email to sandra

well... we're off to a bad start. i'm sorry, give me a second to think where to start. my morning was ruined, i wanted to sit outside the starbucks like i usually do, this morning to enjoy my hot chocolate and a cigarette, and try to slowly enjoy my morning and worm my way out of pain a little, but i had to immediately come into starbucks to start typing this up, hot chocolate is still full, it'll be cold if i write too much. i'm sick of people tearing down my fucking dreams like those dreams are theirs to tear down, why the fuck does everyone have to stomp on my fucking dreams before they've even gotten off the fucking ground, why!

woke up this morning next to the cool black rocker dude, d-rock (i hate names with hyphens... i'm like gilbert gottfried when it comes to names). and i start telling him just a couple of things about what i want to do, and he immediately just starts cutting me off, talking too much, talking over me, dominating me and trying to educate me like every other fucking dick hanging male i encounter, and trying to destroy my fucking dreams, i cannot fucking stand that. every 'professional' in the music industry tries to tell me 'the way it has to be done, the way it's supposed to be done, the only way you can do it', and no one realizes...

i'm not doing this to appease or appeal to you, i'm not doing this to get popular, i'm not in it for the money, i'm doing this to destroy your world. thus i'm not going to follow any of your rules, i'm deliberately going to break every fucking rule, just to show most of you idiots, not only can it be done, but you should have already had the balls to do it before i got here, and since you left it up to me, i'm doing it the best way possible, destroy it all in one big fuckin' shot, and i will succeed, i have to. everything i've ever done was and is specifically geared toward taking it down. that's why my first album is full of attention grabbing hits, and the second album, metamorphosis, is probly the most antisocial album you'll ever hear. music that's made to be listened to by your fucking self, in headphones, eyes closed, away from people... this world sorely needs an album like that. my music is not yours to control, and that's the whole fucking point it's getting out there. i am not yours to own, i am not your fucking slave, i don't have to do what you fucking tell me. no one is capable of understanding that, so all they can spit out is 'you're gonna fail'.

then he tried saying that he's asked several people around this area what they think about how i dress, and he says that they've all said that the way i dress scares them, and that it looks too much like the columbine shit.

so i need your help today, and i need jesse's help today. i'm going to make a sign that says...

'the way i dress shouldn't say 'columbine' to you, it should say 'outlaw/rockstar', and those of you who think i'm not a rockstar yet? shows how much you know'.

if you're going to be a rockstar, you need to think yourself a rockstar your whole life, otherwise you're not a real fuckin' rockstar.

don't blame me because you've been on the road and learned so much already, don't take it out on me if they crushed your dreams of making it out of this delusion because you were too weak. and don't tell me a fucking thing about how i dress, i'm not me to appeal to you, to appease you, i'm not doing this for you, i'm not a shiny product that's going to step on stage and put on a little tap and dance show and do what you tell me to do. i'm not doing what you want to see, i'm doing what i've always wanted to see, and my heroes have let me down by not doing it yet. which is why i'm fucking doing it. can you fucking understand that! that's all anyone can ever tell me, is how i'm doing it wrong. i don't have to do it your way, because your way has failed for so many decades now, it doesn't work, because we're fucking homeless!

i fucking hate people. i'm not doing this to get popular, i'm doing this to destroy your popular, and be left the fuck alone!

these minds that are so soaked into the concrete are incapable of understanding that, because that concept cannot absorb into that concrete, hence why i don't fit into your mold. your mold has gotten moldy, and needs to be taken out to the trash. you are not understanding this shit, and there's a reason for that. i'm sick of people telling me 'doing something new has already been done, being original has already been done', why are you telling me that, what's left, if being original has already been done, are you telling me that so i'll have more of a reason to be a clone and do what's already been done before the original shit came into play?

think about it, you dumb fuck! think about that. i'm intentionally not doing what you want, because you need to someday understand the reason behind it. i fucking hate all of you, and i never want to encounter another male as long as i fucking live, i hate you scumfucks, i hate the fact that you have a dick wanging between your legs, it's disgusting on so many levels, and the fact that you can't stop waving that thing in my face trying to dominate me, makes me want to castrate every male on this fucking planet, and put you in a pen on the other side of the earth from the females. you need to be bred out of the human race. you need to be left in the dust of the past. you need to not even be seen on the history channel, i don't want my kids knowing that you were ever around. are you getting this yet? are you fucking understanding any of this yet. i don't have to be you, that's why i'm being me. that's why i dress the way i do. i was wearing trench coats long before those columbine douchebags, and just because they were idiots, does not mean you and all of society should fearfully change your opinion of the outlaw who has always been this way throughout history and all of time. whenever the outlaw shows up, it's because you fucked up. it's not my fault you don't study your history, thus history repeats itself, i'm here to cut us out of that loop so we can move forward. that's physics, something else you should have studied before thinking yourself smarter than me or better than me. you fucking mortard.

what the fuck is wrong with people! do i have to educate you on this fact over and over again, cause i'm getting sick of it, get the fuck off me! let me fucking breathe just once, whaddayasay? you fucking imbecilic cretin. i can't find words that are good enough, and that doesn't happen often. you're scum, you need to be taught that you are not the be all end all to human excellence, i'm an evolutionist, which means my buddy that shows up three thousand years from now, is alot more advanced than you or me... fucking duh! you dumb scrotal fuck! get the fuck off me! get your chains out of my fucking throat, i speak because compared to all of you, i dominate that.

god, i shouldn't have to say this shit, i so should not have to say this shit, especially repeatedly. i fucking hate you! all of you! (present company excluded, wink wink hug hug).

i'm fucking sick of idiots trying to cram me into their mold. will it ever stop happening to me. i can't breathe in your stagnant miserable little reality. thus i'm creating a new one. because i'm ahead of my time, so i have to try and bring the future closer to now than you have ever done. is that making sense to you yet?

i picture the kid in the movie 'jumper', jamie bell, when he's beating the shit out of the other jumper kid, and says the words 'am i gettin' the message through to ya?'

but he says it between punches, so it's paused, and it's in his wonderful irish accent, which makes the scene perfect, and sticks in my memory like a flash drive, i see it every time.

'am i gettin'... the message... through to ya'.

i feel that energy in my arms, and i've never liked that feeling. my hot chocolate is getting cold, so i have to go for now, but i fucking cannot stand having my morning destroyed by dominant male monkey mutherfuckers that think i have to fit into their mold for the simple excuse that it's how it's always been done. mutherfucker, haven't you seen 'the croods'? watch the fuckin' history channel, you have failed. which means someone needs to succeed past you.

it's not my fucking fault if you can't understand that. but thanks for crushing my fucking dreams. i fucking hate you. cramming your shit into my ear, raping your shit into my ear against my will, you scrumfuck goatscrunt scrotalroach festering piece of fucking... you're pond scum! i wish that was more offensive than it is.

on my deviant art page, it says 'personal quote:', and i put 'i'm sure i can think of something offensive'... that right there. that's the guy you're dealing with. the more you study your history, the better you'll understand me. as well as my purpose here. it's not to follow your rules, it's to break them all. to destroy the establishment on which they were built. the foundation must go, so you can build a new one. you dumb fuck.

not everyone has to make your music. not every rockstar has to do what you say. i shouldn't have to tell you that. get a fucking clue. you make me fucking sick. i'm glad i'm not you, i never fucking will be. and you cannot crush these dreams, mutherfucker, because my dreams are finely ingrained into the same blood stream that machine head came from. that's fucking backbone. that's balls. do your fucking research.

gotta go for now.

love.

p.s... i really hope someone actually reads this fucking blog soon, so at least one other human mind can understand who i am and what the fuck i'm saying for once. just to have that compassion would make this so much easier to handle. i fucking hate you people, i'm not supposed to be you, get it through your thick fucking... goddamnit. someone, please, read this fucking blog, understand what the fuck i'm saying, who i am, what i mean to do, fill your fucking brain with it, i would pay billions to have a scholar at this point, i've always wanted someone who understands me, who makes it their mission in life to understand me better than anyone else. that's a vital weapon missing from my glorious arsenal, get the fuck in there already, back me up, cause this shit's about to start. you can tell by what the people say to me, it's getting much closer. i can see it. i've given my links out to so many countless people over my travels, seattle, portland, san francisco, now los angeles, the central point of all disaster and concrete cancer hatred, yes, i know where the fuck i am, i do not need to 'go home', you're not the first assmaggot to come along and tell me 'go back to arizona', which, ironically, two of the people who have, have been black. i find that hilarious. one, a security guard in spokane washington, where i started off traveling, told me 'go back to arizona', i felt like asking him, 'is it legal for you to say that'. 'should you be saying that to me'. 'has it been thirty five point two years yet? or whatever the fuck south park says right before they lynch jared the subway douchebag. what the fuck is going on here, two black people now have told me to go back to arifuckingzona??? am i the only one seeing this, should i post it on youtube? is anyone else doing the math on that? two black dudes, one a security guard, the other a homeless rockstar that thinks himself more of a rockstar than me... what the fuck is going on here, yeah, it's obviously time for me to happen, cause y'all are doin' such a bangup fuckin' job here of telling everyone else how to live your life, you must be proud of all your little minion clones, you know they made a movie about you, and it was ANIMATED!!! hahahahaha! well, yeah, i'm animatrinity, which even facebook won't allow, so... yeah. just proves how fuckin' dumb you really are, and how little you know about me. go fuck yourselfies. i'm an evolutionist. i'm an anarchist. and you're officially fuckin' with the wrong man. you better pray, hope, and fear, that i don't become one of those self made men you occasionally hear about. would someone read this fucking blog already! goddamnit! i've only been asking for fifteen fucking years now! no one reads anymore? what happened to reading rainbow, did they fail too? someone needs to understand, you don't own me, so you need to stop telling me how the fuck to be a you clone, i'm never going to be, and i'm going to refuse, rebel, and resist more than sepultura and otep combined! listen to the song by machine head called imperium. better yet, listen to the live version on the machine fucking head live album, and when you get to the end of the song, you tell me if you think i'm gonna lose. go ahead.

you cheap plastic product fuck. i wish someone would read through my blogs and shit, and tell me the exact number of times i've said this before. that piece of information, i would pay to know. who's up for a little challenge this morning with your scrotal goat fucking frappé latté fuckin' queerfest. stop telling me to 'man up', this is me telling you fuckers to 'man up', or you sometimes use the term 'sack up', well, the sack only holds the balls, so i'll prefer for now to say 'ball up', even though it doesn't sound quite right, i like it because it doesn't sound like you.

fuck yourself.

eyecandy addiction distractions

sitting in starfucks, there was this absolutely gorgeous brunette, thick wavy long hair, absolutely gorgeous face, incredible body, old west style jeans, little vest, cute little orange imac. overheard her on the phone with someone saying she wrote two new songs yesterday. but she listens to the wrong type of music. pop, i assume by her neck movements, although it was cute. but she was one of those, that when a particular type of guy sees her, she's not just a ten, she's the one. guys know, when you see her, your heart leaps out of your chest in her direction, and you have to hold it back, which of course starts leading other things in that direction. but one of those top of the line, high class ladies, that you can't take your eyes off of, and watching her walk away is... just as heartbreaking the first time as it is the last time.

i picture my wife in her little pink heartbreaker panties.

anyway, i wanted to play it smooth, and write something on a piece of paper, and leave it for her just before walking out the door for a smoke... i didn't get the chance, i hesitate too long, and she got up and left before i could muster the courage. but this is what i wanted to write. since i didn't get to give it to her, i figured i'd post it here. for myself. (like anyone else would care, not even other men can be honest about their feelings anymore, they've been so bred out of us, as we've been conditioned to think rather morbidly about... well... shut up, mouth.

i wanted to write down...

you are absolutely, ridiculously, stunningly gorgeous.
like in a way that shouldn't be legal.
you're so far out of my league, that i'm ahead of my time.
but i'd still love to write some music with you sometime.

and then leave my email, incase she was brave enough to not be a total snob. but judging by her hair alone...

i don't think she even used pantene or any of the store shit, i bet she used horse shampoo or some shit.

i miss my hair.

...
anyway, i'm watching 'a million ways to die in the west', and i love that doc brown makes a cameo.

i've started writing sandra on a daily basis, just to have someone to write on a daily basis, which has been much needed for too long now. writing to myself just doesn't do it. i've been begging people this whole traveling year, and even traveling, you'd think i could at least develop a long distance pen pal or something, but fucking no one gives a shit, no one cares. i also love watching neil patrick harris shit into a hat. but aside from that. i've handed my email address out to so many people on this trip. i've met so many people, shared my story with them.

only to attract zero hearts. not even half an eye. this is too sad, why does this world have to be this shitty before i make any changes, and i have to make them all myself before anything gets any better. i'm forced to keep watching these dumb, bald, scumfuck doofus goober loser moron guys with your hot little side sluts on your arms with zero chance of... i miss the days of bull vs bull. the dual to the death for the lady. i actually miss when it wasn't violence, but a guy could just walk up to a lady, speak a little poetry, and win her away from the cornhole she's standing with, did that ever actually exist, or was that just on my planet. when did actual chivalry exist on this planet, if ever. cause all you douchebags that looked more like neil patrick harris in 'a million ways to die in the west', and not the fella who's ahead of his time, good god...

i can't sit in this starfucks anymore, i can't even focus with these women around me, they're too fucking hot. everytime one walks out the door, another walks in, i can't fucking think. i can't touch a single one of them. i fucking hate this planet. i hate those bumperstickers that say 'i'd rather be surfing' or whatever. i'd rather be on the digital purple beaches of arcturus, why couldn't i have been born there. i love this fuckin' movie.

what the fuck was i saying. god, you're a douchebag. if i could unload and speak my mind freely to every person i see... i would be free. and you would be educated. that'll never happen. anyway. but all you fuckin' mustache havin' douchebags, prancing around showing off your wallets like it makes you better than me, you ruined it for the last six thousand years, i'm not even counting your whole bible catastrophe for the last two thousand, you fucks really fucked everything up good, i wish i could tell you that your mamas ain't proud of you, but most of you are long dead. thanks for fucking up future generations. not only do i wish i could throw my voice into the future, i wish i could throw it back into the past and tell you fucks how bad you fucked up, show you what the fuck you did wrong.

my voice isn't even that godly, i'd rather hear michio kaku say it. i would pick george carlin, but he's dead, too. hopefully, when anything finally happens, michio will still be alive by then, and won't have blown himself up in a chemistry experiment, or shot dark matter at himself in sweden, at that collider thing. wherever the fuck he is.

anyway. i guess that's all i had to say for now, i can't keep my mind... there it goes again. and ho! there's another one. time to shut the mouth. jesus lord, hunny, that thing ain't street legal, come on, you're torturing me, cover yourself in a blanket or get the fuck out of here, goddamn. you could drive a matchbox car around that track. fuck, my brain is sliced like a bundt cake. what are you making these fuckin' things out of, man? are you factory producing these women with old marilyn monroe dna or what. this ain't right, there's gotta be a machine to blame behind those curtains.

greed

i'd also like to post here, just for my own future knowledge, that i'm completely unmotivated to deal with bank of america this month. so i'm just leaving my account alone, i'm not even going to look at it till next month.

this month was fucked. last month, september, when i got my disability money, i got myself a laptop, and tried to get my medical weed card so it could at least be easier for me to find weed. but the day i got my weed card, i lost my arizona driver license. i had held onto that for years, all through this homelessness. just when i get the weed card, i lose my id, making the weed card useless. keep in mind, i rarely lose shit, i think the prick at the weed store kept my id, just for the purpose of making the weed card useless. seventy bucks wasted on that. and this laptop. i bought an i5, and it's still slower than my grandmother. i should have bought the i7, but then i would have been sober that month. and being sober for my birth month is a bad idea. needless to say, i had to panhandle alot that month. so when october came around, all i needed to do was get my id replaced. but when i walked to the bank to get my october money, i didn't have my id. so i had to verify that i was me, and could only get five hundred. leaving two hundred in my bank. that whole fiasco stole the motivation to get the id, so now i'm fucked for next month as well, the only way i can get any of my money now, is if i motivate myself to panhandle enough money for a new id before i can even think about getting my money out of the bank. the problem is, i'm really not motivated to panhandle for that, so i doubt that i'm going to get my id and see next month's money.

so, when the motivation for my id was stolen by all that horseshit chaos, i made it to about the eighth before i ran out of money. in fact, i remember. october sixth, the shoulder strap to my laptop case broke. since i hated carrying around a heavy laptop with one hand, instead of having my hands free, i had to spend my last bit of money on a new laptop case. the first one, i got from the pawn shop for free. this one cost me forty fucking bucks. but i walked up and took forty bucks out of the atm, so i could buy more weed. then i walked to the target to buy the laptop case. when i tried to buy it, it didn't take my card. i checked my card, which i seriously dread doing, right there in the store, and it showed that i only had ten bucks left on my card. so to pay for the laptop case, i handed over the cash. the next morning, october seventh, i woke up expecting to have ten bucks on my card still. i walked to the seven eleven to get my hot chocolate, and it wouldn't take my card. so i checked my account again.

bank of america loves to charge poor people a 'monthly maintenance fee', of twelve dollars every month. to maintain what, i wonder. it doesn't cost every person twelve bucks for them to perform maintenance on a website, nor a bank account. i only get seven hundred a month, but they feel that a twelve dollar chuck of that, aka a day's meal, should be theirs. every month. so, when i thought i should have ten bucks left on my card, and walked up to seven eleven to get a hot chocolate, and already made that hot chocolate, only to find out the hard way that my last ten bucks was no longer on my card... yeah. couldn't even get a two dollar hot chocolate because my bank has to be greedy little pricks. ten bucks left on my card, so they took twelve, leaving me in the hole, which will incur overdraft fees, leaving me fucked in the hole this month, so when i get next month's money, that extra two hundred dollars that i saved and held back? it's already gone. they charge overdraft fees for the overdraft fees, did you know that? if you have an overdraft fee, and you don't pay it, they'll charge another overdraft fee. each overdraft fee is thirty five dollars. so for each little one dollar purchase that sends you over, that's at least seventy dollars they can charge you, and the longer it sits that way through the month, the more they charge you.

perfect practice for a disability account, right?

so, i'm just purposely going to let that one dollar turn into overdraft fees, because a: i seriously don't feel like dealing with this bank anymore, i'm fucking fed up with their horseshit, and i'm just waiting to sue them, and b: well, i talk too much to remember b. but yeah, i seriously refuse to deal with that bank this month, so i'm just going to fuck them off, and i can deal with it when i sue them later. i'm sick of this shit, you fucking rich people, how many of our dollars do you think belong to you? and you don't even ask anymore, you just take and take and take. cause that's your policy.

my last ten bucks. but they wanted twelve.

but i am going to draw a little comic of a dude getting raped in the ass in the middle of the street by a bank of america employee, and an old lady asking the dude, 'aren't you going to do anything about that', and the dude just says 'he works for the bank'.

i'm gonna get fuckin' rich off that. because that last ten bucks of mine that they took from me... i had some lady hand me ten bucks down by pink taco just after that, so... looks like their attempts to keep me beneath them are still proving fruitless, but you'd think there would be any convincing them.

i fucking hate you people. the more dollars you spend, the longer you perpetuate this delusion.

and the longer you delay a better life.

i'm getting serious shocks of pain in my right leg today. after each one, my eyesight goes black, and i have to fade back in to my head. that can't be good, but you think anyone would give a good lickin' load of lizard shit? fuck no.

point being. that was my last fucking ten bucks. a day of food for me, but a 'monthly maintenance fee' to you. what are you maintaining on my account, that i have to pay you twelve bucks a month, i'd really like to know.

i asked them that, they just shuffled it off quickly, saying it's standard something something.

i don't give a shit. i'm sick of your money.

you know how many of your dollars i have proudly defaced, writing 'i am bill hicks' on them?

so fuck your ten bucks, fuck your month, fuck it all, i'm not dealing with a fucking bit of it till november, and that's even if i feel motivated enough to get my id, which i didn't even go into all that. i lost my arizona driver license, something rather special to me. i do not want to get a california id, i'd much rather go back up to seattle at this point, and get a washington id, especially considering that i have also lost the weed card, and how worthless it was anyway, and it was easier to get weed in seattle anyway. fuck this shit, i'm hating california. too many rich, greedy scumfucks here. too many sports cars, too many dogs on leashes, too many fucking muscle puffed walking steroids holding hands, i'm so sick of seeing that. these fucking overbuilt doofuses, building all that muscle to do absolutely nothing with it, like driving a truck and never putting anything in the truck bed, which i've seen people do, i'm so sick of seeing that, do you really have to build all that muscle to do nothing good with it other than using it for appearance, especially when you don't even have to look in a mirror to appreciate it, because your boyfriend is just as built... what the fuck is wrong with you people, you've taken this gay thing way too far, which means it's gone into the territory of queer and fag and all that shit, which means i don't have to be respectful to you, cause when the fuck have you been respectful to me, other than ignoring me. i don't get that, really, it's too stupid and childish and immature to understand. you build your muscles not to help others, but to attract a man that looks just like you, so you can hold hands and walk down the street together... you know, when our future selves look back on us right now at this point in our development, they're going to be pretty fucking ashamed at how far you let yourself fall into this weakness. i think even the women are starting to wonder what the fuck we're thinking.

one man questioning his sexuality, is an issue, and needs to be looked at by an openminded family and a therapist.
a bunch of men questioning their sexuality, is a media circus, but can still be handled responsibly by family.

but this many men, the world over, that are so comfortably feeling like they need another man's presence...

i don't care how many steroids you've swallowed, you're weak. and that weakness can be seen by the future, and the eyes of women. so go ahead and keep fucking eachother in the asses, and you can even blame me for being 'homophobic' and insulting you if it makes you feel better. attacked, victimized, scared. sure, wallow in it.

i don't give a fuck about my sexuality, especially when it comes to defining it to any of you. it's my fucking business, and just because i fuck a guy doesn't mean i should publicly call myself gay from that point forward. who gives a shit who you're fucking, i'm much more concerned with what your fucking iq is, because that's the requirement that qualifies you in the eyes of the future. and by future, i only mean the day when you do not exist. because all we have is this moment, and you have put us in this linear prison with dollar bills and concrete and rules, but no, the truth is, we are in this moment, and you just need to not be here. is that clear enough?

that being said...

i am, seriously, very sick of seeing so many muscle crusted men holding hands with eachother, that makes me fucking sick. but i also hate seeing the hot women and the backs of their heads. i know they're never going to see me, so that's why i hate it so much. in fact, ninety nine percent of all men and women sicken the fuck out of me. i don't mean that to offend you, i mean it to inform you. but i know it will just offend you. so go ahead, misunderstand it, call me whatever you want, diagnose me, tell me i'm wrong and call me an asshole, i don't care.

i'm just as sick of seeing that as i am your leashed dogs, so what, are you gonna call me an animal hater now, too? for your information, i'm cat people, but... not like you'd ever be 'informed'.

you don't realize what a waste you are, do you?

we need seven billion 'unique' clones, some driving mercedes, some holding hands, some spending credit cards on expensive food for their families... you know what? when it all comes down to it, this is probably what i hate the most about your 'family unit' mentality.

the fact that you're so possessive, but you tell me i'm possessive if i try to get my hands on one fuckin' thing.

you covet your families in secrecy, fear, and privacy, you shroud your lives in walls of defense.

so when i see your two asian daughters dressed like sluts, walking down the street holding hands with their two asian boyfriends, walking into a starbucks...

i get sick.

i should be able to walk up to any girl, and offer her a compliment, and possibly a touch, and even have the chance of convincing her to walk my way. that's called chivalry. it makes life fair. but you just pass me off as possessive, and allow yourselves to keep living such greedy, selfish lives. no, you're wrong, and your first mistake, was a psychological issue called 'projection', which i know a lot about, i came from a family that imprinted me with all their flaws, i should know. see, i'm not being possessive, i have nothing in my hands, and really need nothing in my hands. infact, i wrote the song about that, but we'll get to that later.

you are possessive, and i can prove it.
wallet. password on your cellphone. pants. dress shoes. car keys. and your daughter dates guys you approve of, which are usually weak, ignorant losers, which makes you feel more manly. you like owning everything.

therefore, you are possessive.

do i need to repeat that?
must i explain that to you again?
shall i walk you through it again?

i'm standing in a black room, talking into a mirror.
that reflection constantly blames me, tells me i'm wrong.
is that because i'm saying the same things to it first?
i honestly feel like i'm trying to educate this mirror, and it's just throwing mud at me.

i wish i could tell a psychologist that, but they don't give a shit.
my mother could analyze it and explain it to you. if she were here.

i'd love to hear carl jung's take on that.

so to all the hippies who blame me for being too filled with hatred, too negative...
to all the facebook clones that purposely misunderstood me and blamed me...

i'm trying to love a mirror, trying to sympathize, educate.
it's hating me, which is filling me with hate.

how do you explain that. it's not my fault the mirror is retarded and doesn't understand how wrong it is. but it could at least stop blaming me for all its problems and accusing me of doing the same thing.

i've explained that so many times, i can't count them all.

one of these days, one of you fuckers is going to finally understand this, and i expect sympathy for me having to stand alone on this ledge all this time. butting my head against every hateful force in our mind, just trying to get to a better day than today. forgive me for calling it the future, i just need a word to look forward to.

a definition to use.

every fat man i see wearing khaki shorts and sandles, pulling a fat wallet out of his pocket, to buy something for someone only he knows, if not himself...

i hate you.
i know you don't deserve that.
and i know you won't be around much longer.
i pray for the end of you.
and all your clones, all your concrete and plastic and hatred. stench.

gone.

the earth is waiting for that, too.

stop deciding if you believe in god, or if you're 'in league with satan', or trying to convey one image while actually practicing the other... it doesn't matter anymore.

i'm on the side of the earth. i hear the voice of the earth. you want to debate me, you're gonna lose.

nature wins. every time. so says evolution. figure that out.

you hot girls, your pink half shirts hanging so loosely off your perfect tits, and the fact that i can't touch...
you don't deserve to exist either. i know you may gasp and get offended, but it's the opinion i'm entitled to.

when it comes down to how close our opinions are to those of nature... don't blame me for being closer to earth than you. you were listening to god, i chose to listen to a voice that was actually talking to me. that's not my fault.

so... when are we going to stop blaming, and start agreeing. hmm?

friday

i know it's going to be any day now when i get that first big phone call, or whatever form it comes in, when i can finally get someone's attention, and get to the right ears, but i really cannot figure out, why can i never get anyone to respond to me or contact me. i'm sick of this shit, i'm sick of these lazy fucking people that say they're going to call you for whatever reason, and never do. you fucks destroy dreams and you know it. you're just getting a tiny chew out of me, like fish food, and then spitting me back out, and i'm sick of encountering so many of you, and wasting my time when i could be talking to actual relevant people and getting something accomplished. you stand in the way of all creativity. you're like disconnected neurons firing in the wrong directions, and breaking vital connections in the consciousness, which i can see with my third eye. go ahead and debate that, i can't wait to make you look like a moron, too. whenever there is a connection to be made, a certain set of words to hit a certain set of ears to accomplish this, whenever there is an idea to be born...

you fuckers standing in my way make everything so impossible, you make everything take longer than it should, and you make every effort a disastrous television commercial like the ones where they lady in the kitchen can't figure out how to use a knife the right way. shit like that used to piss my mother and i off. you do not realize what you're destroying, and how much time and effort you're wasting. you really need to get your fat, lazy ass the fuck out of my way, and let me accomplish a dream. you are the waste. you are the trash. you think yourselves so important, so vital to the human race, the be all end all to human development. you couldn't be more wrong, and the fact that you refuse to realize that only shows the exact size of your ego over the soul. like a shadow pulling a cart that's dragging the dead horses behind it, which you beat and throw to the bushes daily.

that's what your beliefs look like.

if your belief structure could be painted by a psychedelic artist, i'm sure it would look like a prison.

concrete, flat, grey...

bright, hot, stagnant...

i've been there. i've seen it. you're not even wondering where i've been since then. i've seen aeons of evolution since leaving that building, and you think yourself ahead of me. god, can you give me more powerful words, more convincing words, to prove to these people how stupid they look, so they could change their minds without being forced. does it take the criminal seeing their wrongs to make them right, or does that even work.

is it a waste of time.

if only their god could answer this question, we'd know what to do with them. but he's hiding. he can't give away the secret.

what a sad excuse. i even thought so when i was a kid. staring up at the night sky, eight years old, trying to see a god that might stop my grandmother from screaming at my mother.

no one knew. know one even knows that story. everyone who did, either didn't care, or is dead.

my past really deleted itself, didn't it. i guess that's a good thing, it was trash anyway. but when is the new life going to start. it's waiting too long, and this concrete is still revolving around me.

if you wake up every day on the same concrete... is it the same day? could i ask bill murray? could his fictional character answer a theoretical, hypothetical question anyway. do other people have their eyes to the same future, or do i doubt it for a reason.

you'll never understand how much you destroy. clearly. you are incapable of comprehending even the slightest inkling of change in your own perspective. you're perfect, and there is none better.

in the eyes of evolution, we're all waiting for the door to hit you in your ass on your way gone. we're staring at the history books, waiting to see your image smoke itself into the page. we know you don't give half a fuck.

i wish...
i wish...
i wish...

battling your brain is like smashing a brick wall up against a steel... wall.

it's like throwing bananas through a bulletproof window.

but i cannot understand why i keep encountering these waste of time people, that look at me like a fish on their hook, dangling for their attention, trying to show my shiniest side to appeal to their dull eye, for what reason...

and then they just throw me back to the concrete. no interest. my fortune cookie eyes don't appeal to their future.

or what material things they might accumulate.

god, you're...

primitive?
neanderthalic? is that a word? google says it's not.
unevolved?

i get nothing but automated emails, and each living creature i meet on the street that says they'll call me or help me...

maybe i need to repeat myself, since you clearly didn't catch that. that's how i phrase my sentences, i put the proof before the point, so you don't need a fact proven to you repeatedly, i'm making less work for your brain, but you don't understand that, so your brain just shuts down and won't think past it.

i get nothing but automated emails.

which means all those phone numbers and email addresses and links i've handed out...? zero responses. zero looks. zero sign of life. zero fishtooth snags. zero hooks. one hundred percent apathy.

and you excuse that by thinking it's okay.

i'm tired of waiting. you've wasted too much of my time anyway, now i'm walking on concrete day after day with no eye to the next day, no clue what to do each moment, each street, each block, each building.

you fucks that just pick up the fish, give him the evil eye, and throw him back on the concrete, you don't realize, you can't realize, you waste more time and take up more space then could be shown to you on a calculator.

but thankfully, i'm sure someone, someday, will convince you that you're wrong.

and then we can all move on, and enjoy something.

we're living organisms sharing the skin of one big living organism.

what more do i need to repeat to you? we've already been over this, it's your responsibility to catch up. i'm not going to spend the rest of my life in third grade, that's the teacher's job. i'm just the bullet someone fired toward the future. don't try stopping me, you'll get hurt. forgive me for stating the obvious, but i find that necessary, even crucial lately.

that reminds me of my old school idea... citizens offering crucial knowledge... c.o.c.k. i loved that.

people really like to think they own you, don't they? can you see the reflection in their eyes, that they are unaware of how wrong they are? can you see a particular emptiness in their eyes, a certain cluelessness about them, can you sense that the vital concept of equality is not inhabiting their perspective. does it matter.

the more i try to jump to the future, the more i find i'm being held back by that third grade class. right when i'm about ready to say 'okay, let's leap to the future', someone sounding like my grandmother says 'wait, i don't understand' something, and i need to explain it again. that's not my job, you fuckers sit here festering in your third grade class listening to the ghost of your teacher, i've got faster things to rush past my eye. we don't have to keep waiting and hiding in the comfort of this classroom, tomorrow was waiting for us yesterday, how long do you think you can hold the clock's hands back before it gets angry at you. you resist the truth, you resist the future, and blame us and condemn us for resisting you and your fears. you can't even see how illogical that is. and we're wasting our time trying to bring you up to speed, when every night, your fears and blankets comfort you back down to your slow pace, so the next morning is just a repeat of the progress made yesterday, and you're not understanding how you're holding us all back. i don't know why we need you to come out of the classroom with us, i don't know why we can't just leave the room and head fearlessly forward, not worrying about how scared you are back in that room, maybe it's the parent in us that wants to see their offspring succeed, but i'm really weighing on it not mattering, because i'd really like to get these legs running, and not have to worry about who i'm leaving behind.

that being said, i'm pursuing the future for me. not the rest of you. you can think me selfish, but i have plenty of reason to hate you, after all the times you've ignored me alone, look in my arsenal, you might recognize the ammunition, it has your name all over it. i'm just using it to prove a point to a wall for my own edification. why would you be concerned with that, you've got dollars in your wallet to worry about, nothing to see here, move along.

my feet are free. no hands on my feet any longer. so why i'm still waiting around for you and your approval that i fly toward the future without you, is a mystery to me. i'm well aware of the fact that i do not need you. i do not need your dollars, i do not need your health insurance, your ambulances, your cop cars, your jobs and bosses, i do not need any of that shit, because where we're going, we don't need the dust of past memories weighing us down. to paraphrase doc brown. so why am i waiting for your approval. i could be off breaking my own theories, proving that this concrete isn't really here, and neither are you, and the future is right in front of me next to that tree, but i have to sit here. why. did you tell me to? did i not tell you you're wrong? what time is being wasted and for what reason. why can you not get the fuck out of my way and let me reach the big ears so i can do what needs to be done. why are there so many of you clones clogging the tube. stop wasting my time please. if you're going to help, fucking help already. if you're going to chew me up and spit me out like everyone else, you don't need a taste of me, you can get any other clone on this planet, why are you so minimally curious about me, but just enough to waste my time. why does everyone need this minimal taste of me, why can't you just look the other way, look at someone else, leave me alone. i'm trying to do something big here, that will benefit everyone, especially those openminded and looking to the future like it still means something, simply because now sucks thanks to you.

did i phrase that right? can you understand that? do you need me to repeat it? rephrase it? what?

the world is about to change for the better, and instead, you're wasting time getting my phone number on the street, just so you can not call me, and get my hopes up, and ruin my fucking day, and waste another day.

i only have so many moments in each day. not like you. i only get one priority a day. usually, it's relaxing and working on my sanity. which, when i see you people saying you're doing the same thing, i see you playing videogames. you tell me it's to help you relax. maybe we have the wrong definition of relax.

when i'm sorting through mp3s, reading wikipedia, and scraping a bowl of resin, that's meditation for me. when my mind is activated, and i'm thinking, that's relaxing to me. when i play a videogame and feel stupid, and dumber, and like my brain is numb, that's very stressful for me, and makes my body shake like i'm hungry.

so clearly we have different ideas of relaxation. for you to relax, you need to deactivate your mind with a stupid videogame. for me to relax, i need... pretty much the opposite. i like intellectual stimulation. something else i find relaxing, putting on terence mckenna videos on youtube on my computer, leaving them playing in the background, while my massive music collection also plays on my computer, while i'm also watching limitless on my television... that's relaxing for me, that's soothing, comforting, like being enveloped in a soft cloudy womb pillow.

i've had people tell me that they can't listen to my music and watch my movies at the same time, because it's too much, it's too distracting... what, your mind can't focus on three things at once?

you know those three dee stereogram pictures where you had to relax your eyes and unfocus past the picture to see the three dee image? that's kind of what my mind does, or needs to do.

i guess you forget that i'm working with three eyes, not just two. so when i'm hyperconscious and overstimulated from focusing too much on too many small things crying out for my attention like a wackamole game short circuiting... that's when i need to unfocus my three eyes, and fill each of them with a bigger stream of ideas. that comforts me, and soothes me, and calms me down. weed helps, too. i can skip hours just by unfocusing my three eyes.

bombarding my eyes with bullshit, and tiny ideas, and television shows, and advertisements, and commercials, and pop songs... that numbs my eye and makes it harder to think, which i can see is clearly the popular purpose, like a bad drug. but when i fill my ears with metal, put on terence mckenna or robert anton wilson, when i have more than one conscious thing to focus on, my mind actually takes in alot more.

they used to get pissed at me in school, because the teacher would ask me a question, and i'd have to pop my head up out of a dream to answer it, and the other students would get pissed at me, not realizing that the answer was written on the board behind the teacher, and they would ask, 'how is he learning that, he was sleeping', and my mother tried telling them that i'm very observant, and that i am always learning, but they couldn't understand that, their small, feeble minds were incapable of fitting that concept into their heads, meanwhile i'm expected to fit perfectly into their mold like every factory model human before me, and they can't even see that i'm nowhere near their mold, i'm floating out in the universe swallowing galaxies for the knowledge and experience.

you guys are playing videogames. how boring. can't you get off your couch and stop telling me to live your dumb, tiny little life? maybe what's comforting to you isn't comforting to me. can you conceive that?

i don't know yet how to explain that to a doctor or psychiatrist, to have them understand enough to spit back some worthwhile response either defining or diagnosing, or at least recognizing my difference, but when i figure out how to word that... well... in your world, it would take thirty more years just to track down a good enough doctor and show it to him. your concrete's watch battery is dead, and i can prove it. why would you care.

i observe. i learn. i take in more than you. therefore, filling my brain with your mindnumbing horseshit is not good for me, i can't do what you do, i can't numb my brain with videogames and bad drugs and religion and superstition and tradition and fear and stagnant comfort due to material objects soaked in your stench. my home is not your home, your home is not my home. shut up, get out of my way, and give me my own home. that really involves you shutting your fucking mouth, i have to emphasize and stress that you must leave me alone once i get away from you, i do not want your credit cards, your unsolicited mail, your commercials, your facebook ads telling me to listen to your taste in music, and the plastic products your ass produces, you're going to have to keep those the fuck away from me. are you going to understand that when the time comes? i doubt it, i know your mind cannot stretch there. it will never reach that concept, so you'll keep showing up at my door with lawyers and ad execs and whatever else you want to sell me, because all those dollars you do get don't matter compared to the ones you have to work for.

i'm leading your concept back to its own primitive cranial cave, for burial. and you'll never be aware of that.

that's like dragging the dragon back into the cave without worrying about him waking up.

maybe only i get that joke, but who cares. it's a 'really inside joke', as my wife would say.

stop flooding my mind with your stream of thoughts, and demanding that i participate in your spiraling hatred product orgy. i see those souls hanging off the bloody dollar bills on your hooks reaching into the sky, and i can see the pyramid you're fishing from. only the most fearful feet will reach the top. trust me, i know, i have skin issues with moisture.

i see your eyes. i'm just never ever going to be noticed by you. day after day, you look away.

god, i wish i could tell you.

your television was never soothing to me.
i could burn your videogames and never blink. for the reason you'd never know.

i'm tired of people asking me if i'm a gamer, or if i like popular music, i'm tired of having to explain to people, no, i don't play your games, i don't listen to your music, i don't do your drugs, i don't watch your television shows, i don't spend your dollars, i don't have your credit cards, i don't want your bosses...

can you really not understand...
how loud do i need to shout this...
how many times do i have to repeat this...

i want something more.

your world of plastic products does not satiate me, nor does it even entertain me... can you understand yet. it's like trying to explain the theory of strings to a toddler using the cereal in their bowl. boogers hanging, milk dripping, nipples bleeding.

i am not comforted my your numbing superstitions buried in tradition. you can't have your feet in the past and your eyes in the future, it doesn't work that way. you have to choose one or the other.

knowledge was never evil. you, the speaker of that horrid line... you are evil. i guess you can't expect the devil to apologize... to acknowledge his mistakes... which confuses me, because the mind does expand, does it not? things do evolve, so why don't you? are you that evil that you can't evolve? if that's the case, then i have better hopes for the future, it will be less possible for you to be around there. that's comforting to me.

i still refuse to believe that making money in order to consume products is our sole purpose on this planet.

you are not the be all end all to human development. i'm proud to tell you that. even though, i know you're not listening. i'm confident someone will hear that someday, and appreciate it for what it's worth.

when you tell someone they're wrong...

if their response is 'oh, okay, what's the right way to do it'... they're a slave.
if their response is 'no, i'm not wrong'... they're an idiot.
if their response is 'thank you'... that's a person you can trust.

not that trust is going to be necessary much longer either.

i don't think we fully realize what all we're going to have to let go of, in order to step forward.

if your life is completely rooted in the past, you have to let go of the past. you have to let go of your entire life.

it's less painful to start making choices in a forward direction. you don't have to shed all your layers of skin at once. that's kinda the stupid way to do it. and you tell me i watch too many movies.

in my apartment, i rarely got lonely. being around people twenty four seven, and being ignored by every single one of them, sometimes makes me feel lonely, but most the time it makes me feel hateful. the times that it makes me feel lonely, i just have to remind myself how much i hate people because of this feeling, and it goes away.

if you want to understand me better, you'll have to look at that under a psychologists' microscope.

i hope to not have to repeat this. i hope something happens soon. i hope someone notices me and actually helps me.

friday, october sixteenth, twenty fifteen, four pm. my mother never got to see her fifty sixth birthday.

that was always very special to us.
my birthday was september twenty six.
her birthday was october eight.

this is a very empty day now, without her eyes. her seal of approval was necessary. i miss you, mama.

by the way, just a little piece of data for you to chew on. i get about fifty automated messages a day. do you think that's a little ridiculous when i get zero human responses each day. i've sent out so many emails that have never been replied to, i have handed out my email address and web links to so many people, given my phone number, only to have this massive total of people tell me that i'm of no interest to them, which i already knew, that's why i was trying to get to the bigger brains on this planet. people who are used to plastic products are not going to find me very interesting, i'm already aware of that. how the fuck do i get past it. how do i get around you people. there are so many of you, does there really have to be that many of you, you're really clogging this fucking world. the flow of blood must be unrestricted.

squirrel.

i miss my mama.

please, stop wasting my days, and let me get to the big brains already. i wish i could beg your god, but i'm only proving his nonexistence. unless you have some excuse for why he only ignores me. he only answers the prayers that are paid for with a gold card, is that it? those fuckers seem to get all their prayers answered.

luck is based in superstition and tradition, just like you, so i'm hoping, really really hoping, that luck itself is about to turn. you'll see this a whole new way, or you won't see it at all. either way, it's not my worry.

look up 'denial' in the dictionary. you put it there.

have a nice day.

a fuckin' sunday

just writing to write. have to waste time. waiting for the sun to set, so i can panhandle. i'm in starbucks on sunset and la brea, downloading. it's five pm on a sunday. i'm sober. the other day, someone stole my cart with my sleeping bag, pillows, panhandling sign, and old laptop bag in it. luckily the bag didn't have anything valuable in it, other than my nail clippers and tweezers. heartburn pills, my other sharpie, cheap shit. listening to birthday massacre right now. i still don't know what to think or what to do. the best i can think, is find places around this city where there are seven elevens close to libraries, and see how many metal people i meet. i still can't attract a female's eye. they are trained so well to not see trench coats. although, i'm getting a bit of an upskirt right now in the starbucks, i'll still never get to see a skirt flip up, or a tit hang out, or anything. until i start my own community, i will remain completely invisible. i can't attract my type of people, and i still don't know where to find them, and no one wants to help. not one human on this planet wants to have anything to do with me. that's so nice to know, cause i can't wait to use that as a weapon later. but that's all i can think of, is keep moving around, which i hate doing, but i have to find what part of this town has a good library next to a seven eleven, no bugs, no wind, some shade, no drug addicts, is that too much to ask? maybe some metal people, or god forbid some fuckin' females. yeah, i know that's too much to ask, but what does that say about who i'm asking.

after i figure out this town a little more... give it to the end of this month, october... when i get november's money, i'm seriously thinking about going back up to seattle. there's nothing here for me, no metal, no hippies, nothing. no love in any form. just products, clones, and credit cards. when am i finally going to meet a real human who notices me, and doesn't run away in fear. are you people that weak.

that's all i see around me are weaklings, people who wouldn't survive a fuckin' breeze. you have to stay safe in the safety of your car till you get to the safety of your home cause god forbid a wind come blowing along and fuck up your five hundred dollar hair style, it would ruin your day!

i don't know what else to write, that's just a little update for now. tried asking lai for help, sent her an email, haven't heard back. got an email from sandra i have to reply to. i also need to email cecilie and greg, and need to ask max for his email so i can email him, cause i wanted to email all four of them at once, asking them advice on what the fuck i should do. i'm not liking the people or the weather or the concrete here in cancer city, i'm really wanting to go back up to seattle where i know where everything is, it's not too far away, there's not that many drug addicts, there's more women... i don't know. i'm so sick of this world. nothing good ever happens, and it's because of you, and how fucking boring you all are. you and your leaders really went to sleep on this thing, didn't you. especially wherever the heart dare be involved. if you were going for apathy, you certainly succeeded.

i feel so sick.

you're broken

great, now i can't access my wordpress blog either. what the fuck is going on, is anyone else noticing that our electronics are working less and less, and being less and less reliable and dependable, and less and less functional, making us less and less functional. am i the only fucking one! i refuse to believe that! i can't get onto my fucking wordpress blog, i'm losing every writing outlet i have. there's no one i can fucking call. god, i fucking hate you.

september nineteen

here's my morning. again. walk to the mcdonald's to take a shit. now, i have to wait about five minutes. i finally go in, and the whole world of idiots and selfish, impatient, greedy fucks walk in and start bitching. did i go in and bitch at the last guy? no. i finally get in there, i get one minute. some guy walks in, asks me, i say 'i just got in here, but i'll try to hurry'. he walks out, some other idiot walks in asking, i say again, 'i just got in here, but i'll try to hurry'. he mumbles something untranslatable about waiting, i said i had to wait, too. he didn't care. some other guy walks in, apparently works here, asks the guy waiting how long he's been waiting, he says about seven minutes. i said bullshit, he's only been in here for less than a minute, there's no need to lie. the employee stands there, and says 'no, everyone has a right to take a shit'. proper lingo for a mcdonald's employee. what, was he quoting earnest hemmingway? douchebag. after saying that, the employee stands there, and gives me... literally, i shit you not, pardon the pun... one more minute... i could have timed it on my phone, one more minute, and then bangs on the door, starts pounding frantically on the door, saying, 'okay, your time's up, get the fuck out'. uh... i could have him fired for that, i'm sure. i've never known another human who can drop a turd in one minute flat, and walk out the door, what the fuck is wrong with you robotic heartless clones. is your hardware designed to drop turds that quick? i'm a human. i should rephrase that. unlike you, i'm a human. i walk out of the stall, and there are three guys all crammed in that one tiny bathroom, waiting, and socializing. top marks, gentlemen. bravo. hope someone does that to you... or is that why you treat me that way. is that courtesy these days. is that your standard, your norm, you all treat everyone like shit, and expect to go on walking. because you're all just minute turds, shitting out little beibers, cloning eachother every minute. eat mcdonald's, shit where you eat, and get on with your credit card. no idea why i fucking hate you.

then, i sit here on my laptop, get on the wifi, and i go to meetup.com, since i can't do facebook anymore. and i type in words to search for groups of people like me, so i type in consciousness, all it brings up is stupid looking meditation groups. i type in evolution, all it brings up is atheists and skeptics. i type in intellect, all it brings up is yoga. i type in mensa, it only brings up three groups, one of them is 'i'm a cool nerd'. obviously it's not in style to have a massive brain these days. you'll never figure out who i am and why i hate you. but i panhandled thirty six bucks last night. then i bought a hot chocolate and a couple bowls of cereal, which cost me eight bucks, leaving me with twenty four, so i'll try to use that today, and my two bus tokens, to get down to santa monica, which i really didn't want to do, from the looks of google maps, there's only the one library, it's not close enough to venice beach and the hippies to get weed, and the venice library close to the hippies, once you walk past that library back toward los angeles, there's nothing for miles, no stores, no restrooms, nothing. so if i go to santa monica, i'm basically fucked. i need to find the free meals in that area, the shelters, the areas to hang around, where the hippies are... but i only need weed from that, what i'm really trying to do right now, is find metal people with metal balls to start a metal band. i have yet to build up the motivation to do the open mic, and can't find anyone to help me with that, so fuck you all. you don't want me to get on stage, i won't get on stage, and maybe someday you'll never get to see all the shit in my head, and then hopefully, i'll die... which i'm hoping for soon, cause i can't take this shit any longer, i refuse to live on a planet overrun with this much meth and idiots, hell, i refuse to have anything to do with a world that ever had anything to do with drugs like that. when are you going to figure that out, you human fucking turds. turds with legs, born in under a minute, cloned freshly each morning by your favourite local cancer burger chain, then they'll charge you eight bucks for whatever tiny little thing you eat. that's the single serving life and what it's become. now you have to fit into their robotic single serving limitations and restrictions, and if the packaging is too small for you, you're fucked. your time's up, get the fuck out of the restroom.

i've heard of 'shit or get off the pot', but that's just fucking childish. there's no excuse for you.

last night, i watched some guy get kicked in the head once, and it knocked him out.
about a month ago, i got kicked in the head twice, it didn't even pop my neck.

pussy.

dinner thoughts

all i can do is write. i think skynyrd said that once. i can't stand this anymore. i don't know what to do, or who to talk to, or where to go. i can't find any potheads that know how to share. i can't get a second to think. i can't find anyone with a heart, and i honestly don't know why i'm still looking, i should have given up by now. i know i'll never find what i need. there's no point.

but i have to think anyway. where do i go. i need a place where there are three free meals a day, possible housing, and most importantly, a good ratio of potheads who know how to share, versus any risk of death. i'm trying to stay away from downtown. if someone could just take me away from here, there's nothing here for me, i'm not accomplishing anything.

fuck it, finally stoned.

goddamnit.

what do i want to do.

i picture myself standing on a stage. i've just shocked the audience by telling them i'm bill hicks, and i reach back to the wall behind me, and hit the wall, and just appears on the wall,

© 1995 Bill Hicks

i know what i need to make that happen. how do i meet my heroes. the still living ones.

that right there is a magic trick. for that, i need penn and teller. they're in vegas.

why can you not contact any of these people online, what good is the internet.

who all is in los angeles that i know of. otep shamaya, at least. i know maria brink and in this moment are here. that's her band, for the idiots reading this. who else. los angeles metal bands, i'd have to look them up on wikipedia, i can't remember them all.

this is what i know metal band wise. swedish bands: soilwork, sonic syndicate, in flames, meshuggah, scar symmetry... italian bands: disarmonia mundi, lacuna coil, raintime (split). canadian bands: devin townsend, the birthday massacre, the agonist... i used to know so much more. i know machine head is in oakland, i went there and there was nothing. fear factory, i forget where they are, possibly here. they just released a new album, they're on tour. who else. metal bands, come on, i impressed my wife with this knowledge. sixty thousand albums i had. i know i know them, but i can never list them all at once. when i hear the band name, i know everything about them... or i knew.

comedians... i don't know where most of them are from. they all constantly tour cause there's no guitars for them to track.

scientists, i have no clue where any of them are, for all i know, they're all in sveeden fuckin' with that neutron collider thing, whatever the fuck, i don't keep up on much science, cause what's there to keep up on, i studied history, and that's all they're diggin' in anyway, they still don't know what the fuck forward is, all they see is robots. they work with too many chemicals. that's why they need psychedelic. so before i can even translate to a scientist, i need to start my religion.

what the fuck do i do first? i just need to get attention, and enough money to start something.

easiest ways to get attention quick, open mic at laugh factory, or metal band, that's all i've come up with so far, people don't read. and i don't have enough money yet to record any video or find a book publisher. i don't know where to go to start my own religion, and i still haven't found any computer programmers who give a shit about my ozztek idea, they all think they're smarter than me, and tell me it can't be done. fuck you, anything can be done, i know this can be designed, i see it in my head, i know what it is, i know how to use it, how it works... you fuckin' design the thing, you speak its language, although, essentially, it needs to be built on its own new language, that we also speak, that's my vision. my vision is every step past the first one, i've never been able to see the first step. all i can come up with is open mic. but damned if i can find the motivation to do that one, with their fucking 'sign up next week' shit, the most discouraging idea possible. wait in line all day twosday to sign up, then come back next week to see if you're on the list yet. the fuck you, man, goddamnit, what asshole came up with that. no, if you're there, you go on stage. that's fuckin' just duh law. jesus. open the fucking mic, that's what it's fucking called. do i have to find a smaller club, that does more poetry and shit. i'll google the other comedy places here, and try going to them, but i cannot walk that far. i need more opportunity to work on the shit, and ask someone before making a fool of myself that way. there are too many other ideas at stake here to fuck up on that one first.

ideas... metal band, books, movies of all sorts and lengths... even just my albums are different concepts and different lengths and things, and they grow and evolve, like metamorphosis, someday i want to play that album in this big natural setting with big fucking speakers coming out of the earth, that really pound the shit out of you, and metamorphosis turns into this trippy day long psychedelic metal musical thing... well... fuck it, why go off on that one, no one gives a shit.

fuck it, ideas in order of what i can do first, at least...

open mic.
metal band. first album, first shows.
then get a book out. at least one, if i can have someone just start recording me, and publish some of the shit in some sensible order. cause it's all coming out of me in fragments and shit.

then what. then, i have to be fucking quick, actually, no, immediately when the metal band starts making enough money, i need to hire people and start working on creating ozztek industries.

and while doing that, i need to simultaneously get working on the religion deal, i know i need to do those two ideas at the same time. that's the vision, they're two things... well...

the religion, i need to publish a book about it, with all the information in some good order. it needs to state that i am the dividing line between psychedelic and psychotic states of mind. i am drawing the line where i think it should be drawn, where it needs to be drawn. once i do that, i can start building the community, and attract all the homeless people there, and get them away from psychotic, which will be hard with so many psychotic idiots hating me, to keep them away from the central core of strictly psychedelic... using no weapons. yeah, figure that one out.

i have. it's all in my visions, i've seen basically every possible outcome, all the fragment possibilities, any little thing that could possibly go wrong at any moment, i've not only seen the entire fractal, i've spent my life studying it. i know it well, except for that first step for me. i don't know what happens, what's the first thing to get me onto the path, it's eluded me for too many years, i should have hit something when i was eighteen or twenty. no one knows anymore, but that's why twenty three was so hard to handle, i was lost. banging into this head, chiseling away, and finding nothing but concrete, where is the brain. how do i strike that gold.

i cannot get anyone's attention. they're all numb, controlled, zombies with opinions, not hearts.

i don't know what else to say. i'm hungry.

still thinking alone

since i'm locked out of my facebook, i need to just keep writing. i need to get all my thoughts out. i walked the mile from mcdonald's to the library, asked every pothead looking creature along the way if they could spare some weed. i'm still sober. i fucking hate you people. the people at the free dinner at sycamore and romaine refuse to help me, i keep asking and begging. i don't know where to go to find friendly people. i've tried searching facebook for los angeles potheads, metalheads. what the fuck else am i supposed to do.

i don't want to make friends with people who play videogames.
i don't want to be friends with people who like anime.
i don't want people who do drugs to be my friends.
i don't want to be friends with people who like rap or popular music.
i don't want my friends to push their music choices onto me.
i want friends who are kind enough to keep me stoned when i need it.
i want friends who appreciate my taste in music.
i want friends who don't try to change me, or tell me what's wrong with me.
where are these people.

i want high tech metalhead geek friends who smoke a ton of weed.
i know there are alot of you who exist, where do i find you.

i know among you, there are at least a few who don't like videogames.
there is at least one of you who does not have a job, nor do you want one.
hello, i'm your next good friend, would you like to hang out and get stoned.
we could talk about how much we mutually hate clones and credit cards.

i can't use facebook anymore because they want me to verify my name.
am i the only one who thinks they don't deserve to know that information.
i fucking hate you all so much.
clones, easily led robots who will gladly do whatever they're told without questioning.
i fucking hate you. you make it horrible for the rest of us.

where are those who are dangling off the bottom of the pyramid.
i cannot see you with all the concrete in the way.
could you step out from behind wherever you're hiding, and let me see you.
better yet, could you find me on the street, and say hey, let's get stoned.

i know some of you have to deal with this stress, too.
i think it would be easier to deal with it together.

but i'm the only one who thinks that. no one else has the balls to tell me i'm wrong and prove it.

i fucking hate you.

this system was designed specifically to make life miserable for those who do not wish to participate, which is not only a monopoly, but it's a... i forgot the word.

i can't think anymore. my thoughts have been taken from me so many times. my tongue has been severed, truncated. i am so sick of this shit, and trying to beat my head through it.

i just want to die right now.
i want this life to end.
i want this life to be over.
i want this pain gone.
i no longer want to see any of you.
my heart has been too slaughtered.
there's not much left.
with the last of my life, i'd really like to live in comfort, but that's never going to happen.
i can't even achieve a minimal level of comfort, everything keeps knocking me down.

i fucking hate you.

i want to be free of your dollar hell.

i wrote a poem once. no one cared. and it's gone now.

but it was called 'god's gravity'.

and it told the story of living in poverty, and ended with the lines...

the only solution i can see from my hell,
is for your expensive heaven to fall.

no one cared. no one even ever heard it. no one gave a shit.

i've tried to seek out those songs with the powerful human lyrics. no one else does.

i fucking hate you.

i have to think. what can i do without facebook. that idea wasn't working anyway, it's better off dead. what do i do, how do i find people. there are other social networks.

google maps.
instagram.
meetup.com
bandmix.com
and what was i thinking of the other day.

homeless shit. phone calls. research. addresses, mapping, walking.

what else can i do, where can i post my writings to actually get a response of any kind.

is there a nonapathy.org.

this is so fucking miserable, and makes it worse being alone in this.

every single one of the rest of you are going to keep chasing those dollars till i make them fall alone, aren't you. you're going to ignore me up till the last possible moment.

and you wonder why i fucking hate you. i fucking hate you.

i wonder what people are thinking... you know, you have jobs, you have a boss telling you what to do, and you do it, for money. then we hear that humanity is about to be enslaved.

i've got one serious question. how much more of a slave do you think you have to become, in order to use that word more often.

does it not occur to you, you're already slaves. how much more control do you have to have taken away from you, to realize you're a slave. chains, smelly clothing, and lack of diet?

you're already a slave. admit it to yourself, and you'll feel better.

i fucking hate you. like little silly putty creatures easily stuffable into any mold. any little plastic box, cookie cutter, or crevice.

how do i find those who are not slaves. metalheads, potheads, hippies, geeks.

how do i find you. where are you. on the internet? anywhere besides facebook?

cause i know you're not there. you're too scared to use a social networking site.

you don't even know the reason for that. like wearing a foil hat as a fashion statement.

come on, think. where do i find the bigger minds, if they aren't on facebook.

mensa, bigthink, youtube, fuck it, we'll try youtube next.

i can't even download my naked news videos, the wifi is too slow, it keeps cutting off the files.

i can't download torrents, i can't use pidgin or iconpackager anymore, they're still taking my desktop away from me, after all these years, of what i've been able to keep. i'm just not allowed to be unique online. they force your identity out of you, and you don't realize why.

they don't deserve to know who you are. they certainly can't tell you who you are.

and they cannot take your intellectual property away from you just because you can't verify to them who you are. that is not their right, but they do it because you don't fight back.

you don't say a fuckin' thing.

slaves. clones. all of you.

now i can't use facebook anymore

one hour left, i have to keep writing. my mind is so numb, i have no one to tell, i feel sick, i'm in so much pain i can't finish that sentence, the pain is stopping my thoughts. who the fuck do i tell.

my company.

ozztek industries. the first thing i have to do, is create a new, evolved language. a language that's pregnant with high tech communicative possibilities. a simplified, universal language.

turn that into a programming language for computers, and start designing my own computer platform from the ground up, built on this new language. make the hardware capable of reading it. when it comes time for the operating system, i picture a little menu button tool, fully customizable, i call it ozztek. you can skin the button, to make it look however you want, function however you wish, whatever you want, it's your menu button. if you want the menu to have just chrome, music, and porn in the menu list, that's up to you. if all you do with computers is videogames, then why the fuck do you need an operating system. you're an idiot, and i despise your cloned existence, there's so much more to do on computers than games. i had a friend ask me once, 'if you don't do games, then what do you do on computers'. i said 'everything else'. you fucking moron.

you can use the menu to change your wallpaper, if you want a clock in the corner, you can pick whichever corner you want, design the clock, down to the colours and fonts, shading, everything. you can make it look however you want. i want to encourage people to have unique desktops.

all your desktops look the same. they look just like the inside of your cloned minds. cluttered with icons, temporary or unfinished projects, and at least one folder called 'New Folder', because you couldn't type in a name, or your cat hit the menu function on your keyboard, and you never deleted the empty 'New Folder' off your desktop, or you fucked something else up, to where you can't even delete the folder, i've had that happen before, i can't figure out what that moron did, but i know there are very few ways to get a folder to not delete. ever. sometimes, you're so gifted in your ignorance and your fuckups... oh, not to mention the tiny little picture you have stretched across your desktop, making it look grainy... you know you can download high resolution wallpapers fucking anywhere, right? you don't need a tiny thumbnail picture of your cat stretched across your desktop for all eternity. there are programs that will actually cycle your wallpapers in order, or in random order, you can even make playlists... you have no fucking clue what i'm talking about, i'm sure, so we'll move on.

i don't want to be responsible for an aneurysm today.

i hate your uncreative, unoriginal, nonunique desktops, i hate seeing the same thing every time i look at where your creativity is supposed to reside. wake the fuck up. how can i inspire you to be unique.

i hope my ozztek menu can do that, where i fail. imagine, putting whatever you want, wherever you want, on your desktop, and no one telling you you can't put it there, no error messages popping up anymore, the fuckin' thing just works, it functions, because there is no 'security' software fucking up everything you try to do, and having to provide administrator thumbprints to see your own files, or whatever microsoft intended, which i really don't give a fuck at this point.

this menu tool. ozztek. fully customizable, meaning it starts as the base operating system of just the menu that runs all your files. if you have a picture you want to view, if you have a song you want to hear, if you have a video you want to watch, no matter the format, ozztek just fucking plays it. it's fully customizable, so you can make the video appear however you want. all software for playing and editing files is already in the menu. this is how my desktop would look. when i boot up ozztek for the first time... actually...

when ozztek gets released, it will probly be just a download. i'll put it onto discs, so i can cram that little idea up aohell's ass, since i worked for them. that's just my own personal vengeance. but when you load the menu tool onto your desktop, it will pop up a little box, asking:

'Would you like to just close Windows?'

if you click yes, the windows taskbar disappears, but your winamp and google chrome stay open.

then, you drag the menu onto your desktop anywhere you want it. i would put mine in the upper left corner, and i would make it a small little rusted animated wheel gear thing. maybe a bee buzzing around it. or a ladybug. then, i would put a clock in my lower right corner of my desktop. i would have the fonts be some flat, high tech looking font, big numbers for the hour and minute, small numbers for the seconds, then i'd have the date under that in a pretty floral looking font.

then, i'd make a little weather gadget up in the upper right corner. it would have a nice little picture of the sun, and the temperature outside, in celsius, and when you mouse over the little arrow to the top right of the gadget, it would show a little pop up of what tomorrow's gonna look like. it would pop up a little alert if it's going to rain tomorrow.

then, i'd put a little picture frame with my personal pictures and some naked girls up in the upper left corner, and have it cycle the pictures every minute. then i'd change the wallpaper a few times, to get something nice looking. as high resolution as possible, so the clarity beats yours anyday.

i might even have more than one monitor, so keep that in mind while you're clicking away on your desktop icons, i have twice the desktop, and not one icon in sight.

then, i'd have a little media player gadget up in the middle of my desktop, that looks like an old vinyl record, with the album cover in it, and some beautiful fonts next to it, or underneath, saying the artist name, which i even hate when you call them artists, no, they're supposed to be metal bands, so it should say band name, which is where you would enter 'Disarmonia Mundi', or 'Strapping Young Lad', or 'Sonic Syndicate', not miley fuckin' cyrus. my music gadget... well... god, my thoughts are so severed.

anyway. that's about how my desktop would look. then, i'd hide a little touch notepad as the top pixel across the top of the desktop, i'd have an icon bar hidden on the right side, and my playlist of good music hidden on the left side. no taskbar, no need for it. i can minimize a program to wherever the fuck i want. i swear i just tore the skin on my ass, on this fucking hard seat in the mcdonald's. why can you not afford cushy seats.

anyway. integrated into the ozztek tool, is basically all the media playing software you could ever need. every codec, every editing tool, everything. all customization and media playing capabilities would be integrated into one part of the tool. i want to call it 'mood music'.

imagine.

when you walk into your home, you can say the words 'elegance, roses, mellow'...
you can say 'red, anger, heavy'...
you can say 'deftones, vagina, beauty'...

you can say whatever set of words you want.

'blue, feathers, soft'...

'pink, pearls, prince'...

you can say whatever the fuck you want.

and whatever you say, the computer will start playing music, and will change the colours, look, appearance, and texture of your desktop, putting on wallpapers that correspond to your words, playing songs that have anything to do with that mood.

in your music collection, you can go through and label certain things. for example.

the following songs:

'block' by machine head.
'oh, so surreal' by otep.
and 'skrying' by mudvayne.

all make me picture the same vision of concrete and city chaos. i'm synaesthetic, so i picture all sorts of shit you don't. but don't worry about that, just try to keep up.

those three songs all make me picture the same thing, and i like hearing them together.

so i would add a label to each of those songs, and i'd type in the word 'concrete'. later, if i found a desktop wallpaper that had any sort of visual that compares to what i see in those songs, i would add the tag 'concrete' to the image as well. overtime, the more you label and tag things, the more connections you'll see in your moods.

so if it's the middle of the day, and you're cleaning your house, and you need something heavy to get your energy going, you can say 'bright, heavy, speed', and it will instantly make a playlist of music, and start cycling wallpapers, and it will play songs that give you that energy to pick clothes up off the floor and spray the counter with lemon scented crap.

or, if you're coming home in the evening, from a long day of... not working... but you're tired, your wife is about half an hour behind you with the food, and you want to set the mood for her to walk into, you can say 'enya, calm, soft, blue', and it will start playing all your mellow, ambient music, it will change all the colours and lighting of your home to shades of blue... you see you really don't even need to say the words 'calm' and 'soft', cause that's already implied by 'enya' and 'blue'. and the first enya album it would put on, is shepherd moons, because it has the blue album cover. it would also play the first album by enigma, since there is some blue in the album cover. it would not be playing machine head's the burning red album, not even the intro track. it might play 'landing on the mountains of meggido' by down, or it might play 'heartbeat city' by the cars, depending on if you left the word 'soft' in your list.

if you're in a red mood, just say the colour red, it will play all your red music, and cycle all your red wallpapers. if you're in that particular mood, and porn just won't do it for you anymore, and your girlfriend just walked out the door for the last time, leaving you frustrated and unsatisfied...

you can say the word 'pussy', and maybe follow that with 'pink', or 'wet'.

it will start playing any music you have about pussy, which i don't recommend. it will start cycling all your wallpapers with naked ladies, and depending on which word you picked, 'pink', or 'wet'...

do i need to keep stating the obvious, and overexplaining this shit, i'm sure you get the idea by now.

i don't need to hold your hand like a little child and guide you through your own mind.

i had my own two kids i wanted to do that for.

i can't wait to invent this tool, because it would simplify so much, and make life easier.

it would also force microsoft and apple to implode, and realize what retarded, selfish losers they were.

trying to control people's desktops, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

you inspired zero uniqueness. and i can prove it by comparing any two desktops of any two people.

i see the computers that tony stark uses.

people sure as hell can't spell 'escape' correctly, but they can't even say it right anymore, they actually pronounce it 'excape'. you're just fucking retarded, and there's no excuse for you. if you say that word to the mood music tool, it will not play that song by metallica, on the ride the lightning album. and you'll hopefully feel like a fuckin' loser. which hopefully will inspire you to change yourself, and learn how the fuck to pronounce 'escape' properly, and spell it correctly, and put a fucking wallpaper on your desktop, maybe delete some icons. you're a fuckin' loser.

nevermind that.

when i see the computers that tony stark uses, i see not windows. i see the corpse of bill gates getting pissed on by winged cat creatures thousands of years from now. i see peace. freedom. beauty. simplicity. harmony.

i see an existence unsuffocated. unchained.

why not design a computer with all it ever needed to be. a menu. plays your files. simple.

design the menu however you want. you can have different functions for what happens when you mouse over the menu button, or when you click on it, or when you right click on it... imagine, three different menus coming out of one button, depending on how you click on it, or hell, you could set the hover effect to just be a little animation, to make the bee land on the flower if you want.

at that point, whoever said 'the only limitation is your mind', would finally be right.

you can even upload your screenshots and gadget creations for others to download.

but if any of you try to design the same desktop i have, i'll sue your ass back into the eighties.

don't clone yourself. define yourself.

ozztek industries.

it's about time to walk up to the library now. i fucking hate you people. but my brain feels lighter without that turd festering away in there. i give a fuck what any of you think. infact, i'm no longer talking to any of you, or responding to your shit. i'll just talk to myself, and get my ideas out of my head till i feel better. i'll do it sober, cause i can't ask anyone for weed, and i can't find a pothead nice enough to be a friend. i can't even have someone sober enough tell me where a better part of los angeles is, or where do i find my people.

the people who hate money. the people who hate other people, especially clones.

the other bill hicks fans.
hippies, metalheads, potheads... techie people.

where are you fucks!

i never feared animosity. not like you. what i fear is going backward.

dave mustardstain sang the lyric, 'a dark black past is my most valued possession'.

i always hated that line. fuck the past.

someone once said, 'what is past is prologue'.

i don't think it's even that. when we wake up and realize that we're all just braincells and neurons, we're going to look back on this past of calling ourselves humans as 'what the fuck were we thinking'.

you refer to the dark ages like it was a long time ago.

you're still walking your dog on a leash, asshole. you all are.

if i'm the only one stepping fearlessly into the future... what's the point.

i'm waiting for any of you to catch the fuck up, catch on, find me...

what the fuck do i have to do. i thought joining a marijuana group on facebook would accomplish something, because i thought, hey, there might be another pothead in that group that lives in los angeles, and might be nice enough to say, hey, you sound too sober, wanna hang out?

but that person is too busy being lazy and playing videogames.

i'll tell you right now, if you play videogames, you'll never be my friend.
if you've ever done meth, crack, or heroin, you're never going to be my friend.
if you have a bible in your sock drawer...
if you have icons on your desktop...

kinda reminds me of the 'you might be a redneck' thing.

if you've ever been a redneck... you're not on my shopping list this year.
if you've ever been violent, you won't be receiving a christmas present from me.

if you talk down to me, like i'm dumber than you... you're on my shitlist.

especially if you could actually read this thing. fuck it, time to walk.

fortuna cookies and brain melts

my mother dies, and this is what i get from my little fortune cookie friends.

Hang in there. I know this is hard and sometimes the tunnel seems so dark. But there is a light at the end and while you will always miss her, the pain will subside.

i was constantly being told how i was asking too much of my little fortune cookie humans.

i'm asking too much.

i'm always asking too much.

i advertise homelessness. does anyone realize that about me? does anyone know that about me? does anyone understand that, and what that means, what it implies? anyone care to take a stab in the dark?

leave your homes.
leave your security.
stop buying that product.
there's a fucking earth out there.
don't be scared.
god made dirt, and dirt don't hurt.
that's what i was going to teach my children before they were taken away by vultures.

the more you fear, the less you'll see.

i'm still pursuing me.

arcata

i'm so lost. i don't know what to do or what to say. i'm sick of walking through these concrete wastelands of the human spirit, looking for my people, when they don't fucking exist. i'm sick of looking for hippies, they don't fucking like me, most of them are too violent or psychotic, which, in my opinion, aren't real hippies. hippies give free love and free weed, and should help people keep their bellies full better than christians and churches. what the fuck is wrong with this world.

where do i go. where do i find my people. how do i start my own religion to declare my separation from this monetary nightmare. if i can't find anyone to hear my voice, or give half a shit about me, where the fuck do i go, what the fuck do i do. i've tried everything short of joining mensa just to be understood, i'm wasting time walking through city after city of the same fucking thing. people with concrete in their hearts. where do i find my people. people who might actually care about me enough to make my life just a little easier.

all i see is apathy. people who can't spare a dollar, still trying to keep up with a dead dream, and in denial that it's over. still trying to suck something worthwhile out of it.

i've run out of words to ask people. what the fuck do i say. no one wants to hear it. i've been studying humanity for quite a while, and i see that i have no audience, no friends, no one who would give half a fuck about me. i can't find them online, or in cities, where the fuck are they. the people who want this money shit to be over with. where are they. i know they exist. i've written so many unread blogs trying to reach you fuckers, what hole are you hiding in. why won't you contact me.

i'm so lost in this town. arcata california, in humboldt county, and i can't find a single person to spare a nug, or a hug, or help feed me, there's no free meals in this fucking town, what the fuck am i doing here. being in san francisco wouldn't be any better, and seattle, not much better than that. where the fuck do i go. looking for free food, free weed, free cigarettes, getting fucked with my money every month, this dead end fucking road of constant nowhere. i can't get a lawyer, i can't figure out what the fuck to do. no one will help me, no one has a three digit iq that i can communicate with. what the fuck do i do. i'm so lost, so confused, and no one will help for shit. what the fuck is wrong with you people. i want you to know, i truly oppose all seven billion of you scumfucks, every single one of you, this is not how life should be and you're all lost in a fucking haze of idiocy. get the fuck out of it. videogames, meth, rap music, products, money, it's all a dead load of fuckin' horse shit! wash it off your fucking skin and try being a fucking human again!!!

what the fuck do i do!?

i want to start my own religion, where i draw the line between psychedelic and psychotic.
i want to design my own computer platform from the ground up, that gives people control over their own desktop environments, and takes that control away from microsoft and apple.
i want to make music that shows people how music should be made when it's not trying to get on a radio.
i want to make movies that describe in beautiful details how life should really be like on this planet.
i want to design my own clothing that show people you don't have to all look the same.
i want to design my own foods, so we can get away from mcdonald's and let it die.

are these ideas not good enough for anyone?

i want to build my own community of people who all just work for eachother, and do nothing but give and love.

is that not good enough.

what do i have to do to get your attention.

what part of my soul have i not sold to you, or just handed over.

all you do is take from me.

the only people who approach me are psychotic people who just want something.

i can't attract the eye of a single person i'd actually want to talk to.

no one loving, no one caring, no one who finds me the least bit interesting. and i think i'm pretty fucking interesting. but in all these cities, all i see are yuppie clones chasing dollars, and people getting fucked by the system and don't have enough money to live right, and people who have entirely given up on the system, but still won't break way from it to get closer to my voice.

you're all just as lost as i am, but less willing to do anything to change this world.

what do i have to do.

how many more blogs do i have to post before someone reads them and actually fucking responds to me, instead of just running away scared.

where are the brave people.
people who know what love is.
people who could give a fuck about money.
people who know how to live life right.
people who can help me start a religion for us.
people who...