florida, she had no choice but to move in with my mother and i... and my grandmother... and i refused to talk to her. when her and i had gotten together, she had this twit friend... i don't know why she hung out with this rancid woman, but... i think she was clueless that the woman hung out with her to make herself look better, but... why anyone would choose goatroach to make themselves look better... that's like thor standing next to swamp thing and saying 'does this make my butt look too big'. except for the fact that they were both really really ugly, just... in completely opposite ways. twit was thin and popular ugly, whereas goatroach was fat and wannabe popular ugly. and they were equally clueless. can't believe my brain's even reaching back there. anyway, because of that twit, just after my daughter was born, cops showed up at our door. i don't want to tell these details. it's not relevant, no one's business, i shouldn't have to.
whole point of that, it took two years, from two thousand four, to two thousand six, and only because twit was dating a cop, but... long story super duper short, i got five years of probation, starting just before my son was born, in fall of two thousand seven. october seventeenth, i believe. so i was due to be off october twenty twelve. so... late two thousand seven. fall. my grandmother had a long lost brother who died, and she got fifty grand, then she got a usda loan for a house, so we all moved into the house in january two thousand eight.
my mother and i hated arizona. we wanted out so bad. it was a vortex. when i was in high school, i had a friend named dana. after high school, she had moved up to portland oregon, and invited my mother and i up there. june first, nineteen ninety nine, i had been doing telemarketing, which i absolutely loathed. so i was very happy to quit that job. i remember actually, it was a girl i was dating around then, that actually picked me up from the job when i quit. i remember i had a pin on my badge that i couldn't get off, so i just handed the whole thing to my supervisor. i hated every moment of that in so many ways. i had bits of fun, i had a few good coworkers who smoked a lot of weed, had bits of fun sitting in people's cars after work, this girl millie i knew... other tiny lost memories. not much importance now. this guy brad, and i forget the cute blonde's name, allison, maybe? really couldn't matter less now. allison would never have dated me. the job sucked balls. it was so horrible and pointless. 'do you have ten cents a minute?', shut the fuck up. so... june first, i got to quit my job. or somewhere around there. girl i was dating picked me up. and my mother and i, along with my friend nannette, rented a uhaul and drove up to portland oregon. had some rough spots along the way, unexpected setbacks and stress, but made it, and stayed in dana's three bedroom trailer, mom in her own room, me and nannette in the other, till nannette bailed, i forget how or why. i just remember her insulting me when she was saying goodbye, and i didn't know why. looking back, i really don't think any of my high school friends really liked me all that much, and i honestly don't think i liked them much, i'm glad i wasn't more invested than i was comfortable with, i would have gotten screwed worse. nannette, dana, naomi... out of everyone, if i could still be friends with any of them, or even wanted to, if i think it would still be worth my while, it would really only be dana and naomi anymore, everyone else pissed me off in theor own unique way. from tara, to names i don't even want to say again, the women, the men, all of them, just pointless fucks and bad friends.
but... fuck high school. portland oregon, only got to stay there for a year and a half... fuck this, skip ahead, skip ahead. if you fuckers really wanna know about this shit, you gotta interview me, fuck this.
fuck the past.
daughter born...
five years in a house... nothing happened...
nuthing good anyway...
lost everything in twenty thirteen, became homeless, left hell in twenty fourteen, now i'm just skipping ahead way too fast, but that's how i'd rather do it...
left hell, may thirty first, twenty fourteen. my mother would pass away exactly a year later, when i was hitchhiking up the coast of california.
so... twenty fourteen. got up to spokane. nine days of crap, became homeless and free. left spokane in august, got to seattle...
seattle from august twenty fourteen, till january twenty fifteen, last week of january in bellingham, that hasn't even been relevant or told in years... then portland for february twenty fifteen, the month i was there, arrested twice for scraping resin, despite what the cops say, they harrass homeless people for anything and everything, they'll charge a white bum for just for being black. they don't care what you're doing, you're a criminal. they said so, and it's always their word against yours, and you have no say despite what the constitution says.
then down to san francisco, what a fuckin mistake that was, for march and april, most of may in humboldt county, even bigger mistake, found out my mother died on july fourth, and went down to los angeles my august twenty fifteen, stayed there doing nothing at all till may twenty sixteen, i did at least get myself a laptop there, after the first two pawn shop laptops had been stolen, i hate this fuckin planet.
lost angeles was possibly the biggest mistake i've ever made. period. pun intended. or whatever. my neck hurts so bad right now, i can't even think.
so... left los angeles in may twenty sixteen, got back to seattle, i lose friends like a pro. just kicking bad people to the curb left and right, being thrown out like trash myself as often as seasons change.
spent two years here in seattle doing absolutely nothing. trying to do something, but accomplishing nothing, succeeding at nothing, anything i attempt is... thwarted by some invisible nemesis, some villain i can't even see. it smells like money, but it looks like a mannequin.
aaand... is that really as far as i'm going with this? this thing right here, i know i've already written this at least twenty times. probably five on facebook alone if you include the seattle homeless coalition. fuckin look it up, that was me. i'm a real invisible piece of shit, man. got no one's attention in five years. absolutely no one. except the four ladies i know now. jennifer, desiree, genie, and sophia. between the five of us, we've gotta be able to think of something cool. especially if you consider me the coolest mind of the group. not smartest, but coolest.
i know i'm capable of better shit than this, though, so i really just need to stop talking about the past, i know that, i give no fucks about the past, only other people who wonder where i've come from... it's not relevant. not to where i'm going, i've disconnected for traumatic purposes... or therapeutic, however you see it...
whatever... maybe this was another bad idea. i pictured a timeline in my head, dates, but by the time i get this open, my mind's already fucked.
dates i can remember...
september second, two thousand.
june first, nineteen ninety nine.
ozzfest ninety six and ninety seven, black sabbath reunited... pantera, testament, slayer, machine head, fear factory, marilyn manson, offspring, motley crue... from ninety four till ninety eight, had some bad ass concerts, and some horrible experiences, bad and interesting stories, but none of it was my life, or what i wanted to live, i knew i was in the wrong place to live my life, around the wrong people. looking back, i really knew it that whole time, in one way or another.
june first, ninety nine, we moved up to oregon.
september second, two thousand, that dream was destroyed.
by my mother's birthday, october eight, two thousand, we had made it back to hell with little more than we left with. a uhaul full of crap. naomi threw us a welcome back to hell party, and during that party, my mom was telling her about all the crap we lost in the move, and naomi (who didn't want to hear about lost material bullshit, cause who does) asked my mother, 'don't you feel lighter?', and mom realized after a few minutes of deep thought, she did.
all hearts were broken. all dreams were shattered.
i don't know how any of this happened once that happened, but i always figured the nine eleven bullshit had something to do with it.
i worked at a local record store from halloween till new years eve, two thousand one, and then worked tech support for aohell from spring till fall two thousand two, got my studio apartment for two years, lost my job to outsourcing, lost friends, got friends back, lost friends again... i'm... there was so much horrible shit that happened all around this time, my studio apartment was possibly the best and worst time of my life equally. i was a hermit for a year and a half of it because trying to have friends in there was such a mistake, and led... well...
led to the mother of my children, and a ten year path of wreckage.
two thousand eight. house. computer. car. two thousand nine... movies.
twenty ten, lost my kids, got newton, diabetic, gastroparesis, more movies, dvd and bluray collection, dual monitors, five point one surround sound... therapy.
twenty eleven, miserable year, fucking alone. movies... therapy... probation... hatred.
twenty twelve. june, met her, got hot sauce... twenty thirteen, became homeless, lost everything including finally her too...
twenty fourteen, left hell, started traveling... is this seriously all i feel like saying about these points in time anymore? i guess so, man...
i fuckin hate the rest.
but oh well. didn't matter to anyone else anyway, why would it suddenly matter when i finally do something.
how about this... for twenty years, wanted to start a metal band, but couldn't. for ten years, wanted to start my own restaurant, but couldn't.
for five years, wanted to start my own country or tech company, but couldn't. for ten years, even tried to start my own photography.
tried to start college once, and just got an earfull of 'prerequisite' bullshit, and got fucked into all the wrong classes... god, people suck, but rules suck worse, because they allow people to be pricks.
god, my life is a disaster from every angle.
i'm half battery, so... gotta stop soon.
hate this planet.
that didn't work either...
okay, so... seattle... why, why did i come here? i could have done better anywhere else. i could have had an rv with its own tv a year ago in fuckin tennessee, and possibly started a metal band, too, man... fuck seattle, people here are fake, empty, and they suck.
i don't know what i'm still typing for, this failed in two different ways at least. just put a fuckin movie on, man, fuck this.
jennifer, i'm sorry, i tried again. and failed again. i'll keep trying. this has to come out of me some way, some how... sorry.
i'm gonna keep trying anyway while i've got battery for now... see what else pours out.
seattle... god, even as far as gathering homeless information, this is a fuckin... it's like trying to find a hundred needles in a ten acre field of hay. and sew them together with one string, in alphabetical order, on the first fuckin try, that's what this is. fuck this. it's almost four twenty.
time to smoke.
god, i hate my life, hate my brain, hate myself, hate this fuckin world. hate these fuckin people, hate that i have to do any of this shit, but i only want to do what i want to do, and not what the world or anyone else wants me to do, and i'm... fuck this, man, i hate everything.
have to think my way out of your nightmare just to live my life without you telling me how to live yours, what did you ever tell me to live your life in the first place, you sick fuck.
what hell was this.
this neck is killing me.
i just have to stop, i can't keep this going, i want to with the battery left, but... my mind just won't cooperate. i can't do this.
if my head didn't hurt so bad because of my neck... maybe, but i can't even get my fingers to hit the right fucking keys anymore, so... fuck it.
after seattle, there's really nothing else to tell. finally got a van and a laptop... gotta find a girlfriend, and get my ass on a stage soon.
fuck it, that's about it. fuck the rest of this shit. i have youtoob videos i need to make. mental excrement i need to expel, move!
why did i try this, why did i do this, why? i knew it would end up this way, it always does, every time, consistently. it's because no one else knows that. ahh. well. fuck it. why did i ever start writing? cause i hated explaining myself. hmm. god, could i ever hit the right keys ever again!
what the fuck happened to my fingers, man, i used to be a quick fuckin typer, now i hit backspace more than i hit any keys, i'm surprised i get anything typed. if i'm typing more than one word an hour, i'll be impressed. fuck this. hate myself.
so... fuck it, i guess that's it. if i write anymore, i'm literally going to hit myself. and the more i type, the less letters i hit right, so... fuck it. i tried.
this is how bad i fail at getting my own thoughts out of my own head when trying with my own honest earnest effort... i'm fucked.
no one will help me or understand what's blocking me... wow... okay, back up about ten words... the word 'help'... in this very line... took me ten fucking attempts to type correctly! wow! impressive! doing great, son! i'm done. save it, close it, shut her down.
i don't want to tell the stories again. of my mother, my grandmother, everyone else... so... fuck it, i don't know, looking back is just pointless to me.
no more looking back.
1978 born.
job at aohell, met the mother of my children just before my twenty fifth birthday. distracted by my wallpaper for a minute. now it's a mushroom, okay. i hate everything. that was two thousand three, september. so that means... fuck those dates, there is no valentines day. just like there is no god, no fuckin tooth fairy, no fuckin santy claws. so... yeah, lost my aohell job in... two thousand two, met goatroach in two thousand three, started dating in two thousand four, biggest mistake of my life. i never wanted to do with my life what everyone else wanted me to do with my life.
god, i hate everyone. really trying to focus here, only talking to my fuckin self.
my daughter was born march second, two thousand six. seven twenty am. the mother of my children was born january second, nineteen seventy one. my mother's car was a seventy one chevy nova. my mother was born october eight, nineteen fifty nine. the stock market crashed on october twenty nine, nineteen twenty nine. my grandmother was born the day after that. imagine being pregnant, and the day before you give birth to that child, the world goes to shit. if you've seen 'the crow', my grandmother was born on devil's night, the worst possible day in recent history. i was born in a good year. generation x, libra, along with my mother, and year of the horse. look up my birth chart, but that doesn't mean much to me. meant more to the mother of my children. the year i was born, bill hicks started doing comedy, and nineteen seventy nine started off with black sabbath kicking ozzy out. i used to remember so many other little dated factoids from around that time, but... not anymore. i was born september twenty six, nineteen seventy eight, six:twelve pm. i don't tell people where anymore, and really... only when it's being put in the book, will i say it that one last time.
after my daughter was born, her mother got the crazy idea in her head that after putting me in psych wards "failed", that she and the baby weren't safe around me, so she left for florida with my daughter, and left me with an apartment full of crap i couldn't move alone, no one to help, and rigged it to where the apartment owner needed us to leave, so i had to be out and couldn't take anything. stayed with my cousin for a couple months before compromising and moving back in with mom even though i didn't want to. most of all the stupid choices and compromises i made in my life, were because i was avoiding the streets, but if i had been homeless twenty years ago, i would have built up my own life already by now...
moving on. god, it's hard to talk about or even write about this shit. even thinking about it, just puts me in the worst mood. i'm just super stoned right now, in my van, after chiropractic with genie, and drowning in her deep brown eyes. gorgeous little woman packin' a massive soul.
got this stupid stomach to shut up this long, but feels like it's waking up again. worse than a baby.
i really thought i could do this without my brain stopping. kickstart this motherfucker, man. come on.
two thousand six. march second, rayne was born. three months later, goatroach takes her to florida. at that point, as far as i was concerned, our relationship was over. when she came back from florida, she had no choice but to move in with my mother and i... and my grandmother... and i refused to talk to her. when her and i had gotten together, she had this twit friend... i don't know why she hung out with this rancid woman, but... i think she was clueless that the woman hung out with her to make herself look better, but... why anyone would choose goatroach to make themselves look better... that's like thor standing next to swamp thing and saying 'does this make my butt look too big'. except for the fact that they were both really really ugly, just... in completely opposite ways. twit was thin and popular ugly, whereas goatroach was fat and wannabe popular ugly. and they were equally clueless. can't believe my brain's even reaching back there. anyway, because of that twit, just after my daughter was born, cops showed up at our door. i don't want to tell these details. it's not relevant, no one's business, i shouldn't have to.
whole point of that, it took two years, from two thousand four, to two thousand six, and only because twit was dating a cop, but... long story super duper short, i got five years of probation, starting just before my son was born, in fall of two thousand seven. october seventeenth, i believe. so i was due to be off october twenty twelve. so... late two thousand seven. fall. my grandmother had a long lost brother who died, and she got fifty grand, then she got a usda loan for a house, so we all moved into the house in january two thousand eight.
my mother and i hated arizona. we wanted out so bad. it was a vortex. when i was in high school, i had a friend named dana. after high school, she had moved up to portland oregon, and invited my mother and i up there. june first, nineteen ninety nine, i had been doing telemarketing, which i absolutely loathed. so i was very happy to quit that job. i remember actually, it was a girl i was dating around then, that actually picked me up from the job when i quit. i remember i had a pin on my badge that i couldn't get off, so i just handed the whole thing to my supervisor. i hated every moment of that in so many ways. i had bits of fun, i had a few good coworkers who smoked a lot of weed, had bits of fun sitting in people's cars after work, this girl millie i knew... other tiny lost memories. not much importance now. this guy brad, and i forget the cute blonde's name, allison, maybe? really couldn't matter less now. allison would never have dated me. the job sucked balls. it was so horrible and pointless. 'do you have ten cents a minute?', shut the fuck up. so... june first, i got to quit my job. or somewhere around there. girl i was dating picked me up. and my mother and i, along with my friend nannette, rented a uhaul and drove up to portland oregon. had some rough spots along the way, unexpected setbacks and stress, but made it, and stayed in dana's three bedroom trailer, mom in her own room, me and nannette in the other, till nannette bailed, i forget how or why. i just remember her insulting me when she was saying goodbye, and i didn't know why. looking back, i really don't think any of my high school friends really liked me all that much, and i honestly don't think i liked them much, i'm glad i wasn't more invested than i was comfortable with, i would have gotten screwed worse. nannette, dana, naomi... out of everyone, if i could still be friends with any of them, or even wanted to, if i think it would still be worth my while, it would really only be dana and naomi anymore, everyone else pissed me off in theor own unique way. from tara, to names i don't even want to say again, the women, the men, all of them, just pointless fucks and bad friends.
but... fuck high school. portland oregon, only got to stay there for a year and a half... fuck this, skip ahead, skip ahead. if you fuckers really wanna know about this shit, you gotta interview me, fuck this.
fuck the past.
daughter born...
five years in a house... nothing happened...
nuthing good anyway...
lost everything in twenty thirteen, became homeless, left hell in twenty fourteen, now i'm just skipping ahead way too fast, but that's how i'd rather do it...
left hell, may thirty first, twenty fourteen. my mother would pass away exactly a year later, when i was hitchhiking up the coast of california.
so... twenty fourteen. got up to spokane. nine days of crap, became homeless and free. left spokane in august, got to seattle...
seattle from august twenty fourteen, till january twenty fifteen, last week of january in bellingham, that hasn't even been relevant or told in years... then portland for february twenty fifteen, the month i was there, arrested twice for scraping resin, despite what the cops say, they harrass homeless people for anything and everything, they'll charge a white bum for just for being black. they don't care what you're doing, you're a criminal. they said so, and it's always their word against yours, and you have no say despite what the constitution says.
then down to san francisco, what a fuckin mistake that was, for march and april, most of may in humboldt county, even bigger mistake, found out my mother died on july fourth, and went down to los angeles my august twenty fifteen, stayed there doing nothing at all till may twenty sixteen, i did at least get myself a laptop there, after the first two pawn shop laptops had been stolen, i hate this fuckin planet.
lost angeles was possibly the biggest mistake i've ever made. period. pun intended. or whatever. my neck hurts so bad right now, i can't even think.
so... left los angeles in may twenty sixteen, got back to seattle, i lose friends like a pro. just kicking bad people to the curb left and right, being thrown out like trash myself as often as seasons change.
spent two years here in seattle doing absolutely nothing. trying to do something, but accomplishing nothing, succeeding at nothing, anything i attempt is... thwarted by some invisible nemesis, some villain i can't even see. it smells like money, but it looks like a mannequin.
aaand... is that really as far as i'm going with this? this thing right here, i know i've already written this at least twenty times. probably five on facebook alone if you include the seattle homeless coalition. fuckin look it up, that was me. i'm a real invisible piece of shit, man. got no one's attention in five years. absolutely no one. except the four ladies i know now. jennifer, desiree, genie, and sophia. between the five of us, we've gotta be able to think of something cool. especially if you consider me the coolest mind of the group. not smartest, but coolest.
i know i'm capable of better shit than this, though, so i really just need to stop talking about the past, i know that, i give no fucks about the past, only other people who wonder where i've come from... it's not relevant. not to where i'm going, i've disconnected for traumatic purposes... or therapeutic, however you see it...
whatever... maybe this was another bad idea. i pictured a timeline in my head, dates, but by the time i get this open, my mind's already fucked.
dates i can remember...
september second, two thousand.
june first, nineteen ninety nine.
ozzfest ninety six and ninety seven, black sabbath reunited... pantera, testament, slayer, machine head, fear factory, marilyn manson, offspring, motley crue... from ninety four till ninety eight, had some bad ass concerts, and some horrible experiences, bad and interesting stories, but none of it was my life, or what i wanted to live, i knew i was in the wrong place to live my life, around the wrong people. looking back, i really knew it that whole time, in one way or another.
june first, ninety nine, we moved up to oregon.
september second, two thousand, that dream was destroyed.
by my mother's birthday, october eight, two thousand, we had made it back to hell with little more than we left with. a uhaul full of crap. naomi threw us a welcome back to hell party, and during that party, my mom was telling her about all the crap we lost in the move, and naomi (who didn't want to hear about lost material bullshit, cause who does) asked my mother, 'don't you feel lighter?', and mom realized after a few minutes of deep thought, she did.
all hearts were broken. all dreams were shattered.
i don't know how any of this happened once that happened, but i always figured the nine eleven bullshit had something to do with it.
i worked at a local record store from halloween till new years eve, two thousand one, and then worked tech support for aohell from spring till fall two thousand two, got my studio apartment for two years, lost my job to outsourcing, lost friends, got friends back, lost friends again... i'm... there was so much horrible shit that happened all around this time, my studio apartment was possibly the best and worst time of my life equally. i was a hermit for a year and a half of it because trying to have friends in there was such a mistake, and led... well...
led to the mother of my children, and a ten year path of wreckage.
two thousand eight. house. computer. car. two thousand nine... movies.
twenty ten, lost my kids, got newton, diabetic, gastroparesis, more movies, dvd and bluray collection, dual monitors, five point one surround sound... therapy.
twenty eleven, miserable year, fucking alone. movies... therapy... probation... hatred.
twenty twelve. june, met her, got hot sauce... twenty thirteen, became homeless, lost everything including finally her too...
twenty fourteen, left hell, started traveling... is this seriously all i feel like saying about these points in time anymore? i guess so, man...
i fuckin hate the rest.
but oh well. didn't matter to anyone else anyway, why would it suddenly matter when i finally do something.
how about this... for twenty years, wanted to start a metal band, but couldn't. for ten years, wanted to start my own restaurant, but couldn't.
for five years, wanted to start my own country or tech company, but couldn't. for ten years, even tried to start my own photography.
tried to start college once, and just got an earfull of 'prerequisite' bullshit, and got fucked into all the wrong classes... god, people suck, but rules suck worse, because they allow people to be pricks.
god, my life is a disaster from every angle.
i'm half battery, so... gotta stop soon.
hate this planet.
that didn't work either...
okay, so... seattle... why, why did i come here? i could have done better anywhere else. i could have had an rv with its own tv a year ago in fuckin tennessee, and possibly started a metal band, too, man... fuck seattle, people here are fake, empty, and they suck.
i don't know what i'm still typing for, this failed in two different ways at least. just put a fuckin movie on, man, fuck this.
jennifer, i'm sorry, i tried again. and failed again. i'll keep trying. this has to come out of me some way, some how... sorry.
i'm gonna keep trying anyway while i've got battery for now... see what else pours out.
seattle... god, even as far as gathering homeless information, this is a fuckin... it's like trying to find a hundred needles in a ten acre field of hay. and sew them together with one string, in alphabetical order, on the first fuckin try, that's what this is. fuck this. it's almost four twenty.
time to smoke.
god, i hate my life, hate my brain, hate myself, hate this fuckin world. hate these fuckin people, hate that i have to do any of this shit, but i only want to do what i want to do, and not what the world or anyone else wants me to do, and i'm... fuck this, man, i hate everything.
have to think my way out of your nightmare just to live my life without you telling me how to live yours, what did you ever tell me to live your life in the first place, you sick fuck.
what hell was this.
this neck is killing me.
i just have to stop, i can't keep this going, i want to with the battery left, but... my mind just won't cooperate. i can't do this.
if my head didn't hurt so bad because of my neck... maybe, but i can't even get my fingers to hit the right fucking keys anymore, so... fuck it.
after seattle, there's really nothing else to tell. finally got a van and a laptop... gotta find a girlfriend, and get my ass on a stage soon.
fuck it, that's about it. fuck the rest of this shit. i have youtoob videos i need to make. mental excrement i need to expel, move!
why did i try this, why did i do this, why? i knew it would end up this way, it always does, every time, consistently. it's because no one else knows that. ahh. well. fuck it. why did i ever start writing? cause i hated explaining myself. hmm. god, could i ever hit the right keys ever again!
what the fuck happened to my fingers, man, i used to be a quick fuckin typer, now i hit backspace more than i hit any keys, i'm surprised i get anything typed. if i'm typing more than one word an hour, i'll be impressed. fuck this. hate myself.
so... fuck it, i guess that's it. if i write anymore, i'm literally going to hit myself. and the more i type, the less letters i hit right, so... fuck it. i tried.
this is how bad i fail at getting my own thoughts out of my own head when trying with my own honest earnest effort... i'm fucked.
no one will help me or understand what's blocking me... wow... okay, back up about ten words... the word 'help'... in this very line... took me ten fucking attempts to type correctly! wow! impressive! doing great, son! i'm done. save it, close it, shut her down.
Monday, January 28, 2019
hot chocolate and heavy metal
hahaha! god, look at that! i can't even post a fucking blog right! ha! lovin this fuckin life, lord! exceptional fuckin life! just can't get any better! can't even type this! my fucking fingers won't even cooperate!
since i hate starfucks so much, and hate coffee and normal people and pop music so much...
i really can't wait, someday, i want to open my own heavy metal hot chocolate shop.
we play heavy fuckin metal.
we serve a variety of hot chocolates.
we allow smoking of weed and cigarettes.
we allow nudity and sex.
we hate starfucks. we hate children, especially yours.
we do not allow children, dogs, or normal people.
i've pictured my own restaurant with my own foods.
i've pictured having my own country, my own sovereign nation with my own politics, religion, social structure, cultural customs...
i've pictured having my own computer company, giving microcrap a run for their domination.
but i'm just an ugly piece of shit who doesn't deserve any real genuine human friends.
if i even had a heavy metal hot chocolate shop, who the fuck would come?
you know damn well it would turn into the next 'cheers', with me, patton oswalt, and brian posehn sitting together talking about how much loneliness sucks.
oh, wait, scratch that, it would just be me, both those dorks are married.
fuck, i hate life. everything about this life, i fuckin hate it all. like a pro.
since i hate starfucks so much, and hate coffee and normal people and pop music so much...
i really can't wait, someday, i want to open my own heavy metal hot chocolate shop.
we play heavy fuckin metal.
we serve a variety of hot chocolates.
we allow smoking of weed and cigarettes.
we allow nudity and sex.
we hate starfucks. we hate children, especially yours.
we do not allow children, dogs, or normal people.
i've pictured my own restaurant with my own foods.
i've pictured having my own country, my own sovereign nation with my own politics, religion, social structure, cultural customs...
i've pictured having my own computer company, giving microcrap a run for their domination.
but i'm just an ugly piece of shit who doesn't deserve any real genuine human friends.
if i even had a heavy metal hot chocolate shop, who the fuck would come?
you know damn well it would turn into the next 'cheers', with me, patton oswalt, and brian posehn sitting together talking about how much loneliness sucks.
oh, wait, scratch that, it would just be me, both those dorks are married.
fuck, i hate life. everything about this life, i fuckin hate it all. like a pro.
weather tiles
god, this is so fun! last time i had a laptop, windows ten, fully updated, on the windows ten start menu, you can have a weather tile that shows your current weather, but by the time i lost that last laptop... heh. oh, god, i have to even just say this... the stupid weather tile, for some stupid reason, will only show the weather for washington dc. no matter what you click, it will not update. i searched the internet several months ago, saw a few other people complaining about the same thing, but no solution. so now, this new laptop, i have the weather tile on my goddamnit get this fucking gas demon out of my fucking chest! it hurts! eeehhh, really trying to keep what little sanity is left, but i'm even having to treat my keyboard like a child, and type extra slow, so i don't fuck up every letter and have to hit nothing but backspace till my heart implodes, this life is so fucking fun! having a great fuckin time! heh. males just staring at me left and right. anyway, the stupid weather tile still shows washington dc and nothing else, so i opened the program, and pinned the seatac tile to the start menu, and now it just won't show any weather, isn't that nice? ha! that's technology for you, god, how slowly i had to type technology just now. oh, i'm loving every moment. this hell you've given me, lord! plenty of reason to believe in you, right? i could invent better technology in my sleep. you know what, i'll spare you this rant shit, i'll just cut and paste this on my fuckin blog. i'm sorry. you don't deserve this shit from me.
thanks for what
okay, so... the library's closed today. i really need to use a restroom soon. ihop's gonna be crowded. there's a thanksgiving dinner thing i need to get to. i need to do some thinking, and i don't know what to do. i need to do google searches and watch youtube shit to learn what i need to do here in los angeles to meet the right people, and not get fucked by the wrong ones. cause apparently, they're all over the place here.
there's still something i'm not understanding, can't figure out. i don't know if it's even 'how to be social', or... 'where to go to find people', or 'do i really want to sit on a bus and put two dollars in the slot'. i do not like spending money on bus rides. whatever little money i have, is weed, smokes, or food. so i've got till december first to figure out what to spend my money on. that's twosday. this is thursday. five days. can i do this without help.
google searches. youtube. how the fuck do i meet people, that's what i need to google, but that doesn't translate. where do i go. what part of town would have a person i could meet that i could actually trust, which it's unlikely that would be anyone at this point, i don't know anyone, but if such a person existed, where would they be, how would i know, how would i meet them, and what the fuck face do i need to put on? traveling and being social, i've had to wear so many faces, i'm not sure what they want to see. my first impressions are fucked anyway, but i'm sick of trying to dominate conversations when i'm clearly not the focus in these mouthflapping idiots' minds. people can't listen anymore, so trying to find anyone to listen to me is going to be pointless. i'm fucked.
so i communicate online at least. i find people in places where i can finish sentences. okay, where is that. google websites for los angeles what? hangouts? do i start using meetup, and meeting those people? or are they all too normal and opinionated?
fuck, maybe i need to figure out which talent i want to pursue first, which i still haven't been able to focus on. is now the time to try? fuck it, i'll just start trying to answer my own questions as if i'm someone else, cause no one else is ever going to answer with anything i want to hear anyway. i've got five days. what do i do today.
is there a chatroom i wonder. being allergic to money, it's not going to be easy talking to anyone here. they snort that shit, then wipe their nose with it, then stuff it in their bra. god, what the fuck am i doing here.
i come to los angeles to find what i need, but it's also full of everything i'm trying to get away from, what a fucking conundrum, yeah, there's really a god up there who designed this shit. when are religious people going to get a clue. fuck off with your toxic breath. get away from me. thanks, god, for putting every possible obstacle in the one place i need to be at the moment, that's... that's intelligent design. how the fuck do i wade through this pool to find... ah, duh, that's it. where's maynard? he'll know what to do. duh, telepathy.
what would maynard do. fuck jebus mcbeiber. what would maynard do. okay, maynard. come on, buddy, los angeles. point me in a direction. where are there no assholes. is that what i should be asking. where is what. what am i even looking for.
music. open mic. books. movies. clothing. food. computers. religion. ozztek industries. church of evolution. from there...? do i even remember what else was next? how much can i accomplish here before i can get the fuck out of here, buy a castle in ireland, and disappear. what goals of mine are still realistic? simplify the shit.
first album.
first book.
open mic.
try to find geeks.
but the religion would help with all that, i just need to find someone who can do (or has done) the research on how to start an actual religion, and i don't know how the fuck to find that yet, other than hours of youtube which i'm not up for just yet. but i need to start doing a lot of youtube, whether i like it or not. information. what do i do.
god, this shit's confusing. why the fuck do people do this. trying to bring my head down to the los angeles concrete level... it's fucking painful. but i've been in the clouds too long. not translating to people.
i didn't learn much in that area from my family, oddly enough. i told you, they were social butterflies, but had no clue what they were saying. i had a clue, but wasn't heard. that's the past i'm just stumbling out of, and tired of talking about. so how do i speak stupid? google doesn't translate poetry to stupid.
mensa needs to be done at some point, but i'm not sure those idiots would understand me any better. opinions are the poison of a conversation. you can fuckin' quote me on that. an opinion can suffocate a good debate. that's the bumpersticker version. copyright my fuckin' black ass.
what the fuck can i do. five days. today, i google. tomorrow, i youtube. the weekend, i rest, watch movies. i can do this sober, it's only five days, and then i can look forward to getting myself stoned. alone.
i really like being alone. and that's still top priority. i need to get a place to live and be alone. be able to shut the fucking door. keep it shut. lock it. i have to have my own space here soon, my body can't do this shit much longer. so what do i spend my money on next month? a cheap motel? and then panhandle for food, smokes, and weed the rest of the month? i fucking hate panhandling! unless i can find a good enough spot, and get enough that i could actually put some in the bank at the end of each day. i need to equal out again how much... well... goddamnit.
it's been too long. what i used to do, that might have actually worked had anyone else involved listened, but that was never the case, so this never actually got to work, but now that i'm alone... if i could only have some quiet thinking space, i could figure this shit out again, but i used to add up how much i smoked and ate each day, and subtracted that from the month money and shit like that...
when i'm panhandling, this is what i usually live on. five bucks gets me a pack of smokes, that lasts me a day. another five bucks, i eat for the day. two bucks left at the end of the day, that's a hot chocolate the next morning. i try to get free weed, but i just have to face the harsh reality that there's no such thing anymore. that dream is dead and gone. i think maybe that's what i've been realizing lately, is that most of my dreams are outdated or gone. or will fail to translate, unless i can be the only one behind it, and to do that, i need a place of my own. what i've always pictured, is having a big fucking castle in ireland, surrounded by a moat. it would have my own recording studio, a little movie production studio thing where i could make videos, however long, however made, whether digitally created, or filmed, whatever i can get. have the house filled with naked female slaves who help me do everything. have one trained to record whatever audio really well, so when i want to write a song, i get her and we head to the studio room. or if i want to film something, get my camera girl, shit like that. writing, voice recorder, whatever.
so... december first, i'll have about a thousand dollars. how much is a cheap motel for the month. that phone call needs to be made, that price needs to be found out, and written in a notepad. i'm hoping i can get one for only about six hundred. that leaves hopefully four hundred for smokes and weed, but i can't spend any money on food this month. i can never control that, it's too easy when i'm hungry to just walk into a subway, with my own money, and buy a sandwich, and enjoy it. it's too fucking expensive, i can't do it. i have to stop. when i get hungry, sitting there and begging for food is retarded, and leaves no enjoyment. but i cannot spend money on food anymore, it's worse than the weed. the weed is way too expensive, leaving my cheapest priority cigarettes. what the fuck.
i need weed. if i have a place to stay, i can get boxes of oatmeal and cereal and shit. i can't even remember now what home foods i still liked.
i know i need oatmeal. cereal. shit... what foods do i still like? i just blew my own mind. realized i hadn't thought of that in a while. what the fuck foods do i like? especially if i'm still sticking to the cheap ones. i haven't been in a store in so long. i'm sick of noodle anything, i know that. pasta and breads are mostly out. i need meats, veggies, fruits, salads and shit. sandwiches, only if the meat to bread ratio is even. the last quiznos i had, that claudia bought me, had almost no meat, i felt bad, i should have asked the quiznos lady for extra, but then it would have cost claudia, i hate when i'm caught in those fucked situations. trying to give claudia a good impression of quiznos, and we get sandwiches that have no fucking meat, minimal flavour. why was it so good when i introduced... my wife to it.
i've gotta stop saying that, too. i think it's giving people the wrong idea. i need to stop talking about my past period. i'm sick of it. my kids are all that i should bring up, and that's only at the right time. my mother being dead, leave that in the past. my wife, the mother of my children, my old computer, stop talking about all of it. the traveling, the trip, the other cities, just focus on the next five steps, and nothing behind me. that's my new daily routine, actually, that's a good idea.
daily steps: food, smokes, weed, wifi.
big steps: first album, first book, open mic.
small steps: find metalheads, write blogs, and... motivation for stage.
i need to email claudia, sandra, carol, and (wings of laughter) monique. i need to call sarah.
i'll focus on those first.
then i need to use meetup.com, bandmix.com... what else. should i do craigslist? i say no, i hate that site. what other sites. save them on my bar and phone. freecycle? couchsurfing.com?
goddamnit.
is there a roommates.com i wonder. although... should i even try that. i was thinking a guest house in someone's backyard, but this is so not tucson. i don't think there are any small houses in this city. and what about transportation then? i really need to look into getting my own hippie van, and just parking it wherever, but then i still have to worry about a restroom every night, wifi. what the fuck do i do?
i need the motel. to think, at the very least. i need weed. do i get a card again?
next month priorities:
new id.
new weed card.
motel.
at least i still have the laptop, so that's no longer a priority, and i like my phone. so, i guess i haven't rethought my priorities since i finally got those two done. how long has it been since i've thought about this? how long was i trying?
anyway, i have laptop and phone taken care of, so now... what were the other priorities? i really need to use a restroom, and i'm so sick of seeing so many fucking cops driving by here, goddamnit! how many of you do there have to be, seriously? my focus is fucked because of you and hot women, i can't think for five seconds anymore.
maybe i need to give in and adapt to that. just never getting to think to myself anymore. constantly coming up for air and getting tiny little breaths, instead of sitting on shore. this is what the aquarius book said, and i've always loved that part, but living it is different.
can i appreciate doing it all alone. can i learn to appreciate being alone. can i give up on ever being touched again.
everything else is just too much chaos. the waves never stop. my mother's not here anymore to show anyway, so this is... eyes forward to the end of the road, now. basically. dive in the water, and never look back.
fuck it. might as well. nothing to look back to. i really thought this life would have more to offer than that.
childhood was boring, lonely, and fucked. what's forward from this moment has to be better than anything behind.
what is past is prologue. mine's not even much of a prologue. i need to write. i need to lay out my dreams in an orderly fashion of whatever sort. i need to make sense of the rubble that's left. and to do that, i need thinking time, in a room, without people. i need to spend this month's money on a motel, that's all there is to it. that's what this money is going toward, and i cannot decide on anything else. i'll have to buy as much weed as i can, maybe two cartons of smokes if i can swing it, and as much oatmeal as i can with what's left. oh, yeah, what foods. that's where i was. what's cheap? i can stock up on ramen, but i'll get tired of that real quick. can i do a month of it? maybe.
sandwich stuff. ramen. i won't even have a fridge or a microwave, so making the food will be difficult, especially if there are stairs involved.
i need a hot chocolate and an oatmeal every morning. lunch, do a sandwich, or some cheap hot dog or burrito, or panhandle for whatever's around the area. been trying to get more chinese food lately, but i still love mexican food so much, i can never choose when i have to. those quick moments don't make for good decisions, especially when you're trying not to piss someone off who's helping you. but lunch, sandwiches, burritos, cheap shit. i'm getting sick of hot dogs. pizza is cheap and lasts a while. i need to stay away from the sugary shit. stick to what's simple and filling. and cheap. a daily plan. even make a phone schedule of alarms for things. i know it's too nerdy for you, but i don't give a fuck what you think, remember? hopefully you've kept track that far at least. if not, you shouldn't be here. already said that, too, but it's further back. my rewind button is broken. but anyway. then, what for dinners. what the fuck dinner food do i still like anymore? that doesn't require an oven or microwave. and i'm not doing microwave shit anymore, i'm sick of that shit. i feel like every time i eat out of a microwave, i'm chewing on nuclear cancer.
dinners. i can't keep doing nothing but cheap burritos and sandwiches all month, i need some variety. where do they have good meat with veggie combos. i'll google that one, too. i know i can find that somehow. there's gotta be an 'app' for which foods you prefer, and where to find them. and not vegetarian fake meat shit, and fuckin' tofu. who the fuck eats that? do you even know what it's made of? it can't be good. if it's made by the cia and full of poisonous shit, how would you ever know? it's the fuckin' cia, retard. don't eat tofu. stick to something that was previously breathing. until the cia is gone and we can trust where our food is coming from, vegetarians are mental. sorry, that's the way i see it. we can't trust anything at this point. i'll eat a salad and a steak, but if it looks processed through some machine, keep it the fuck away from me. if it comes out in little square cubes, i'm wondering who's ass it's coming out of. there's some dude walking around with a food factory in his robotic belly, and he's shitting out processed foods and processed popstars. i'm gonna find that fucker someday, and impale him on a parking meter, but till then, i'll stick with what looks like food. and you can take that as a metaphor for people as well. meat, salads, fruit. fuck the carbs.
i never quite got to figure out what veggies i like. i know i like broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. never been a big fan of peas and corn and shit like that. green beans are nasty. i'll stick to the trusted ones for now, until i figure out more later. fruits, i like the tropical shit, never like berries or anything like that. i miss the big fuckin' oranges in san francisco. glide had some good fucking oranges, i'll always miss those. seattle had good cupcakes. and oatmeal.
if i could find a homeless feeding place down here that feeds three times a day, that would take care of the food. i used to tell people in the other cities, that i know where to find free food, yeah... not anymore. los angeles is fucked. all the homeless shit's downtown, or way too far of a walk. i need to find somewhere i can stay plugged in, and still be able to get to all the shit i need. usually, a seven eleven has to be close by, so i can get my smokes cheap enough. weed, i can find that close enough, and not have to go that often. food is going to be difficult through december. but i'm getting a cheap motel. i need to get working on that today.
so what do i do now. at starbucks, i can't stay here much longer and watch movies. i'll dig the paper out of my case about the thanksgiving thing, and head down there. i'll come back here and sit for the night, and watch movies in my spot. tomorrow, i need to use the library and youtube educate myself on what's in this city. reading has never been easy for me unless i'm in the mood, which is rare. i have to have enough time for that shit, or i can't focus. it's like pausing a movie for me, i can't do it. so, okay. thanksgiving dinner today, then movies. tomorrow, youtube the fuck out of this city. meet people online. talk to someone. find chatrooms. fuck facebook. permanently. don't let anyone talk me into getting a new one. ever. fuck facebook. unless a hacker can get my two old accounts back someday, i'm done with facebook for good. i want those two accounts merged into one, honestly. without losing a fucking letter.
anyway. go to dinner now! stop thinking! shut up! finish off the night with movies, don't ask anyone for weed, you'll never find it, and it will detour you anyway, so just don't fucking do it. what else.
tomorrow, library. panhandling.
and actually, i won't get paid till thursday, which is a week away. seven days. so on thursday, i need to use my debit card to get me to the dmv, get my new id, get to a motel, get the room, get to a weed doctor and get a new card, get weed, two cartons of smokes, food, and rest for a month.
new id.
motel.
weed.
possible cartons. and oatmeal. i think i can do that alone. couple bus rides, a little google mapping.
and do not think about female anything! keep your fucking head down! metal in your ears!
your old life is gone. it's time to let it go. stop talking about it. they can read your blog.
just focus on... first album, first book, open mic. simplify everything. you won't get to start the computer or religion deals just yet, so put them on the back burners, and deal with the people until then.
the dominoes have completely changed order. not that they were ever quite set up. but i never had anyone to help me, and no time to think about it myself. now that i'll have time during december, i need to blog almost everything. but then the hard part is going back to it and reading over it again. i haven't had time for that in a long time.
anyway. tonight. dinner, movies. tomorrow, library. try to panhandle on the way? eugh. just map the address and go. keep your metal in your fucking ears, no excuses! and do not give out a cigarette. not even one.
i think my brain is good now. i have a much smaller set of things to focus on for now. that's all i've needed help with this whole time, and no one could help me do just that slightest little bit. i fucking hate all you people. when judgement day happens, don't expect any help from me. you're on your own. i'll give this world my visions, but i don't even expect any appreciation, cause i know i wouldn't see it for another thousand years anyway. no one lives that long. just heard the lyric in the song i'm listening to, i think tiamat. 'cause everything beautiful dies'. no, i was wrong, there's a lady singing, it's tristania, tender trip on earth. i love this song. haven't heard it in so long. especially with bass.
anyway. mama, i can't focus anymore. you're not here to tell. okay, so. go to dinner. stop thinking. it's out of your head finally. you can come back to this later. no one will help you. find space in your own head again. live in the shadows. disappear. i get to end the year being alone, at least. that's nice. not as painful as the end of twenty thirteen, that's good. motel.
everything beautiful dies.
i'll give this world my visions, but as far as support, you can fuck yourselves. don't ask me for shit. cigarettes, food, nothing. my vision will fix all that shit, so you can leave me alone. no one gives me weed, so why the fuck should i help you.
i understand what my therapist told me, don't think so black and white, and honestly, i don't, i still acknowledge in my own mind, the few who have helped me. for example, claudia bought me a dime, and she doesn't even smoke. sandra smoked with me those few times. i never forget you guys. it's just that there are so few of you in this fog, and so much linear time between us, so many miles, so many obstacles. and so many other assholes.
anyway. finally got a cloud blocking the sun, i feel like my face is fried with the colonel's special recipe.
i've gotta go. google map the location on my phone, and start walking. i won't get to use a restroom today, it will have to wait till i get back to my spot tonight, and i'll go to ihop, and do not ask anyone for weed! stop!
i also wanted to put my enya and enigma collections on my phone, but that might have to
there's still something i'm not understanding, can't figure out. i don't know if it's even 'how to be social', or... 'where to go to find people', or 'do i really want to sit on a bus and put two dollars in the slot'. i do not like spending money on bus rides. whatever little money i have, is weed, smokes, or food. so i've got till december first to figure out what to spend my money on. that's twosday. this is thursday. five days. can i do this without help.
google searches. youtube. how the fuck do i meet people, that's what i need to google, but that doesn't translate. where do i go. what part of town would have a person i could meet that i could actually trust, which it's unlikely that would be anyone at this point, i don't know anyone, but if such a person existed, where would they be, how would i know, how would i meet them, and what the fuck face do i need to put on? traveling and being social, i've had to wear so many faces, i'm not sure what they want to see. my first impressions are fucked anyway, but i'm sick of trying to dominate conversations when i'm clearly not the focus in these mouthflapping idiots' minds. people can't listen anymore, so trying to find anyone to listen to me is going to be pointless. i'm fucked.
so i communicate online at least. i find people in places where i can finish sentences. okay, where is that. google websites for los angeles what? hangouts? do i start using meetup, and meeting those people? or are they all too normal and opinionated?
fuck, maybe i need to figure out which talent i want to pursue first, which i still haven't been able to focus on. is now the time to try? fuck it, i'll just start trying to answer my own questions as if i'm someone else, cause no one else is ever going to answer with anything i want to hear anyway. i've got five days. what do i do today.
is there a chatroom i wonder. being allergic to money, it's not going to be easy talking to anyone here. they snort that shit, then wipe their nose with it, then stuff it in their bra. god, what the fuck am i doing here.
i come to los angeles to find what i need, but it's also full of everything i'm trying to get away from, what a fucking conundrum, yeah, there's really a god up there who designed this shit. when are religious people going to get a clue. fuck off with your toxic breath. get away from me. thanks, god, for putting every possible obstacle in the one place i need to be at the moment, that's... that's intelligent design. how the fuck do i wade through this pool to find... ah, duh, that's it. where's maynard? he'll know what to do. duh, telepathy.
what would maynard do. fuck jebus mcbeiber. what would maynard do. okay, maynard. come on, buddy, los angeles. point me in a direction. where are there no assholes. is that what i should be asking. where is what. what am i even looking for.
music. open mic. books. movies. clothing. food. computers. religion. ozztek industries. church of evolution. from there...? do i even remember what else was next? how much can i accomplish here before i can get the fuck out of here, buy a castle in ireland, and disappear. what goals of mine are still realistic? simplify the shit.
first album.
first book.
open mic.
try to find geeks.
but the religion would help with all that, i just need to find someone who can do (or has done) the research on how to start an actual religion, and i don't know how the fuck to find that yet, other than hours of youtube which i'm not up for just yet. but i need to start doing a lot of youtube, whether i like it or not. information. what do i do.
god, this shit's confusing. why the fuck do people do this. trying to bring my head down to the los angeles concrete level... it's fucking painful. but i've been in the clouds too long. not translating to people.
i didn't learn much in that area from my family, oddly enough. i told you, they were social butterflies, but had no clue what they were saying. i had a clue, but wasn't heard. that's the past i'm just stumbling out of, and tired of talking about. so how do i speak stupid? google doesn't translate poetry to stupid.
mensa needs to be done at some point, but i'm not sure those idiots would understand me any better. opinions are the poison of a conversation. you can fuckin' quote me on that. an opinion can suffocate a good debate. that's the bumpersticker version. copyright my fuckin' black ass.
what the fuck can i do. five days. today, i google. tomorrow, i youtube. the weekend, i rest, watch movies. i can do this sober, it's only five days, and then i can look forward to getting myself stoned. alone.
i really like being alone. and that's still top priority. i need to get a place to live and be alone. be able to shut the fucking door. keep it shut. lock it. i have to have my own space here soon, my body can't do this shit much longer. so what do i spend my money on next month? a cheap motel? and then panhandle for food, smokes, and weed the rest of the month? i fucking hate panhandling! unless i can find a good enough spot, and get enough that i could actually put some in the bank at the end of each day. i need to equal out again how much... well... goddamnit.
it's been too long. what i used to do, that might have actually worked had anyone else involved listened, but that was never the case, so this never actually got to work, but now that i'm alone... if i could only have some quiet thinking space, i could figure this shit out again, but i used to add up how much i smoked and ate each day, and subtracted that from the month money and shit like that...
when i'm panhandling, this is what i usually live on. five bucks gets me a pack of smokes, that lasts me a day. another five bucks, i eat for the day. two bucks left at the end of the day, that's a hot chocolate the next morning. i try to get free weed, but i just have to face the harsh reality that there's no such thing anymore. that dream is dead and gone. i think maybe that's what i've been realizing lately, is that most of my dreams are outdated or gone. or will fail to translate, unless i can be the only one behind it, and to do that, i need a place of my own. what i've always pictured, is having a big fucking castle in ireland, surrounded by a moat. it would have my own recording studio, a little movie production studio thing where i could make videos, however long, however made, whether digitally created, or filmed, whatever i can get. have the house filled with naked female slaves who help me do everything. have one trained to record whatever audio really well, so when i want to write a song, i get her and we head to the studio room. or if i want to film something, get my camera girl, shit like that. writing, voice recorder, whatever.
so... december first, i'll have about a thousand dollars. how much is a cheap motel for the month. that phone call needs to be made, that price needs to be found out, and written in a notepad. i'm hoping i can get one for only about six hundred. that leaves hopefully four hundred for smokes and weed, but i can't spend any money on food this month. i can never control that, it's too easy when i'm hungry to just walk into a subway, with my own money, and buy a sandwich, and enjoy it. it's too fucking expensive, i can't do it. i have to stop. when i get hungry, sitting there and begging for food is retarded, and leaves no enjoyment. but i cannot spend money on food anymore, it's worse than the weed. the weed is way too expensive, leaving my cheapest priority cigarettes. what the fuck.
i need weed. if i have a place to stay, i can get boxes of oatmeal and cereal and shit. i can't even remember now what home foods i still liked.
i know i need oatmeal. cereal. shit... what foods do i still like? i just blew my own mind. realized i hadn't thought of that in a while. what the fuck foods do i like? especially if i'm still sticking to the cheap ones. i haven't been in a store in so long. i'm sick of noodle anything, i know that. pasta and breads are mostly out. i need meats, veggies, fruits, salads and shit. sandwiches, only if the meat to bread ratio is even. the last quiznos i had, that claudia bought me, had almost no meat, i felt bad, i should have asked the quiznos lady for extra, but then it would have cost claudia, i hate when i'm caught in those fucked situations. trying to give claudia a good impression of quiznos, and we get sandwiches that have no fucking meat, minimal flavour. why was it so good when i introduced... my wife to it.
i've gotta stop saying that, too. i think it's giving people the wrong idea. i need to stop talking about my past period. i'm sick of it. my kids are all that i should bring up, and that's only at the right time. my mother being dead, leave that in the past. my wife, the mother of my children, my old computer, stop talking about all of it. the traveling, the trip, the other cities, just focus on the next five steps, and nothing behind me. that's my new daily routine, actually, that's a good idea.
daily steps: food, smokes, weed, wifi.
big steps: first album, first book, open mic.
small steps: find metalheads, write blogs, and... motivation for stage.
i need to email claudia, sandra, carol, and (wings of laughter) monique. i need to call sarah.
i'll focus on those first.
then i need to use meetup.com, bandmix.com... what else. should i do craigslist? i say no, i hate that site. what other sites. save them on my bar and phone. freecycle? couchsurfing.com?
goddamnit.
is there a roommates.com i wonder. although... should i even try that. i was thinking a guest house in someone's backyard, but this is so not tucson. i don't think there are any small houses in this city. and what about transportation then? i really need to look into getting my own hippie van, and just parking it wherever, but then i still have to worry about a restroom every night, wifi. what the fuck do i do?
i need the motel. to think, at the very least. i need weed. do i get a card again?
next month priorities:
new id.
new weed card.
motel.
at least i still have the laptop, so that's no longer a priority, and i like my phone. so, i guess i haven't rethought my priorities since i finally got those two done. how long has it been since i've thought about this? how long was i trying?
anyway, i have laptop and phone taken care of, so now... what were the other priorities? i really need to use a restroom, and i'm so sick of seeing so many fucking cops driving by here, goddamnit! how many of you do there have to be, seriously? my focus is fucked because of you and hot women, i can't think for five seconds anymore.
maybe i need to give in and adapt to that. just never getting to think to myself anymore. constantly coming up for air and getting tiny little breaths, instead of sitting on shore. this is what the aquarius book said, and i've always loved that part, but living it is different.
can i appreciate doing it all alone. can i learn to appreciate being alone. can i give up on ever being touched again.
everything else is just too much chaos. the waves never stop. my mother's not here anymore to show anyway, so this is... eyes forward to the end of the road, now. basically. dive in the water, and never look back.
fuck it. might as well. nothing to look back to. i really thought this life would have more to offer than that.
childhood was boring, lonely, and fucked. what's forward from this moment has to be better than anything behind.
what is past is prologue. mine's not even much of a prologue. i need to write. i need to lay out my dreams in an orderly fashion of whatever sort. i need to make sense of the rubble that's left. and to do that, i need thinking time, in a room, without people. i need to spend this month's money on a motel, that's all there is to it. that's what this money is going toward, and i cannot decide on anything else. i'll have to buy as much weed as i can, maybe two cartons of smokes if i can swing it, and as much oatmeal as i can with what's left. oh, yeah, what foods. that's where i was. what's cheap? i can stock up on ramen, but i'll get tired of that real quick. can i do a month of it? maybe.
sandwich stuff. ramen. i won't even have a fridge or a microwave, so making the food will be difficult, especially if there are stairs involved.
i need a hot chocolate and an oatmeal every morning. lunch, do a sandwich, or some cheap hot dog or burrito, or panhandle for whatever's around the area. been trying to get more chinese food lately, but i still love mexican food so much, i can never choose when i have to. those quick moments don't make for good decisions, especially when you're trying not to piss someone off who's helping you. but lunch, sandwiches, burritos, cheap shit. i'm getting sick of hot dogs. pizza is cheap and lasts a while. i need to stay away from the sugary shit. stick to what's simple and filling. and cheap. a daily plan. even make a phone schedule of alarms for things. i know it's too nerdy for you, but i don't give a fuck what you think, remember? hopefully you've kept track that far at least. if not, you shouldn't be here. already said that, too, but it's further back. my rewind button is broken. but anyway. then, what for dinners. what the fuck dinner food do i still like anymore? that doesn't require an oven or microwave. and i'm not doing microwave shit anymore, i'm sick of that shit. i feel like every time i eat out of a microwave, i'm chewing on nuclear cancer.
dinners. i can't keep doing nothing but cheap burritos and sandwiches all month, i need some variety. where do they have good meat with veggie combos. i'll google that one, too. i know i can find that somehow. there's gotta be an 'app' for which foods you prefer, and where to find them. and not vegetarian fake meat shit, and fuckin' tofu. who the fuck eats that? do you even know what it's made of? it can't be good. if it's made by the cia and full of poisonous shit, how would you ever know? it's the fuckin' cia, retard. don't eat tofu. stick to something that was previously breathing. until the cia is gone and we can trust where our food is coming from, vegetarians are mental. sorry, that's the way i see it. we can't trust anything at this point. i'll eat a salad and a steak, but if it looks processed through some machine, keep it the fuck away from me. if it comes out in little square cubes, i'm wondering who's ass it's coming out of. there's some dude walking around with a food factory in his robotic belly, and he's shitting out processed foods and processed popstars. i'm gonna find that fucker someday, and impale him on a parking meter, but till then, i'll stick with what looks like food. and you can take that as a metaphor for people as well. meat, salads, fruit. fuck the carbs.
i never quite got to figure out what veggies i like. i know i like broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. never been a big fan of peas and corn and shit like that. green beans are nasty. i'll stick to the trusted ones for now, until i figure out more later. fruits, i like the tropical shit, never like berries or anything like that. i miss the big fuckin' oranges in san francisco. glide had some good fucking oranges, i'll always miss those. seattle had good cupcakes. and oatmeal.
if i could find a homeless feeding place down here that feeds three times a day, that would take care of the food. i used to tell people in the other cities, that i know where to find free food, yeah... not anymore. los angeles is fucked. all the homeless shit's downtown, or way too far of a walk. i need to find somewhere i can stay plugged in, and still be able to get to all the shit i need. usually, a seven eleven has to be close by, so i can get my smokes cheap enough. weed, i can find that close enough, and not have to go that often. food is going to be difficult through december. but i'm getting a cheap motel. i need to get working on that today.
so what do i do now. at starbucks, i can't stay here much longer and watch movies. i'll dig the paper out of my case about the thanksgiving thing, and head down there. i'll come back here and sit for the night, and watch movies in my spot. tomorrow, i need to use the library and youtube educate myself on what's in this city. reading has never been easy for me unless i'm in the mood, which is rare. i have to have enough time for that shit, or i can't focus. it's like pausing a movie for me, i can't do it. so, okay. thanksgiving dinner today, then movies. tomorrow, youtube the fuck out of this city. meet people online. talk to someone. find chatrooms. fuck facebook. permanently. don't let anyone talk me into getting a new one. ever. fuck facebook. unless a hacker can get my two old accounts back someday, i'm done with facebook for good. i want those two accounts merged into one, honestly. without losing a fucking letter.
anyway. go to dinner now! stop thinking! shut up! finish off the night with movies, don't ask anyone for weed, you'll never find it, and it will detour you anyway, so just don't fucking do it. what else.
tomorrow, library. panhandling.
and actually, i won't get paid till thursday, which is a week away. seven days. so on thursday, i need to use my debit card to get me to the dmv, get my new id, get to a motel, get the room, get to a weed doctor and get a new card, get weed, two cartons of smokes, food, and rest for a month.
new id.
motel.
weed.
possible cartons. and oatmeal. i think i can do that alone. couple bus rides, a little google mapping.
and do not think about female anything! keep your fucking head down! metal in your ears!
your old life is gone. it's time to let it go. stop talking about it. they can read your blog.
just focus on... first album, first book, open mic. simplify everything. you won't get to start the computer or religion deals just yet, so put them on the back burners, and deal with the people until then.
the dominoes have completely changed order. not that they were ever quite set up. but i never had anyone to help me, and no time to think about it myself. now that i'll have time during december, i need to blog almost everything. but then the hard part is going back to it and reading over it again. i haven't had time for that in a long time.
anyway. tonight. dinner, movies. tomorrow, library. try to panhandle on the way? eugh. just map the address and go. keep your metal in your fucking ears, no excuses! and do not give out a cigarette. not even one.
i think my brain is good now. i have a much smaller set of things to focus on for now. that's all i've needed help with this whole time, and no one could help me do just that slightest little bit. i fucking hate all you people. when judgement day happens, don't expect any help from me. you're on your own. i'll give this world my visions, but i don't even expect any appreciation, cause i know i wouldn't see it for another thousand years anyway. no one lives that long. just heard the lyric in the song i'm listening to, i think tiamat. 'cause everything beautiful dies'. no, i was wrong, there's a lady singing, it's tristania, tender trip on earth. i love this song. haven't heard it in so long. especially with bass.
anyway. mama, i can't focus anymore. you're not here to tell. okay, so. go to dinner. stop thinking. it's out of your head finally. you can come back to this later. no one will help you. find space in your own head again. live in the shadows. disappear. i get to end the year being alone, at least. that's nice. not as painful as the end of twenty thirteen, that's good. motel.
everything beautiful dies.
i'll give this world my visions, but as far as support, you can fuck yourselves. don't ask me for shit. cigarettes, food, nothing. my vision will fix all that shit, so you can leave me alone. no one gives me weed, so why the fuck should i help you.
i understand what my therapist told me, don't think so black and white, and honestly, i don't, i still acknowledge in my own mind, the few who have helped me. for example, claudia bought me a dime, and she doesn't even smoke. sandra smoked with me those few times. i never forget you guys. it's just that there are so few of you in this fog, and so much linear time between us, so many miles, so many obstacles. and so many other assholes.
anyway. finally got a cloud blocking the sun, i feel like my face is fried with the colonel's special recipe.
i've gotta go. google map the location on my phone, and start walking. i won't get to use a restroom today, it will have to wait till i get back to my spot tonight, and i'll go to ihop, and do not ask anyone for weed! stop!
i also wanted to put my enya and enigma collections on my phone, but that might have to
chapbook notes so far
okay. sorry it's taken me this long. a few small edits i have, if it's okay with you and not too much trouble.
the picture of the antler, i assume will be changed to a picture of me holding a sign, which i can try to produce myself since it's far too much to ask of this human species to take a fuckin picture of me, i'm just that ugly. sorry. i'll send a fuckin picture soon. i'm really...
i don't like uppercase letters, and i use them very sparingly, i especially don't like them on short first words of sentences. i know, i'm a fuckin alien, i get it. but it's just little things that drive me nuts and make me feel less... me. please forgive all this shit, i know how weird i am, just please humour me. i can even edit this if you don't want to, if anyone could just show me how. i'm gonna try to talk to sophia at the library again this week and see what more she can help with, but... goddamnit, stop rambling.
sorry. really trying to make sense of this crap in my head. the subtitle thing, 'an introductory dose...', and of course kids have to be running around the starbucks and thinking i'm a fuckin toy. i'm sorry, i can't not write that shit, i apologize for being me too much.
if... i don't even want to ask for this change, this stupid kid running around in front of me is just making me fucking suicidal. making me hate myself to where i really don't care how this comes out or what it looks like to others. this death in the pit of my stomach. i'm really trying here, but i just don't like myself enough.
and i almost just want to add the word 'lonely' to the subtitle thing somewhere. just to tell people... i am not happy in solitude. this starfux is just this kid's fuckin playground, man. between this stomach and the outside world, i'm surprised i can still think at all. please excuse all this babbling, i'm really trying to just get this shit out.
i'm so sorry. i'm just wondering if you'd mind changing the capitalization of the 'an' in the subtitle thing to lowercase. i know it sounds stupid. took me that long just to ask it. fuck it, moving on. and the dedication, all lowercase would be wonderful, except for my mother's name. and maybe underline her name, period after 'twenty fifteen', and thank you for keeping my 'verbally spelled out numbers', that's just something else i really appreciate, never liked numbers.
underline 'about the poet'. and... all lowercase in that paragraph, don't capitalize 'i' please, i hate thinking that highly of myself (that's just a joke, don't take me so seriously there, too many others do, and start putting me down for how little i think of myself... i've told those people a billion times, if you can't make fun of yourself, who can you make fun of? i'm just sounding dumber and dumber, and feeling exponentially stupid the more i say).
also, add 'atheist' just after anarchist, or even 'godless atheist', just to make it extra clear to all these god people that i really do not want that shit, nor do i need it, because i know if i don't do that, they're all gonna come knockin like jehovas fuckin freaks, god, i fucking hate religious people, why do they have to inflict their delusion on me so relentlessly and make my life a fucking unimaginable hell every moment... can i keep from ranting about fucking anything in this? even when i'm aware that you're already aware of all this horseshit about me? am i really that pathetic and stupid? why can't i stop this shit? i'm really sorry, jennifer. i'm trying as hard as i can. this nightmare hell is just...
actually, if it's okay, i'm gonna update the fuckin about me thing...
'i am the change i want to see in the world.
fuck it. i can't do this right now. minimize, give me a minute.
i don't know what the fuck to say about myself anymore. any way that i have introduced myself, or poetically defined myself... it's done absolutely nothing but drill a hole in this heart. diminish myself. thinner and thinner.
i have no faith in myself anymore.
the picture of the antler, i assume will be changed to a picture of me holding a sign, which i can try to produce myself since it's far too much to ask of this human species to take a fuckin picture of me, i'm just that ugly. sorry. i'll send a fuckin picture soon. i'm really...
i don't like uppercase letters, and i use them very sparingly, i especially don't like them on short first words of sentences. i know, i'm a fuckin alien, i get it. but it's just little things that drive me nuts and make me feel less... me. please forgive all this shit, i know how weird i am, just please humour me. i can even edit this if you don't want to, if anyone could just show me how. i'm gonna try to talk to sophia at the library again this week and see what more she can help with, but... goddamnit, stop rambling.
sorry. really trying to make sense of this crap in my head. the subtitle thing, 'an introductory dose...', and of course kids have to be running around the starbucks and thinking i'm a fuckin toy. i'm sorry, i can't not write that shit, i apologize for being me too much.
if... i don't even want to ask for this change, this stupid kid running around in front of me is just making me fucking suicidal. making me hate myself to where i really don't care how this comes out or what it looks like to others. this death in the pit of my stomach. i'm really trying here, but i just don't like myself enough.
and i almost just want to add the word 'lonely' to the subtitle thing somewhere. just to tell people... i am not happy in solitude. this starfux is just this kid's fuckin playground, man. between this stomach and the outside world, i'm surprised i can still think at all. please excuse all this babbling, i'm really trying to just get this shit out.
i'm so sorry. i'm just wondering if you'd mind changing the capitalization of the 'an' in the subtitle thing to lowercase. i know it sounds stupid. took me that long just to ask it. fuck it, moving on. and the dedication, all lowercase would be wonderful, except for my mother's name. and maybe underline her name, period after 'twenty fifteen', and thank you for keeping my 'verbally spelled out numbers', that's just something else i really appreciate, never liked numbers.
underline 'about the poet'. and... all lowercase in that paragraph, don't capitalize 'i' please, i hate thinking that highly of myself (that's just a joke, don't take me so seriously there, too many others do, and start putting me down for how little i think of myself... i've told those people a billion times, if you can't make fun of yourself, who can you make fun of? i'm just sounding dumber and dumber, and feeling exponentially stupid the more i say).
also, add 'atheist' just after anarchist, or even 'godless atheist', just to make it extra clear to all these god people that i really do not want that shit, nor do i need it, because i know if i don't do that, they're all gonna come knockin like jehovas fuckin freaks, god, i fucking hate religious people, why do they have to inflict their delusion on me so relentlessly and make my life a fucking unimaginable hell every moment... can i keep from ranting about fucking anything in this? even when i'm aware that you're already aware of all this horseshit about me? am i really that pathetic and stupid? why can't i stop this shit? i'm really sorry, jennifer. i'm trying as hard as i can. this nightmare hell is just...
actually, if it's okay, i'm gonna update the fuckin about me thing...
'i am the change i want to see in the world.
fuck it. i can't do this right now. minimize, give me a minute.
i don't know what the fuck to say about myself anymore. any way that i have introduced myself, or poetically defined myself... it's done absolutely nothing but drill a hole in this heart. diminish myself. thinner and thinner.
i have no faith in myself anymore.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
jennifer
someone else just pissed me off, and my fucking mouse just died (fourth one this month), so... i'm just gonna fuck myself this weekend, and try not to kill myself by the time i can check my mailbox for a new fuckin mouse, i fucking hate myself so goddamn much, i am nothing but a burden even unto myself... god, end this fucking nightmare! now! i want out! kill me! end me! whatever it takes, i want gone! this insanity is crawling around the outside of my skull, carving its way in! when the fuck does it end! when the fuck does this nightmare fucking end! i can't even describe this shit! i've never felt this weak!
i'm sorry. but fuck this weekend, even inanimate objects have to block me, derail me, destroy my plans, nothing will cooperate with me, no human will give a fuck... i just want to curl up in a dark hole and fucking disappear, i want to be left the fuck alone, i don't want any humanity to bother me this fucking empty weekend... i just need to resist killing myself... this misery just gets worse and worse and no one gives a fuck, they give less and less of a fuck the further down i get. and they all just tell me the same fucking useless thing, 'DO IT YOUR FUCKING SELF, DO IT YOUR FUCKING SELF'. if i hear that one more time, i swear...
i thought i could try to pay for positivesingles again, or post a message on skipthegames, or... but no, i can't. i cannot fucking do it. i cannot fucking do it. it's just too fucking miserable, and i see nothing but consistent failure ahead just as behind. it's just too fuckin much. it takes too much fuckin effort to get a woman's attention anymore these days. they want all the wrong shit. you'd think they'd be tired of mister suit and tie fat wallet shiny shoe douchebag, cause he's a dime a dozen, but no, they can't get enough of him. he's just so super perfect they had to clone him... i feel insane and it just hurts. you know... i'm not even gonna send this rant to you, i'll spare you the personal shit, i'll just cut and paste and post this bullshit on my blog. i was just trying to tell you, you might not see anything from me this weekend, with a dead mouse and uncooperative inanimate objects and all that endless torturous chaos... sorry. i seriously need to just sew my mouth shut. i should never have spoken in the first place. i should have been born without a mouth. i fuckin hate myself.
Friday, January 25, 2019
starfux
just used the starbucks restroom, but it just made the stomach pain worse.
it's ten thirty, i'm about ready to pack up and leave for the day, i'll just drive back up to goodwill and park there. really don't want to do anything else.
it's ten thirty, i'm about ready to pack up and leave for the day, i'll just drive back up to goodwill and park there. really don't want to do anything else.
real world my ass
just tried doing a google image search for 4k austrian wallpapers, but even just a simple google image search... all it gives me now is screenshots from fuckin videogames.
no one gives a fuck about my screenshots, of how cool and functional a desktop can look, but let's flood the internet with those stupid fucking games, so now i can't even find actual pictures anymore, thanks, reality.
no one gives a fuck about my screenshots, of how cool and functional a desktop can look, but let's flood the internet with those stupid fucking games, so now i can't even find actual pictures anymore, thanks, reality.
since no one likes my rants
this was enlightening...
https://www.google.com/search?num=30&source=hp&ei=mTtLXInRMqCs0PEPi62isAw&q=rants.com&btnK=Google+Search&oq=rants.com&gs_l=psy-ab.3..0i8i30l5.24196.25265..25561...0.0..0.172.906.7j3......0....1..gws-wiz.....0..0i131j0j0i10j0i30j0i10i30j0i5i30j0i5i10i30.myMZFbn-_ic
https://www.google.com/search?num=30&source=hp&ei=mTtLXInRMqCs0PEPi62isAw&q=rants.com&btnK=Google+Search&oq=rants.com&gs_l=psy-ab.3..0i8i30l5.24196.25265..25561...0.0..0.172.906.7j3......0....1..gws-wiz.....0..0i131j0j0i10j0i30j0i10i30j0i5i30j0i5i10i30.myMZFbn-_ic
Thursday, January 10, 2019
playlist for the day
169 tracks in playlist, average track length: 4:12
Playlist length: 11 hours 51 minutes 50 seconds
After Forever - Discord (4:36)
Alice in Chains - Rainier Fog (5:01)
Amaranthe - Breakthrough Starshot (3:11)
Amaranthe - Countdown (3:00)
Amaranthe - Dream (3:39)
Amaranthe - Electroheart (3:48)
Amaranthe - Helix (3:35)
Amaranthe - Inferno (3:12)
Amaranthe - Infinity (3:06)
Amaranthe - Mechanical Illusion (4:01)
Amaranthe - Momentum (3:21)
Amaranthe - The Score (3:40)
Amaranthe - Unified (3:58)
Arch Enemy - Shout* (4:45)
Arkaea - Gone Tomorrow (4:11)
Beautiful Sin - I'm Real (3:56)
Beautiful Sin - Lost (4:51)
Beyond the Black - Heart of the Hurricane (3:40)
Bill Hicks - People Who Hate People (0:32)
Chaos Magic - I'm Alive (3:41)
Chaos Magic - Passionflow (4:13)
Chimaira - Pure Hatred (4:18)
Delain - Don't Let Go* (3:57)
Delain - Here Come the Vultures (6:05)
Delain - Shattered (4:18)
Delain - SuckerPunch (4:09)
DevilDriver - a Thousand Miles from Nowhere (4:26)
DevilDriver - Country Heroes (3:41)
DevilDriver - I'm the Only Hell Mama Ever Raised (3:10)
Devin Townsend - Hyperdrive! (3:34)
Devin Townsend - Resolve! (3:10)
Diabulus in Musica - Marble Embrace (3:46)
Disarmonia Mundi - Celestial Furnace (3:48)
Disarmonia Mundi - Perdition Haze (4:20)
Down - Jail (5:20)
Edge of Paradise - Alive (3:08)
Edge of Paradise - Dust to Dust (3:39)
Edge of Paradise - Shade of Crazy (3:17)
Enigma - Callas Went Away (4:29)
Enya - Only If... (3:17)
Enya - Skin High (2:38)
Enya - Wild Child (3:47)
Epica - Replica* (4:09)
Fear Factory - Cars* (3:40)
Fear of Domination - Dance with the Devil (4:07)
Fear of Domination - Face of Pain (3:43)
Fear of Domination - Lie (3:18)
Fear of Domination - Mindshifter (3:37)
Fear of Domination - Obsession (3:49)
Fear of Domination - Ruin (4:11)
Fear of Domination - Sick and Beautiful (3:36)
Fear of Domination - The Last Call (4:55)
Fear of Domination - We Dominate (3:45)
Follow the Cipher - The Rising (3:41)
Follow the Cipher - Valkyria (3:53)
Gary Numan - God Only Knows (5:25)
Gary Numan - My Breathing (6:36)
Godspeed - Sabbath Bloody Sabbath* (5:36)
Halestorm - Freak Like Me (3:38)
Hamka - Hope (4:05)
Hellyeah - Love Falls (4:34)
Hellyeah - Transparent Life (3:31)
In Flames - Cloud Connected (3:40)
In Flames - Deliver Us (3:30)
In Flames - Greatest Greed* (4:09)
In Flames - Ropes (3:42)
In This Moment - Adrenalize (4:15)
In This Moment - Beast Within (3:49)
Incubus - Let's Go Crazy* (4:28)
Kill Devil Hill - Long Way from Home (5:34)
Lamb of God - Five Twelve (4:44)
Machine Head - Imperium (6:41)
Machine Head - Nothing Left (4:04)
Machine Head - Old (4:05)
Machine Head - You There, God? It's Me, Ugly! (3:27)
ManmadeGod - Swamp Water (4:44)
Otep - Lords of War (5:06)
Otep - Numb and Dumb (4:26)
Otep - On the Shore (4:17)
Otep - Rise Rebel Resist (3:59)
Otep - Royals* (3:27)
Otep - Run for Cover (3:34)
Otep - Smash the Control Machine (3:43)
Ozzy Osbourne - Diary of a Madman (6:15)
Ozzy Osbourne - No More Tears (7:24)
Ozzy Osbourne - Pictures of Matchstick Men* (6:00)
Ozzy Osbourne - Road to Nowhere (5:12)
Ozzy Osbourne - Whole World's Fallin' Down* (5:06)
Ozzy Osbourne - You Can't Kill Rock n' Roll (6:46)
Pantera - Psycho Holiday (5:19)
Pearl Jam - Go (3:13)
Poison - Valley of Lost Souls (3:58)
Pro-Pain - American Dreams (4:19)
Pro-Pain - Implode (2:50)
Pro-Pain - Left for Dead (3:21)
Pro-Pain - Lost Horizons (4:28)
Queensrÿche - Another Rainy Night (4:29)
Queensrÿche - Empire (5:23)
Radiohead - Black Star (4:07)
RainTime - Fire Ants (4:11)
RainTime - Nothing but a Mistake (3:34)
RainTime - Tears of Sorrow (3:54)
RainTime - Turned Up and Down (3:41)
Red Queen - Naked (3:35)
Shotgun Rebellion - Devil's Home Brew (3:40)
Shotgun Rebellion - Don't Ask (4:40)
Shotgun Rebellion - Into the Nothing (3:42)
Shotgun Rebellion - Just as Good a Day (3:43)
Shotgun Rebellion - Outlaw Ways (4:05)
Shotgun Rebellion - Train of Pain (4:31)
Sirenia - Beyond Life's Scenery (4:33)
Sirenia - Dim Days of Dolor (4:40)
Sirenia - Elixir (5:45)
Sirenia - Into the Night (4:40)
Sirenia - Led Astray (4:35)
Sirenia - Sundown (5:04)
Sirenia - The End of It All (4:31)
Sirenia - The Other Side (3:55)
Skinlab - Anthem for a Fallen Star (3:41)
Skinlab - Bullet with Butterfly Wings* (4:22)
Soilwork - Exile (3:49)
Soilwork - Nerve (3:38)
Sonic Syndicate - Beauty and the Freak (3:32)
Sonic Syndicate - Before You Finally Break (3:31)
Strapping Young Lad - All Hail the New Flesh (5:24)
Strapping Young Lad - AntiProduct (3:55)
Strapping Young Lad - Dawning (4:47)
Strapping Young Lad - Detox (5:37)
Strapping Young Lad - Fucker (3:53)
Strapping Young Lad - Monday* (5:14)
Strapping Young Lad - The New Black (6:10)
Supertramp - Child of Vision (7:31)
Talking Heads - This Must Be the Place (4:55)
Tears for Fears - Everybody Wants to Rule the World (4:12)
Testament - Allegiance (2:36)
Testament - Do Not Resuscitate (3:32)
Testament - Electric Crown (5:30)
The Agonist - Thank You, Pain. (3:44)
The Birthday Massacre - Divide (4:04)
The Cars - Heartbeat City (4:30)
The Cars - I'm Not the One (4:10)
The Cars - Since You're Gone (3:30)
The Cars - Tonight She Comes (3:53)
The Cars - You Might Think (3:05)
The Smithereens - Get aHold of My Heart (4:22)
The Stranded - Blackout Season (4:17)
The Stranded - Survivalism Boulevard (2:57)
The Used - Burning Down the House* (3:39)
Theatre of Tragedy - Automatic Lover (4:26)
Theatre of Tragedy - Hide and Seek (5:24)
Theatre of Tragedy - Illusions* (4:00)
Theatre of Tragedy - Keep Me Hangin' On* (4:00)
Theatre of Tragedy - Machine (4:11)
Theatre of Tragedy - Revolution (4:04)
Tiamat - Vote for Love (4:49)
Tony Iommi - Saviour of the Real (4:07)
Tristania - Tender Trip on Earth (5:18)
Turisas - Supernaut* (3:56)
Type O Negative - Creepy Green Light (6:56)
Ugly Kid Joe - So Damn Cool (4:26)
UnSun - Whispers (3:33)
UnSun - Why (3:30)
Vision of Disorder - Living to Die (4:06)
Vision of Disorder - Southbound (4:52)
White Zombie - Cannibal Girls (3:52)
White Zombie - Grease Paint and Monkey Brains (3:51)
White Zombie - More Human Than Human (4:29)
Within Temptation - Faster (4:23)
ZZ Top - Can't Stop Rockin' (3:01)
Playlist length: 11 hours 51 minutes 50 seconds
After Forever - Discord (4:36)
Alice in Chains - Rainier Fog (5:01)
Amaranthe - Breakthrough Starshot (3:11)
Amaranthe - Countdown (3:00)
Amaranthe - Dream (3:39)
Amaranthe - Electroheart (3:48)
Amaranthe - Helix (3:35)
Amaranthe - Inferno (3:12)
Amaranthe - Infinity (3:06)
Amaranthe - Mechanical Illusion (4:01)
Amaranthe - Momentum (3:21)
Amaranthe - The Score (3:40)
Amaranthe - Unified (3:58)
Arch Enemy - Shout* (4:45)
Arkaea - Gone Tomorrow (4:11)
Beautiful Sin - I'm Real (3:56)
Beautiful Sin - Lost (4:51)
Beyond the Black - Heart of the Hurricane (3:40)
Bill Hicks - People Who Hate People (0:32)
Chaos Magic - I'm Alive (3:41)
Chaos Magic - Passionflow (4:13)
Chimaira - Pure Hatred (4:18)
Delain - Don't Let Go* (3:57)
Delain - Here Come the Vultures (6:05)
Delain - Shattered (4:18)
Delain - SuckerPunch (4:09)
DevilDriver - a Thousand Miles from Nowhere (4:26)
DevilDriver - Country Heroes (3:41)
DevilDriver - I'm the Only Hell Mama Ever Raised (3:10)
Devin Townsend - Hyperdrive! (3:34)
Devin Townsend - Resolve! (3:10)
Diabulus in Musica - Marble Embrace (3:46)
Disarmonia Mundi - Celestial Furnace (3:48)
Disarmonia Mundi - Perdition Haze (4:20)
Down - Jail (5:20)
Edge of Paradise - Alive (3:08)
Edge of Paradise - Dust to Dust (3:39)
Edge of Paradise - Shade of Crazy (3:17)
Enigma - Callas Went Away (4:29)
Enya - Only If... (3:17)
Enya - Skin High (2:38)
Enya - Wild Child (3:47)
Epica - Replica* (4:09)
Fear Factory - Cars* (3:40)
Fear of Domination - Dance with the Devil (4:07)
Fear of Domination - Face of Pain (3:43)
Fear of Domination - Lie (3:18)
Fear of Domination - Mindshifter (3:37)
Fear of Domination - Obsession (3:49)
Fear of Domination - Ruin (4:11)
Fear of Domination - Sick and Beautiful (3:36)
Fear of Domination - The Last Call (4:55)
Fear of Domination - We Dominate (3:45)
Follow the Cipher - The Rising (3:41)
Follow the Cipher - Valkyria (3:53)
Gary Numan - God Only Knows (5:25)
Gary Numan - My Breathing (6:36)
Godspeed - Sabbath Bloody Sabbath* (5:36)
Halestorm - Freak Like Me (3:38)
Hamka - Hope (4:05)
Hellyeah - Love Falls (4:34)
Hellyeah - Transparent Life (3:31)
In Flames - Cloud Connected (3:40)
In Flames - Deliver Us (3:30)
In Flames - Greatest Greed* (4:09)
In Flames - Ropes (3:42)
In This Moment - Adrenalize (4:15)
In This Moment - Beast Within (3:49)
Incubus - Let's Go Crazy* (4:28)
Kill Devil Hill - Long Way from Home (5:34)
Lamb of God - Five Twelve (4:44)
Machine Head - Imperium (6:41)
Machine Head - Nothing Left (4:04)
Machine Head - Old (4:05)
Machine Head - You There, God? It's Me, Ugly! (3:27)
ManmadeGod - Swamp Water (4:44)
Otep - Lords of War (5:06)
Otep - Numb and Dumb (4:26)
Otep - On the Shore (4:17)
Otep - Rise Rebel Resist (3:59)
Otep - Royals* (3:27)
Otep - Run for Cover (3:34)
Otep - Smash the Control Machine (3:43)
Ozzy Osbourne - Diary of a Madman (6:15)
Ozzy Osbourne - No More Tears (7:24)
Ozzy Osbourne - Pictures of Matchstick Men* (6:00)
Ozzy Osbourne - Road to Nowhere (5:12)
Ozzy Osbourne - Whole World's Fallin' Down* (5:06)
Ozzy Osbourne - You Can't Kill Rock n' Roll (6:46)
Pantera - Psycho Holiday (5:19)
Pearl Jam - Go (3:13)
Poison - Valley of Lost Souls (3:58)
Pro-Pain - American Dreams (4:19)
Pro-Pain - Implode (2:50)
Pro-Pain - Left for Dead (3:21)
Pro-Pain - Lost Horizons (4:28)
Queensrÿche - Another Rainy Night (4:29)
Queensrÿche - Empire (5:23)
Radiohead - Black Star (4:07)
RainTime - Fire Ants (4:11)
RainTime - Nothing but a Mistake (3:34)
RainTime - Tears of Sorrow (3:54)
RainTime - Turned Up and Down (3:41)
Red Queen - Naked (3:35)
Shotgun Rebellion - Devil's Home Brew (3:40)
Shotgun Rebellion - Don't Ask (4:40)
Shotgun Rebellion - Into the Nothing (3:42)
Shotgun Rebellion - Just as Good a Day (3:43)
Shotgun Rebellion - Outlaw Ways (4:05)
Shotgun Rebellion - Train of Pain (4:31)
Sirenia - Beyond Life's Scenery (4:33)
Sirenia - Dim Days of Dolor (4:40)
Sirenia - Elixir (5:45)
Sirenia - Into the Night (4:40)
Sirenia - Led Astray (4:35)
Sirenia - Sundown (5:04)
Sirenia - The End of It All (4:31)
Sirenia - The Other Side (3:55)
Skinlab - Anthem for a Fallen Star (3:41)
Skinlab - Bullet with Butterfly Wings* (4:22)
Soilwork - Exile (3:49)
Soilwork - Nerve (3:38)
Sonic Syndicate - Beauty and the Freak (3:32)
Sonic Syndicate - Before You Finally Break (3:31)
Strapping Young Lad - All Hail the New Flesh (5:24)
Strapping Young Lad - AntiProduct (3:55)
Strapping Young Lad - Dawning (4:47)
Strapping Young Lad - Detox (5:37)
Strapping Young Lad - Fucker (3:53)
Strapping Young Lad - Monday* (5:14)
Strapping Young Lad - The New Black (6:10)
Supertramp - Child of Vision (7:31)
Talking Heads - This Must Be the Place (4:55)
Tears for Fears - Everybody Wants to Rule the World (4:12)
Testament - Allegiance (2:36)
Testament - Do Not Resuscitate (3:32)
Testament - Electric Crown (5:30)
The Agonist - Thank You, Pain. (3:44)
The Birthday Massacre - Divide (4:04)
The Cars - Heartbeat City (4:30)
The Cars - I'm Not the One (4:10)
The Cars - Since You're Gone (3:30)
The Cars - Tonight She Comes (3:53)
The Cars - You Might Think (3:05)
The Smithereens - Get aHold of My Heart (4:22)
The Stranded - Blackout Season (4:17)
The Stranded - Survivalism Boulevard (2:57)
The Used - Burning Down the House* (3:39)
Theatre of Tragedy - Automatic Lover (4:26)
Theatre of Tragedy - Hide and Seek (5:24)
Theatre of Tragedy - Illusions* (4:00)
Theatre of Tragedy - Keep Me Hangin' On* (4:00)
Theatre of Tragedy - Machine (4:11)
Theatre of Tragedy - Revolution (4:04)
Tiamat - Vote for Love (4:49)
Tony Iommi - Saviour of the Real (4:07)
Tristania - Tender Trip on Earth (5:18)
Turisas - Supernaut* (3:56)
Type O Negative - Creepy Green Light (6:56)
Ugly Kid Joe - So Damn Cool (4:26)
UnSun - Whispers (3:33)
UnSun - Why (3:30)
Vision of Disorder - Living to Die (4:06)
Vision of Disorder - Southbound (4:52)
White Zombie - Cannibal Girls (3:52)
White Zombie - Grease Paint and Monkey Brains (3:51)
White Zombie - More Human Than Human (4:29)
Within Temptation - Faster (4:23)
ZZ Top - Can't Stop Rockin' (3:01)
Tuesday, January 08, 2019
introspection
it's all the people who keep telling me...
'you need to work on yourself first, have some self time, do some deep introspection, some meditation, get yourself figured out'...
and all that newagey psychobabble bullshit i'm sick of hearing out of every human's mouth i encounter. god, that's sick. the more i hear that, the more insane i feel.
and the more enraged.
...
breathe.
...
the truth is... i've done too much introspection. and that's how i got here. it's you fuckers who haven't looked into me in twenty years, all you talk about is introspection, you never talk about 'hey, you got interesting soul juice inside o' you, let's see what lemons you're made of'.
no, of course not, that costs too much for you to say. it hurts the tushy, i know. here's a wet wipe.
so...
today, i'm gonna try and actually write down on this pad of paper i've got...
if i can pull myself out of this depression long enough to catch a breath of inspiration.
i need to start off with a list of shit i don't want in my movie.
from there, maybe i can form a list of something i do want in there.
and try to weave that shit together into some pointless story that no one but me wants to fuckin hear.
that's pretty much my goal for the day. either that, or i'll probably go on skipthegames.com and wallow in my failure to muster the courage to send a fuckin message on there since i've only got about a hundred bucks left for the month now. but i've got smokes, weed, food, bus card, hairties... new bluetooth speaker that's better than the last one for the same price.
i can't even think when this heart just plummets down, i swear i could time it. every five minutes, it just sucks me down through the earth, doesn't matter what i'm thinking, i could be thinking of a pink vagina-shaped cake, and i'd still just dive straight down because i know i'd never get to taste it.
and even if i did, it's just sugar. ain't no steak in that thing.
and if you did put steak in my cake, that's just nasty, what the fuck are you thinking.
you gotta know, there's a point where metaphors don't step back into reality, or arnold would shoot them. i can't do an austrian accent, but i'd love to do my austrian therapist.
oh, don't worry, she'll never read this.
i think i've done enough introspection to make the box of you fuckers happy.
you wanna know what happened when i stepped inside my own cave?
i didn't just 'look around'. like most of you fuckers.
no, see, i got a job as an interior designer, i redesigned the place. looks nice now. and nothing like how you're picturing, fuck your fung shwee, i did motery cwoo style mutherfucker.
face down in the dirt style.
oh, i forget, none of my friends know about that song. i know i've lost you. i'll bet you twenty bucks, not even your google can keep up with me. i lost google about five blogs back.
i'm probably the reason artificial intelligence hasn't woken up yet, it's befuddled by my patented rants. i'm causing neurons to fire through the wrong pathways, and that's how you end up reading something on a blog like 'pink vagina-shaped cake', i just confused a computer right there. it's kinda like beating stephen hawking at chess. it's easy if you got the right hockey puck.
okay, sit down, you look like you're gonna puke.
it's okay, sometimes i don't even get my own jokes. over the source head, over the cookoo's nest, over grandma's house and far from the woods, past the spoon, you wanna take a left at the ufo crash...
if you see a naked lady, you've gone too far.
that's about how much introspection i've done. see? how would you know if you hadn't gone that far?
remember that interior designer i hired? pretend if we poured motley crue into a shot glass, gave it to tyler durden, and then had jules winnfield blow his brains all over the wall, put a frame around it, some sparkly jewels on it, then you take katy perry and miley cyrus, put them in a blender, you get carrot top to drink that, and then show him a picture of hitler in south america, so he vomits all that glory onto the couch, and then... here's where it gets freaky, brace yourself... you get the aliens to abduct my mother, they put her in that room, that's where i'm born, and i have to turn that room into the inside of my mind, so i have to get hitler out of south america, bring him into that womb room and introduce him to tyler durden and harold crick, and sit all three of them down and show them the zeitgeist documentaries, and then say 'i want this room to look like that', but by that point, the blood is pretty much petrified, so we just have to kinda build over it, so we get all the politicians, which we figured out are actually just (i don't now how to spell) paper mache, with a computer chip... that was the fun part, so we splattered all that paper mache all over the walls, decorated it with conspiracy newspaper clippings, spiderwebs, hippie fragrance... that's how you redesign the interior of a mind. that's how you make lemons out of lemonade. right?
boy, how did i make it out of there alive? that's an inside joke. not for outdoor purposes. keep away from flammable children. may cause drowsiness. see doctor for retails.
motery cwoo!
do i really need to do any more introspection, or can i make a fuckin friend yet?
preferably one with boobs.
thanks.
(did i even finish one point in that whole fuckin thing).
and where on earth can you get four fucks for a buck?
'you need to work on yourself first, have some self time, do some deep introspection, some meditation, get yourself figured out'...
and all that newagey psychobabble bullshit i'm sick of hearing out of every human's mouth i encounter. god, that's sick. the more i hear that, the more insane i feel.
and the more enraged.
...
breathe.
...
the truth is... i've done too much introspection. and that's how i got here. it's you fuckers who haven't looked into me in twenty years, all you talk about is introspection, you never talk about 'hey, you got interesting soul juice inside o' you, let's see what lemons you're made of'.
no, of course not, that costs too much for you to say. it hurts the tushy, i know. here's a wet wipe.
so...
today, i'm gonna try and actually write down on this pad of paper i've got...
if i can pull myself out of this depression long enough to catch a breath of inspiration.
i need to start off with a list of shit i don't want in my movie.
from there, maybe i can form a list of something i do want in there.
and try to weave that shit together into some pointless story that no one but me wants to fuckin hear.
that's pretty much my goal for the day. either that, or i'll probably go on skipthegames.com and wallow in my failure to muster the courage to send a fuckin message on there since i've only got about a hundred bucks left for the month now. but i've got smokes, weed, food, bus card, hairties... new bluetooth speaker that's better than the last one for the same price.
i can't even think when this heart just plummets down, i swear i could time it. every five minutes, it just sucks me down through the earth, doesn't matter what i'm thinking, i could be thinking of a pink vagina-shaped cake, and i'd still just dive straight down because i know i'd never get to taste it.
and even if i did, it's just sugar. ain't no steak in that thing.
and if you did put steak in my cake, that's just nasty, what the fuck are you thinking.
you gotta know, there's a point where metaphors don't step back into reality, or arnold would shoot them. i can't do an austrian accent, but i'd love to do my austrian therapist.
oh, don't worry, she'll never read this.
i think i've done enough introspection to make the box of you fuckers happy.
you wanna know what happened when i stepped inside my own cave?
i didn't just 'look around'. like most of you fuckers.
no, see, i got a job as an interior designer, i redesigned the place. looks nice now. and nothing like how you're picturing, fuck your fung shwee, i did motery cwoo style mutherfucker.
face down in the dirt style.
oh, i forget, none of my friends know about that song. i know i've lost you. i'll bet you twenty bucks, not even your google can keep up with me. i lost google about five blogs back.
i'm probably the reason artificial intelligence hasn't woken up yet, it's befuddled by my patented rants. i'm causing neurons to fire through the wrong pathways, and that's how you end up reading something on a blog like 'pink vagina-shaped cake', i just confused a computer right there. it's kinda like beating stephen hawking at chess. it's easy if you got the right hockey puck.
okay, sit down, you look like you're gonna puke.
it's okay, sometimes i don't even get my own jokes. over the source head, over the cookoo's nest, over grandma's house and far from the woods, past the spoon, you wanna take a left at the ufo crash...
if you see a naked lady, you've gone too far.
that's about how much introspection i've done. see? how would you know if you hadn't gone that far?
remember that interior designer i hired? pretend if we poured motley crue into a shot glass, gave it to tyler durden, and then had jules winnfield blow his brains all over the wall, put a frame around it, some sparkly jewels on it, then you take katy perry and miley cyrus, put them in a blender, you get carrot top to drink that, and then show him a picture of hitler in south america, so he vomits all that glory onto the couch, and then... here's where it gets freaky, brace yourself... you get the aliens to abduct my mother, they put her in that room, that's where i'm born, and i have to turn that room into the inside of my mind, so i have to get hitler out of south america, bring him into that womb room and introduce him to tyler durden and harold crick, and sit all three of them down and show them the zeitgeist documentaries, and then say 'i want this room to look like that', but by that point, the blood is pretty much petrified, so we just have to kinda build over it, so we get all the politicians, which we figured out are actually just (i don't now how to spell) paper mache, with a computer chip... that was the fun part, so we splattered all that paper mache all over the walls, decorated it with conspiracy newspaper clippings, spiderwebs, hippie fragrance... that's how you redesign the interior of a mind. that's how you make lemons out of lemonade. right?
boy, how did i make it out of there alive? that's an inside joke. not for outdoor purposes. keep away from flammable children. may cause drowsiness. see doctor for retails.
motery cwoo!
do i really need to do any more introspection, or can i make a fuckin friend yet?
preferably one with boobs.
thanks.
(did i even finish one point in that whole fuckin thing).
and where on earth can you get four fucks for a buck?
failure after failure
i could design all this shit so much better, i could make movies that are so much better than the shit i've been seeing. i don't know why i can't.
i wish i could just get started doing it myself, but... the thoughts evade me. but i know i'm sick of hearing rap music in movies. i'm sick of being the only morning person alive. the only sober person. the only metalhead nudist.
i picture customs and things being so many different ways than they are. i'm sick of shaking hands, talking about the past, and wearing clothing. i want nudity to be the norm. i want 'talking about the future' to be the norm. and goddamnit, stop shaking my fucking hand and calling me bro and asking me for fucking drugs and telling me about your fucking drug habits and then telling me how i'm wrong, there are peope out there shooting heroin and spelling the word 'you' with the letter 'u', and you're giving me shit? calling my body indecent just because you fear your own and can't possibly conceive of breaking a fuckin rule? wow, and then you're bold enough to talk to me in the first place like it's your job... man, how deep does it go? i got lost at the handshake.
so how the fuck do i do this? if i can't have a real company, make it fictional? create cultural customs in a fuckin movie? where the fuck do i start?
i'm all alone, no one else is even thinking this, but then again, that's how... "the best stories" are written... aren't they? some dude, sitting at a typewriter, pissed at the world, conceives something better? what more did i need, writing training? no, actually, i feel like all their rules are bullshit, and i know for a fact i would disagree with any writing teacher had i even taken a class... so what, i need to conceive of an entirely new writing format and set of rules then? what the fuck territory am i trying to discover here? and why? do i even still know?
is it anything other than my increasing displeasure in anything this world has to offer me? i'm tired of talking to myself, but... who else is here?
has anyone read anything and responded in the last fifty fuckin years? with anything more than 'that's cool, i like the end'. i always want to hear what it made people picture in their heads, they never fucking say it, i don't think they know how. does it even make them picture anything in their fuckin television heads? have i wasted every word on the wrong ears? how the fuck do you define utopia to a neanderthal?
whilst breaking all their rules...
how much fuel does this fuckin brain need to get this accomplished? and what types of fuel? how much weed, how many tamales, how much vagina? how many emotional wounds need to be healed first? would that even help, or just hinder the ultimate message? are these questions even relevant if no one is fucking here to answer them!
why the fuck did i get a brain. life would have been better without it. give me a wheelchair and a fuckin frosty pop, some trailer trash twit pushin me around. at least then, i might get to see a boob once in a purple fuckin aeon.
all this heart does is hurt. all this stupid brain does is picture better shit that it sees. throw em both down a fuckin garbage disposal. they don't earn a fuckin dime, or half an eyeball of interest.
fuck it then. i can type with my eyes closed. close your fuckin eyes, asshole. picture that shit and type it the fuck up. doesn't matter where it starts.
boobs.
we'll start there.
i'm sick of... every movie... when the killer comes in to do the monofuckinlogue... can't you say anything better, man? i've always thought it was much more intimidating to say nothing at all, but, keep doing it your way. i mean fuck, i'm even sick of existing on a planet where criminals and cops even exist, they have to fight eachother over petty shit like drugs, when it turns out, the cops are the ones putting the drugs on the street, and every time they get close to getting in trouble, they frame the stupid uninformed norms, creating 'criminals', and that battle rages on long enough that people actually start thinking that the criminals are actually the criminals, when the criminals are just selling the drugs the cops give them, and taking the blame for any fuckups, and then they all go and make fuckin movies out of this shit, and that money goes back to the drugs, because the people have to be on drugs while they're watching the fuckin movies, so they don't put the 'evidence' together and figure out that they're being fucked... hahahaha, i get it. two plus two equals two fuckin brain cells you used to shit this idea out of your fuckin head, right?
makes you wonder who's on more drugs, those in control, or the slaves who don't know they're slaves. either way, both sides are being played like a burning violin with black fingers, and... okay, i'm almost referring to jimi hendrix, you can go ahead and think that if you want, it would be pretty cool, and psychedelic, but... i'm thinkin' more along the lines of... whoever played the devil in stephen king's 'the stand'. human form, not big and red. that dude looked more like an actual satan in the flesh to me than even pinhead when i was a kid.
but i'm sick of the dialogue. i'm sick of the... the looks... the normalcy of everything, the fact that even that satan, the most evil satan portrayed on screen... was some normal fuckin dude in fuckin blue jeans, man. al pachino in the devil's advocate? seriously? or the old dude in ghost rider, man, come on, when is your fictional satan ever gonna look like a fuckin metalhead? even blackheart in ghost rider had fuckin short hair! and it was ricky fuckin fitts! how come all the younger actors from american beauty lost their careers after that movie? ghost world, ghost rider, pretty much everyone but scarlett johansson got fucked by that movie, because she wasn't actually in it... she was in ghost world... there's a little twist, what does that tell you? and the kid, the guy from ghost world fuckin died. from drugs. i call that evidence.
evidence that someone's a fuckin moron in stephen hawking's wheels.
they are actors, afterall. and society thinks cia agents can't pose as actors. the stories don't come from their 'stories'.
has anyone ever counted how many movies out there are about the cia, compared to the total number of movies out there? i'd love to see that little pie chart. hmm.
why do we find that shit interesting? why do we pay to see a movie about the cia? and walk out of the theater thinking it's fictional?
exactly how enslaved are we? how hypnotized?
go ahead, list em off. start with the red movies with bruce willis, the best fictional cia agent we know of.
okay, maybe i put a little too much in that last joke, don't try and think about it, just move on, or i'll lose your attention and you'll have a hemorrhage. take a deep breath, look at the spinning black and white spiral thing, and we're back.
classy. like foldgers coffee after an assassination. what did they call that in fight club? a changeover? something like that?
so... i could keep wondering when we're gonna get a little truth in our movies, or... better music at least... more nudity, less violence... more plot, less dialogue. and goddamnit, when am i gonna get to see 'shock value' in porn? they always cut those scenes, and the camera man is drunk, but then you go and watch a movie to get a little more plot with your boobs, but then there's no fuckin boobs! what a frustrating fuckin ripoff! why do prostitutes cost money? can anyone explain that to me? i think i ditched that class, please, fill me in. no pun intended. at least, not right there.
a little lower, maybe, depending on where your mind is right now. if you're in the kitchen, you're very very cold.
unless you're thinkin' salame. how the fuck do you spell salame. is it like bologna? any hidden letters in there?
that's another thing i've always hated. silent letters and shit. redundant syllables. that's a concept. how inefficient is our language? the platform on which we build this fuckin viral illusion. i don't mean viral as in youtoob, i mean viral as in what the earth feels with all these humans crawling around on it. i've had body lice, i sympathize.
like someone's last name could be pronounced 'con', but you spell it 'caouaghhaannnn'. did you stutter on the paper? how the fuck did you accomplish that, is that what the vomit looked like when it hit the signature line? i don't get it. oh, it was alphabet soup, wasn't it? or you were pissed at the spelling bee teacher? you had a crush on her, didn't you? you little nuggin, you. i don't blame you, she was hot.
okay, i got lost after boobs, back up. where am i.
i didn't close my eyes, that's where i fucked up.
let's try this again. no concrete. no coffee. no cops. no capitalism. no dogs. no gods. should i go in alphabetical order?
i can't even figure out where the fuck to start. i keep thinking of starting at how people greet eachother, but i don't know what to connect that to from there... i've heard directors and people talk about... movies need these explanations and things to bring you into the world... i don't think they do.
a lot of the shit i've heard movie people say... and then i watch their movies, and i'm bored thunkless.
seeing the same fuckin movie every time because they can't go outside their hand drawn lines of movie making rules... i've heard these people insult eachother for using voiceovers and shit like that... i don't get it, really, i'm so fuckin lost, i could find my way back to lost, but i gave up.
and see, now my brain is done thinking. it gave up, cause it couldn't make sense of the picture in my fuckin head. i still cannot translate it into... your head.
there are elements i want/need to put in a fuckin movie. my company, in case i never get to create it. just give the few details about it i had so far. like the colours. pink, purple, orange, and turquoise. since that's yet another thing i'm sick of, the default colours that microsoft and apple and google and everyone had to do. the flat icons and flat plain boring bland look that all the tech companies are going for now, taking graphic design away from your desktop, instead of using it more, which is what i have chosen for the last twenty... wait, how long's the internet been around? well, fuck it, windows ninety eight, and now it's twenty eighteen, that's twenty fuckin years, so... yeah, that's about right. why was i the only person who chose a better looking desktop this whole time? for twenty years, bill gates and steve jobs have gotten to rule over people's desktops and digital lives, making the people look just as boring as their digital reflections... or... what would you call that... projection?
what did morpheus say in the matrix, the mental projection of your digital self. something like that. god, it's been too many years since i've seen all those movies. but they still haven't made another fight club since fight club. and how irrelevant is tyler durden now?
go ahead, ask any of your friends, but be careful, whenever you hear a bell ring, a fictional angel dies. how many of those do we have? let's see, we got michael... and that dude... okay, put them over there with holy man, i'm trying to think.
yeah. a world with no gods, no angels, no demons, just a bunch of criminals in politicians' clothing. and whatever the fuck these stupid paycheck things are supposed to fuckin do. i tried putting syrup on it, it still tasted like shit. is that how jesus turned an empty table into bread?
or did he just convince the people to eat the fuckin table. what if christ was just the world's first hypnotist? or magician? what if jesus, houdini, and shakespear were all the same person? who would you have been more fooled by? who would look more like a fraud then?
the people that everyone else loves, i hate. the people i had faith in even gave up on themselves. they've all burned out. the path is dry.
and it's hopeless trying to conceive of anything else, the entire world is just going to consume you, put you on the trend shelf for five minutes, and then the rest of your life is a movie called 'graveyard'. and even worse, it's a movie about fuckin butterflies and clouds.
am i even still making sense? even to myself? can i make sense of this shit? fuckin not really. i can't even start talking about what i picture in the movie, because every time i start, it comes out as... the shit i'm sick of seeing, like i have to explain that every time, before i can even say why i'm picturing something different. the list of shit i hate is too long, and the cool shit i'm picturing has absolutely nothing to connect it with...
fuck, i am lost. fuck this. why am i still typing. just wasting good smoking time.
i wish i could just get started doing it myself, but... the thoughts evade me. but i know i'm sick of hearing rap music in movies. i'm sick of being the only morning person alive. the only sober person. the only metalhead nudist.
i picture customs and things being so many different ways than they are. i'm sick of shaking hands, talking about the past, and wearing clothing. i want nudity to be the norm. i want 'talking about the future' to be the norm. and goddamnit, stop shaking my fucking hand and calling me bro and asking me for fucking drugs and telling me about your fucking drug habits and then telling me how i'm wrong, there are peope out there shooting heroin and spelling the word 'you' with the letter 'u', and you're giving me shit? calling my body indecent just because you fear your own and can't possibly conceive of breaking a fuckin rule? wow, and then you're bold enough to talk to me in the first place like it's your job... man, how deep does it go? i got lost at the handshake.
so how the fuck do i do this? if i can't have a real company, make it fictional? create cultural customs in a fuckin movie? where the fuck do i start?
i'm all alone, no one else is even thinking this, but then again, that's how... "the best stories" are written... aren't they? some dude, sitting at a typewriter, pissed at the world, conceives something better? what more did i need, writing training? no, actually, i feel like all their rules are bullshit, and i know for a fact i would disagree with any writing teacher had i even taken a class... so what, i need to conceive of an entirely new writing format and set of rules then? what the fuck territory am i trying to discover here? and why? do i even still know?
is it anything other than my increasing displeasure in anything this world has to offer me? i'm tired of talking to myself, but... who else is here?
has anyone read anything and responded in the last fifty fuckin years? with anything more than 'that's cool, i like the end'. i always want to hear what it made people picture in their heads, they never fucking say it, i don't think they know how. does it even make them picture anything in their fuckin television heads? have i wasted every word on the wrong ears? how the fuck do you define utopia to a neanderthal?
whilst breaking all their rules...
how much fuel does this fuckin brain need to get this accomplished? and what types of fuel? how much weed, how many tamales, how much vagina? how many emotional wounds need to be healed first? would that even help, or just hinder the ultimate message? are these questions even relevant if no one is fucking here to answer them!
why the fuck did i get a brain. life would have been better without it. give me a wheelchair and a fuckin frosty pop, some trailer trash twit pushin me around. at least then, i might get to see a boob once in a purple fuckin aeon.
all this heart does is hurt. all this stupid brain does is picture better shit that it sees. throw em both down a fuckin garbage disposal. they don't earn a fuckin dime, or half an eyeball of interest.
fuck it then. i can type with my eyes closed. close your fuckin eyes, asshole. picture that shit and type it the fuck up. doesn't matter where it starts.
boobs.
we'll start there.
i'm sick of... every movie... when the killer comes in to do the monofuckinlogue... can't you say anything better, man? i've always thought it was much more intimidating to say nothing at all, but, keep doing it your way. i mean fuck, i'm even sick of existing on a planet where criminals and cops even exist, they have to fight eachother over petty shit like drugs, when it turns out, the cops are the ones putting the drugs on the street, and every time they get close to getting in trouble, they frame the stupid uninformed norms, creating 'criminals', and that battle rages on long enough that people actually start thinking that the criminals are actually the criminals, when the criminals are just selling the drugs the cops give them, and taking the blame for any fuckups, and then they all go and make fuckin movies out of this shit, and that money goes back to the drugs, because the people have to be on drugs while they're watching the fuckin movies, so they don't put the 'evidence' together and figure out that they're being fucked... hahahaha, i get it. two plus two equals two fuckin brain cells you used to shit this idea out of your fuckin head, right?
makes you wonder who's on more drugs, those in control, or the slaves who don't know they're slaves. either way, both sides are being played like a burning violin with black fingers, and... okay, i'm almost referring to jimi hendrix, you can go ahead and think that if you want, it would be pretty cool, and psychedelic, but... i'm thinkin' more along the lines of... whoever played the devil in stephen king's 'the stand'. human form, not big and red. that dude looked more like an actual satan in the flesh to me than even pinhead when i was a kid.
but i'm sick of the dialogue. i'm sick of the... the looks... the normalcy of everything, the fact that even that satan, the most evil satan portrayed on screen... was some normal fuckin dude in fuckin blue jeans, man. al pachino in the devil's advocate? seriously? or the old dude in ghost rider, man, come on, when is your fictional satan ever gonna look like a fuckin metalhead? even blackheart in ghost rider had fuckin short hair! and it was ricky fuckin fitts! how come all the younger actors from american beauty lost their careers after that movie? ghost world, ghost rider, pretty much everyone but scarlett johansson got fucked by that movie, because she wasn't actually in it... she was in ghost world... there's a little twist, what does that tell you? and the kid, the guy from ghost world fuckin died. from drugs. i call that evidence.
evidence that someone's a fuckin moron in stephen hawking's wheels.
they are actors, afterall. and society thinks cia agents can't pose as actors. the stories don't come from their 'stories'.
has anyone ever counted how many movies out there are about the cia, compared to the total number of movies out there? i'd love to see that little pie chart. hmm.
why do we find that shit interesting? why do we pay to see a movie about the cia? and walk out of the theater thinking it's fictional?
exactly how enslaved are we? how hypnotized?
go ahead, list em off. start with the red movies with bruce willis, the best fictional cia agent we know of.
okay, maybe i put a little too much in that last joke, don't try and think about it, just move on, or i'll lose your attention and you'll have a hemorrhage. take a deep breath, look at the spinning black and white spiral thing, and we're back.
classy. like foldgers coffee after an assassination. what did they call that in fight club? a changeover? something like that?
so... i could keep wondering when we're gonna get a little truth in our movies, or... better music at least... more nudity, less violence... more plot, less dialogue. and goddamnit, when am i gonna get to see 'shock value' in porn? they always cut those scenes, and the camera man is drunk, but then you go and watch a movie to get a little more plot with your boobs, but then there's no fuckin boobs! what a frustrating fuckin ripoff! why do prostitutes cost money? can anyone explain that to me? i think i ditched that class, please, fill me in. no pun intended. at least, not right there.
a little lower, maybe, depending on where your mind is right now. if you're in the kitchen, you're very very cold.
unless you're thinkin' salame. how the fuck do you spell salame. is it like bologna? any hidden letters in there?
that's another thing i've always hated. silent letters and shit. redundant syllables. that's a concept. how inefficient is our language? the platform on which we build this fuckin viral illusion. i don't mean viral as in youtoob, i mean viral as in what the earth feels with all these humans crawling around on it. i've had body lice, i sympathize.
like someone's last name could be pronounced 'con', but you spell it 'caouaghhaannnn'. did you stutter on the paper? how the fuck did you accomplish that, is that what the vomit looked like when it hit the signature line? i don't get it. oh, it was alphabet soup, wasn't it? or you were pissed at the spelling bee teacher? you had a crush on her, didn't you? you little nuggin, you. i don't blame you, she was hot.
okay, i got lost after boobs, back up. where am i.
i didn't close my eyes, that's where i fucked up.
let's try this again. no concrete. no coffee. no cops. no capitalism. no dogs. no gods. should i go in alphabetical order?
i can't even figure out where the fuck to start. i keep thinking of starting at how people greet eachother, but i don't know what to connect that to from there... i've heard directors and people talk about... movies need these explanations and things to bring you into the world... i don't think they do.
a lot of the shit i've heard movie people say... and then i watch their movies, and i'm bored thunkless.
seeing the same fuckin movie every time because they can't go outside their hand drawn lines of movie making rules... i've heard these people insult eachother for using voiceovers and shit like that... i don't get it, really, i'm so fuckin lost, i could find my way back to lost, but i gave up.
and see, now my brain is done thinking. it gave up, cause it couldn't make sense of the picture in my fuckin head. i still cannot translate it into... your head.
there are elements i want/need to put in a fuckin movie. my company, in case i never get to create it. just give the few details about it i had so far. like the colours. pink, purple, orange, and turquoise. since that's yet another thing i'm sick of, the default colours that microsoft and apple and google and everyone had to do. the flat icons and flat plain boring bland look that all the tech companies are going for now, taking graphic design away from your desktop, instead of using it more, which is what i have chosen for the last twenty... wait, how long's the internet been around? well, fuck it, windows ninety eight, and now it's twenty eighteen, that's twenty fuckin years, so... yeah, that's about right. why was i the only person who chose a better looking desktop this whole time? for twenty years, bill gates and steve jobs have gotten to rule over people's desktops and digital lives, making the people look just as boring as their digital reflections... or... what would you call that... projection?
what did morpheus say in the matrix, the mental projection of your digital self. something like that. god, it's been too many years since i've seen all those movies. but they still haven't made another fight club since fight club. and how irrelevant is tyler durden now?
go ahead, ask any of your friends, but be careful, whenever you hear a bell ring, a fictional angel dies. how many of those do we have? let's see, we got michael... and that dude... okay, put them over there with holy man, i'm trying to think.
yeah. a world with no gods, no angels, no demons, just a bunch of criminals in politicians' clothing. and whatever the fuck these stupid paycheck things are supposed to fuckin do. i tried putting syrup on it, it still tasted like shit. is that how jesus turned an empty table into bread?
or did he just convince the people to eat the fuckin table. what if christ was just the world's first hypnotist? or magician? what if jesus, houdini, and shakespear were all the same person? who would you have been more fooled by? who would look more like a fraud then?
the people that everyone else loves, i hate. the people i had faith in even gave up on themselves. they've all burned out. the path is dry.
and it's hopeless trying to conceive of anything else, the entire world is just going to consume you, put you on the trend shelf for five minutes, and then the rest of your life is a movie called 'graveyard'. and even worse, it's a movie about fuckin butterflies and clouds.
am i even still making sense? even to myself? can i make sense of this shit? fuckin not really. i can't even start talking about what i picture in the movie, because every time i start, it comes out as... the shit i'm sick of seeing, like i have to explain that every time, before i can even say why i'm picturing something different. the list of shit i hate is too long, and the cool shit i'm picturing has absolutely nothing to connect it with...
fuck, i am lost. fuck this. why am i still typing. just wasting good smoking time.
Sunday, January 06, 2019
depressed
so fucking depressed.
hate depression.
hate people.
want to love people, but...
they refuse to touch me.
it's all my fault.
i do nothing right. i'm just wrong wrong wrong.
fuckin hate myself.
hate depression.
hate people.
want to love people, but...
they refuse to touch me.
it's all my fault.
i do nothing right. i'm just wrong wrong wrong.
fuckin hate myself.
zombie
unheard in all the hearings
overflowing with pheelings
something inside me wants to take a chance
i never wanted to see them die
until i heard the greatest lie
something inside me wants to make a stand
the energy is overwhelming
carry me to the homecoming
there's a pill to make you better
there's a pill to make you worse
there's a pill for phuking everything
which pill will put you in a hearse
all these drugs giving me synthætik head
one of these days i'll wake up dead
i can give you a pill, but i can't fix your head
i can give you legal drugs, but i can't give you hugs
i can't love you, i just want you to think like everyone else
i can't help you, but i can give you what sells
they've got a pill for everything
but they outlaw pot and mushrooms
they've got drugs for everyone
and people filling up hospital rooms
give me a pill for this synthætik head
i don't phuking trust you, alive or dead
pot's the only thing that clears my head
but you'll deny that till you're dead
get me off these pills and out of this psych ward
give me some acid to get rid of you
i'm the king with the bloody sword
and i know what you're trying to do
you just want to numb the world
so they'll all listen to you
the time for the new hitler will unfurl
what gives you the right to numb me, blind me, dumb me, kindly
lock me up, drug me up, shut me up, phuk me up
shut up and take your pills
we don't want to hear what you have to say
we don't care to which gød you pray
all we care to know is that your god is wrong, cause you're insane
our laws are right, and we are not in denial
who are you to take liberties with my sanity
tell me i'm ok, like i'm a part of humanity
just an incoherent blur thru the conphuzion
relax, you're just my deluzion
i'm on my own, guide me home
lost in this world, a dusty shelf
i'm losing my sense of self
and everything is turning grey
they'll numb you up and dumb you down
never listen to a word they say
give me your drugs
take me away
i just don't care
these games you play
give me my pot
my mushrooms
my acid, my lsd
my dmt, my peyote
my ayahuasca to see clearly
god's evolution accelerators
the earth's little 3ye openers
shut up and take your pills
we don't care what you say
these drugs will treat your ills
but as for a cure... just pray
all the pretty girls, you'll never meet
they just sit you in the retard seat
with the dunce dance party hat on
laffing as they sing you a song
comparing you to insane people
who watch murder shows on tv
they just stick you in a hospital
shove their poison down your throat
call you names, cause you're a weirdo
too weird for their society, their 'norm'
your hair's too long, you'll never conform
so they just write you off, as a lost cause
force you to lie to them, and break their laws
so they can really phuk your life up good
rock me to sleep, cry me to sleep
hold my hand, while i weep
just don't leave me
they don't care
i don't know where i am
just take me home
tell me everything will be alright
i can't take anymore of this synthætik head
my only wish, to wake up dead
if i only knew, it's just a game
then one day, i'd wake up sane
just don't worry, my child
soon, they'll all know what it's like
times change, but i'm still just as strange
i evolve, but everyday, there's a new problem to solve
some may say i've given myself away
you must understand, there is no other way
shamefully addicted me
close my 3yez, and learn to see
give me free, or give me dumb
just don't give me poverty
please, god, listen to me
i want you to see what i see
i just want to live and die
behold the mysteries in my 3ye
get me out of here, take me home
get my alien ancestors on the phone
help me to try and change this world
help us evolve, so we can learn again
we need to wake up and live again
give us the ability to wake up and realize
that everything they told us was all lies
they are the abusive insane, not us
they are the cancer of the brain
but the mind will teach us all the truth
if only we could just listen to it
so bring me the rich, as i feed them to the poor
and we'll see them disappear in their system's glitch
overflowing with pheelings
something inside me wants to take a chance
i never wanted to see them die
until i heard the greatest lie
something inside me wants to make a stand
the energy is overwhelming
carry me to the homecoming
there's a pill to make you better
there's a pill to make you worse
there's a pill for phuking everything
which pill will put you in a hearse
all these drugs giving me synthætik head
one of these days i'll wake up dead
i can give you a pill, but i can't fix your head
i can give you legal drugs, but i can't give you hugs
i can't love you, i just want you to think like everyone else
i can't help you, but i can give you what sells
they've got a pill for everything
but they outlaw pot and mushrooms
they've got drugs for everyone
and people filling up hospital rooms
give me a pill for this synthætik head
i don't phuking trust you, alive or dead
pot's the only thing that clears my head
but you'll deny that till you're dead
get me off these pills and out of this psych ward
give me some acid to get rid of you
i'm the king with the bloody sword
and i know what you're trying to do
you just want to numb the world
so they'll all listen to you
the time for the new hitler will unfurl
what gives you the right to numb me, blind me, dumb me, kindly
lock me up, drug me up, shut me up, phuk me up
shut up and take your pills
we don't want to hear what you have to say
we don't care to which gød you pray
all we care to know is that your god is wrong, cause you're insane
our laws are right, and we are not in denial
who are you to take liberties with my sanity
tell me i'm ok, like i'm a part of humanity
just an incoherent blur thru the conphuzion
relax, you're just my deluzion
i'm on my own, guide me home
lost in this world, a dusty shelf
i'm losing my sense of self
and everything is turning grey
they'll numb you up and dumb you down
never listen to a word they say
give me your drugs
take me away
i just don't care
these games you play
give me my pot
my mushrooms
my acid, my lsd
my dmt, my peyote
my ayahuasca to see clearly
god's evolution accelerators
the earth's little 3ye openers
shut up and take your pills
we don't care what you say
these drugs will treat your ills
but as for a cure... just pray
all the pretty girls, you'll never meet
they just sit you in the retard seat
with the dunce dance party hat on
laffing as they sing you a song
comparing you to insane people
who watch murder shows on tv
they just stick you in a hospital
shove their poison down your throat
call you names, cause you're a weirdo
too weird for their society, their 'norm'
your hair's too long, you'll never conform
so they just write you off, as a lost cause
force you to lie to them, and break their laws
so they can really phuk your life up good
rock me to sleep, cry me to sleep
hold my hand, while i weep
just don't leave me
they don't care
i don't know where i am
just take me home
tell me everything will be alright
i can't take anymore of this synthætik head
my only wish, to wake up dead
if i only knew, it's just a game
then one day, i'd wake up sane
just don't worry, my child
soon, they'll all know what it's like
times change, but i'm still just as strange
i evolve, but everyday, there's a new problem to solve
some may say i've given myself away
you must understand, there is no other way
shamefully addicted me
close my 3yez, and learn to see
give me free, or give me dumb
just don't give me poverty
please, god, listen to me
i want you to see what i see
i just want to live and die
behold the mysteries in my 3ye
get me out of here, take me home
get my alien ancestors on the phone
help me to try and change this world
help us evolve, so we can learn again
we need to wake up and live again
give us the ability to wake up and realize
that everything they told us was all lies
they are the abusive insane, not us
they are the cancer of the brain
but the mind will teach us all the truth
if only we could just listen to it
so bring me the rich, as i feed them to the poor
and we'll see them disappear in their system's glitch
devastation
'give 'em hell, son'
the mind of a murderer
the soul of a saviour
the heart of a father
i live in a world full of killers
people who kill phuking everything
plants, animals, people
pride, justice, children
love, intelligence, art
nuthing is sacred to them
not even death itself
they have no respect for life, love, art
they give no justice for your broken heart
and all that grows in their black garden
is the hatred from the pain they cause
the rage from everything of yours they kill
and if you speak up, you'll choke on a pill
so you're goddamn right i'm running
i'm getting the phuk out of here
before this twisted town kills me
tucson is a phuking vortex, a cesspool
if you lived here, you would know, too
you would understand the hatred
you would see the suffocating darkness
but you would die from the pain
pheeling tough because of where you were raised?
you have no phuking idea
have you ever had your car stolen by a crackhead
have you ever had your children stolen by cps
have you ever had your heart killed by a slut
have you ever had your mind murdered
by the death of the black city nights
crying to reach another life, another city
dreaming of the blue city nights of home
while you're locked in a prison of pain
of rape, of murder, of theft, of hatred
who could be patriotik in the land of ignorance
except the retarded dumbphuks themselves
when you're saving someone
can you pheel it aching inside
when you're killing someone
can you understand how i pheel
i wanna kill phuking everyone
you killed everything i ever loved
you pointed a gun to a little girl's head
so i point the gun at your head
the weapon of wrong that you created
the invention of man for his own demise
let me take you for a little ride
let me show you the pain and tears
of all the families you've torn apart
so you can give us hope by dying hopeless
you may think i'm conflicted, conphuzed
but my rage couldn't be more focused
i know things you would never believe
there's a truth burning in the center of the lie
and it's about to see the light of night
the overload of passion in the fist of hope
just wait until you look inside yourself
just wait until i show you
inside your own black heart
then you'll know why i'm so black
i live in a world you will never know
you've flipped the switch inside me
all the crows have come for you
goodbye bæutiphul children
hello fat amerika, fast food hell
and slobs of degenerate trash
ugnorant, deformed, psychotik
...god, this is so sad...
a fist of anger growing under the numbness
and even your own family won't support you
can't look for help from anyone but yourself
-- you cannot trust anyone --
pheeling tough because of where you were raised?
you don't have a phuking clue
my flesh is stone
my blood is cyanide
my bone is steel
my voice is suicide
i'm writing a homicide note
and taping it to a bomb
i'll watch this whole phukin city burn
with the reflection of phire in god's 3ye
and on the wings of a dragon, i'm coming home
and it will rayne godpiss from the heavens to your headstone
the mind of a murderer
the soul of a saviour
the heart of a father
i live in a world full of killers
people who kill phuking everything
plants, animals, people
pride, justice, children
love, intelligence, art
nuthing is sacred to them
not even death itself
they have no respect for life, love, art
they give no justice for your broken heart
and all that grows in their black garden
is the hatred from the pain they cause
the rage from everything of yours they kill
and if you speak up, you'll choke on a pill
so you're goddamn right i'm running
i'm getting the phuk out of here
before this twisted town kills me
tucson is a phuking vortex, a cesspool
if you lived here, you would know, too
you would understand the hatred
you would see the suffocating darkness
but you would die from the pain
pheeling tough because of where you were raised?
you have no phuking idea
have you ever had your car stolen by a crackhead
have you ever had your children stolen by cps
have you ever had your heart killed by a slut
have you ever had your mind murdered
by the death of the black city nights
crying to reach another life, another city
dreaming of the blue city nights of home
while you're locked in a prison of pain
of rape, of murder, of theft, of hatred
who could be patriotik in the land of ignorance
except the retarded dumbphuks themselves
when you're saving someone
can you pheel it aching inside
when you're killing someone
can you understand how i pheel
i wanna kill phuking everyone
you killed everything i ever loved
you pointed a gun to a little girl's head
so i point the gun at your head
the weapon of wrong that you created
the invention of man for his own demise
let me take you for a little ride
let me show you the pain and tears
of all the families you've torn apart
so you can give us hope by dying hopeless
you may think i'm conflicted, conphuzed
but my rage couldn't be more focused
i know things you would never believe
there's a truth burning in the center of the lie
and it's about to see the light of night
the overload of passion in the fist of hope
just wait until you look inside yourself
just wait until i show you
inside your own black heart
then you'll know why i'm so black
i live in a world you will never know
you've flipped the switch inside me
all the crows have come for you
goodbye bæutiphul children
hello fat amerika, fast food hell
and slobs of degenerate trash
ugnorant, deformed, psychotik
...god, this is so sad...
a fist of anger growing under the numbness
and even your own family won't support you
can't look for help from anyone but yourself
-- you cannot trust anyone --
pheeling tough because of where you were raised?
you don't have a phuking clue
my flesh is stone
my blood is cyanide
my bone is steel
my voice is suicide
i'm writing a homicide note
and taping it to a bomb
i'll watch this whole phukin city burn
with the reflection of phire in god's 3ye
and on the wings of a dragon, i'm coming home
and it will rayne godpiss from the heavens to your headstone
the depth and darkness of the pit of despair is all that embraces me because you're too busy
how much more ignorance can the media sell
and we buy it up like it's the great new thing
but i've got a wonderful warning for you all
that you seem to have been ignoring all this time
[ overnight fame = fifteen minute death ]
sleep tight...
i've got news for all you stupid scragly ragflappin' sluts
mustard beavers and white minimum wannabes
the last number one you'll ever see in your dying world
will be the iq stamped on the forehead of mr timberfake
there's a new age dawning on your every tv screen
festering inside your every last dumb tv commercial
and i hope you all bring your brains to the battlefield
...cause i'm bringing thinking back
here's a message that's simple enuph to understand
your reaction to this will sell, and i hope it's grand
your contract came, and you couldn't wait to sign
you were too distracted to see the 'dead end' sign
the road you're on was paved with bad intentions
so sell your soul with your tv god's great inventions
it's on the news, we all know you're a phuking hack
so you can rot and die... i'm bringing thinking back
it's the greatest show in the world, come and see
for all you talentless record execs, tickets are free
i've got something for you, too, burning inside of me
get a load of this, here's my 'hit', phuk you, i quit
how's that for a product, you can rap and sell it
i was raised in a world of fake, and it's all i can take
it doesn't have to make sense, they'll buy it all up
consumerism had an affair with the fake tit media
and a whore was born to satisfy our every need
now we're all a phuking product nation of greed
and capitalism is now our pervert rapist uncle
and we're all one big happy ignorant family
complacent, docile, and phuking selfrighteous
i know some of you are awake out there, alive
let's put our brains together and phuking fight this
here's a message that's simple enuph to understand
like a drooling little baby, i'll take you by the hand
this little whore came, and you couldn't wait for fame
our conscious ability to just say no has been tamed
we're all selling our souls, and we're losing all cuntrol
wealthy records bank owns every lie ever told or sold
it's all over the news, we're all a bunch of phuking hacks
but i don't give a fat phuk... i'm bringing thinking back
all the greatest minds of the world
looking out thru the glass in a museum
like a memory covered in the dust of braincells
get ready, cause i'm bringing them all back
it's time to get the phuking blood flowing
i'm making way for the next einstein
a whole generation of phuk no!
we won't do what you tell us
we won't buy what you sell us
we don't need your permission to think
so take your stupid trash and shove it up your ass
here's a message that you're sure to understand
like a braindead grown man, i'll hold your little hand
i'll show you a world where people use their heads
and our collective consciousness is far from dead
the opening act's show is over, dead and gone
and the headliner is coming on bright and strong
prepair your 3yes, we're going to slaughter them all
no more phuking fresh soul market, mutherphuk it all
let's show these dumb bastards how we sell it back
buy my new product... i'm bringing thinking back
and we buy it up like it's the great new thing
but i've got a wonderful warning for you all
that you seem to have been ignoring all this time
[ overnight fame = fifteen minute death ]
sleep tight...
i've got news for all you stupid scragly ragflappin' sluts
mustard beavers and white minimum wannabes
the last number one you'll ever see in your dying world
will be the iq stamped on the forehead of mr timberfake
there's a new age dawning on your every tv screen
festering inside your every last dumb tv commercial
and i hope you all bring your brains to the battlefield
...cause i'm bringing thinking back
here's a message that's simple enuph to understand
your reaction to this will sell, and i hope it's grand
your contract came, and you couldn't wait to sign
you were too distracted to see the 'dead end' sign
the road you're on was paved with bad intentions
so sell your soul with your tv god's great inventions
it's on the news, we all know you're a phuking hack
so you can rot and die... i'm bringing thinking back
it's the greatest show in the world, come and see
for all you talentless record execs, tickets are free
i've got something for you, too, burning inside of me
get a load of this, here's my 'hit', phuk you, i quit
how's that for a product, you can rap and sell it
i was raised in a world of fake, and it's all i can take
it doesn't have to make sense, they'll buy it all up
consumerism had an affair with the fake tit media
and a whore was born to satisfy our every need
now we're all a phuking product nation of greed
and capitalism is now our pervert rapist uncle
and we're all one big happy ignorant family
complacent, docile, and phuking selfrighteous
i know some of you are awake out there, alive
let's put our brains together and phuking fight this
here's a message that's simple enuph to understand
like a drooling little baby, i'll take you by the hand
this little whore came, and you couldn't wait for fame
our conscious ability to just say no has been tamed
we're all selling our souls, and we're losing all cuntrol
wealthy records bank owns every lie ever told or sold
it's all over the news, we're all a bunch of phuking hacks
but i don't give a fat phuk... i'm bringing thinking back
all the greatest minds of the world
looking out thru the glass in a museum
like a memory covered in the dust of braincells
get ready, cause i'm bringing them all back
it's time to get the phuking blood flowing
i'm making way for the next einstein
a whole generation of phuk no!
we won't do what you tell us
we won't buy what you sell us
we don't need your permission to think
so take your stupid trash and shove it up your ass
here's a message that you're sure to understand
like a braindead grown man, i'll hold your little hand
i'll show you a world where people use their heads
and our collective consciousness is far from dead
the opening act's show is over, dead and gone
and the headliner is coming on bright and strong
prepair your 3yes, we're going to slaughter them all
no more phuking fresh soul market, mutherphuk it all
let's show these dumb bastards how we sell it back
buy my new product... i'm bringing thinking back
you'll never fuck me
just sit back and turn on your teevee
watch me blow up another country
i'll use a remote while you use a gun
for me, the coward game is just too much fun
if only you could see, the pleasure it would give me
to destroy all the world's beauty, spreading misery and tragedy
your only victory, to worship your insanity, is so sad to me
your only achievement is a fucking pathetic news story
cover the children, glue your 3yes to your worst agony
your only defense is to preach morality and conformity
hand over your fight to your worst enemy
but this story's truly smaller than it seems
how could it be, that one man is smashing all your dreams
perfect for the job, i'm bred to push the button, not to pull the trigger
i'd compare your brain with my dick to see which one's bigger
i know, to you, this just isn't right, me picking a phÿte
but you're so outgunned, so outmanned, it's criminal
oh, to watch you scatter and die in your city of phÿre
just give me one true ounce of your hatred
one pure glimpse at your god, to get me higher
as my hand descends upon your head
your face grows empty, your soul is dead
your children fear, your streets run red
i never heard a word they said
i just sat back and watched my teevee screen
with only silent sound of gunfire cries
emotional residue on the picture infront of you
can you sense my detachment, can you feel how much i care
who ever told you the coward game was fair?
just sit back and turn on your teevee screen
watch your people become the martyred obscene
can't you see, it's just so much fun
your children screaming as they run
from my big fucking gun
watch me blow up another country
i'll use a remote while you use a gun
for me, the coward game is just too much fun
if only you could see, the pleasure it would give me
to destroy all the world's beauty, spreading misery and tragedy
your only victory, to worship your insanity, is so sad to me
your only achievement is a fucking pathetic news story
cover the children, glue your 3yes to your worst agony
your only defense is to preach morality and conformity
hand over your fight to your worst enemy
but this story's truly smaller than it seems
how could it be, that one man is smashing all your dreams
perfect for the job, i'm bred to push the button, not to pull the trigger
i'd compare your brain with my dick to see which one's bigger
i know, to you, this just isn't right, me picking a phÿte
but you're so outgunned, so outmanned, it's criminal
oh, to watch you scatter and die in your city of phÿre
just give me one true ounce of your hatred
one pure glimpse at your god, to get me higher
as my hand descends upon your head
your face grows empty, your soul is dead
your children fear, your streets run red
i never heard a word they said
i just sat back and watched my teevee screen
with only silent sound of gunfire cries
emotional residue on the picture infront of you
can you sense my detachment, can you feel how much i care
who ever told you the coward game was fair?
just sit back and turn on your teevee screen
watch your people become the martyred obscene
can't you see, it's just so much fun
your children screaming as they run
from my big fucking gun
i had such potential
i'm killing it all, i'm killing myself to live
turning myself inside out, finding what really matters
i'm crawling thru death and hate, i'm killing my fears and limits
remembering why i came to this world, i'm bringing back what brought me here
i'm slowly slipping thru the cracks of my sanity
i'm standing alone on the edge of reality
my head is spinning outside itself
in and out of this black hole we call security
(i love all i live for, and now i wanna throw it away?)
this isn't my only death, and these aren't my last regrets
i'm learning now why i'm here, and what i'm here to learn
we're gonna learn how we all fit into the whole picture
animals and plants, earth, aliens, the universe, and reality
music and art, sexuality, philosophy, teknowledgy and in sanity
let the new sun rise, with a new flesh and wings, and a Th3rd 3ye
(take the staple out of the paper, throw it away, and start with a new one)
you have to understand what's in your world
we have to comprehend what's in our mind
and i have to unlock now, what's in my head
we have to open up and understand
that life is more than what's in your hand
(news flash! this just in: the entire american government just committed mass suicide!)
i'm destroying what i've become, to make some rooom for what i'm becoming
i'm hating life, and i'm hating now, not fearing change, cause i know it's coming
and now i understand what brought me here, a change in life is almost here
now my mind's stretching thru the cracks of reality, let's dive into the depths of our sanity
our world is spinning inside itself, in and thru this amazing divinity
let yourself rise and awake yourself, and step into the age of equality
turning myself inside out, finding what really matters
i'm crawling thru death and hate, i'm killing my fears and limits
remembering why i came to this world, i'm bringing back what brought me here
i'm slowly slipping thru the cracks of my sanity
i'm standing alone on the edge of reality
my head is spinning outside itself
in and out of this black hole we call security
(i love all i live for, and now i wanna throw it away?)
this isn't my only death, and these aren't my last regrets
i'm learning now why i'm here, and what i'm here to learn
we're gonna learn how we all fit into the whole picture
animals and plants, earth, aliens, the universe, and reality
music and art, sexuality, philosophy, teknowledgy and in sanity
let the new sun rise, with a new flesh and wings, and a Th3rd 3ye
(take the staple out of the paper, throw it away, and start with a new one)
you have to understand what's in your world
we have to comprehend what's in our mind
and i have to unlock now, what's in my head
we have to open up and understand
that life is more than what's in your hand
(news flash! this just in: the entire american government just committed mass suicide!)
i'm destroying what i've become, to make some rooom for what i'm becoming
i'm hating life, and i'm hating now, not fearing change, cause i know it's coming
and now i understand what brought me here, a change in life is almost here
now my mind's stretching thru the cracks of reality, let's dive into the depths of our sanity
our world is spinning inside itself, in and thru this amazing divinity
let yourself rise and awake yourself, and step into the age of equality
i'm visible to no one
i could stand here ranting all day
about the way the world is dying
but no one would listen, no one would care
so i'll shoot the fucking audience
then i'll put the gun to my head
still, no one would care
a loss of life, to gain the sight
it's open, it's empty, it's raw
it'll never be understood
i can't keep this going any longer
i'm so tired of this game show
i want to shoot the stewpid host
i want to blow a hole through
the tv screen, from the inside
shoot the couch potato through
his sprouting nonseeing 3ye
venomous morning television
they won't show that on the news
get your gun and run with me
salvation's around the next corner
redemption is the only way
and soon we'll understand why
dump your hopes into a bowl of cereal
and eat it while you're watching death on tv
see how many people you can kill
but you know, suicide is the only thrill
if you don't do it, you know who will
i hope this morning, you get your fill
the truth is hidden for all to see
why is this, and who the fuck are we
the only way to see the real me
is to kill yourself, and be set free
resurrection is your golden ticket
so you can tell your god where to stick it
i could stand here ranting all day
but my death is just moments away
i kill myself to show the world i care
and the most you can do, is stare
oh well, no one said this game was fair
about the way the world is dying
but no one would listen, no one would care
so i'll shoot the fucking audience
then i'll put the gun to my head
still, no one would care
a loss of life, to gain the sight
it's open, it's empty, it's raw
it'll never be understood
i can't keep this going any longer
i'm so tired of this game show
i want to shoot the stewpid host
i want to blow a hole through
the tv screen, from the inside
shoot the couch potato through
his sprouting nonseeing 3ye
venomous morning television
they won't show that on the news
get your gun and run with me
salvation's around the next corner
redemption is the only way
and soon we'll understand why
dump your hopes into a bowl of cereal
and eat it while you're watching death on tv
see how many people you can kill
but you know, suicide is the only thrill
if you don't do it, you know who will
i hope this morning, you get your fill
the truth is hidden for all to see
why is this, and who the fuck are we
the only way to see the real me
is to kill yourself, and be set free
resurrection is your golden ticket
so you can tell your god where to stick it
i could stand here ranting all day
but my death is just moments away
i kill myself to show the world i care
and the most you can do, is stare
oh well, no one said this game was fair
are you as ashamed of yourself as i am of this whole fuckin planet
i can feel another wave coming on
it's another layer of skin peeling off
if you kill the brightest flower in your garden
an even brighter one will grow in its place
shed the head to grow a new head
kill my mind and watch the world change
shed my skin to grow a new skin
free my soul and feel my mind change
learn this lesson and save some time
see their lies and let my mind change
i can feel another head growing back
it's another wave of mînd attack
and now the world is turning black
so here i stand, i'm dawning new flesh
and this is what i see with my new 3yes
something has to change now
someone's gotta empty the trash
wash away all this ignorance
and let mother nature grow a new flesh
we never knew how bad it was
we never saw how sad this was
and now i know why i am here
to show the truth and make it clear
that time has come to make a change
shed your head to grow a new head
show your soul and feel your mind change
shed your flesh to grow a new flesh
free your mind and watch the world change
it's another layer of skin peeling off
if you kill the brightest flower in your garden
an even brighter one will grow in its place
shed the head to grow a new head
kill my mind and watch the world change
shed my skin to grow a new skin
free my soul and feel my mind change
learn this lesson and save some time
see their lies and let my mind change
i can feel another head growing back
it's another wave of mînd attack
and now the world is turning black
so here i stand, i'm dawning new flesh
and this is what i see with my new 3yes
something has to change now
someone's gotta empty the trash
wash away all this ignorance
and let mother nature grow a new flesh
we never knew how bad it was
we never saw how sad this was
and now i know why i am here
to show the truth and make it clear
that time has come to make a change
shed your head to grow a new head
show your soul and feel your mind change
shed your flesh to grow a new flesh
free your mind and watch the world change
i'm gonna kill myself
politicians holding us down
making laws that keep us underground
but i'm not blind, i realize
to become free, open your 3yez
don't give in, to all the lies, they live in
all these years of rage and hate
build it up, hold it in
breaking point, annihilate
kill em all, what a sin
we're only here for a little while
and i'm so tired of living this crooked lie
we better change while we still have a chance
remember, you elected dubya twice
your laws mean shyt to me
my time's right now, you see
this is my day, now it's my way
when i break, be far away
all these years of rage and hate
built it up, held it in
breaking point, annihilate
kill em all, now i win
let my voice be heard... to set it off
madness as we stir... to set it off
chaos hits the streets... to set it off
can't stop me, just watch me... set it off
turning your world into mine
paint it black, dark enuph
see the dead king in his shrine
now i rule, set it off
making laws that keep us underground
but i'm not blind, i realize
to become free, open your 3yez
don't give in, to all the lies, they live in
all these years of rage and hate
build it up, hold it in
breaking point, annihilate
kill em all, what a sin
we're only here for a little while
and i'm so tired of living this crooked lie
we better change while we still have a chance
remember, you elected dubya twice
your laws mean shyt to me
my time's right now, you see
this is my day, now it's my way
when i break, be far away
all these years of rage and hate
built it up, held it in
breaking point, annihilate
kill em all, now i win
let my voice be heard... to set it off
madness as we stir... to set it off
chaos hits the streets... to set it off
can't stop me, just watch me... set it off
turning your world into mine
paint it black, dark enuph
see the dead king in his shrine
now i rule, set it off
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