explanations to the blind

okay, i've got half an hour, i might as well see how much i can get typed up. people seem to still be needing these explanations about me, that i don't have time to offer and repeat, i wish i could wear them on my shirt with a doctor's signature under them. but here goes as much as i can spit out in half an hour.

i fucking hate people. i have people issues. i don't like you fuckers. i have social issues. i'm antisocial. i don't get what you fuckers are doing. i look around and see cellphones and sweaters on poodles, and i have studied you fuckers, and i do not understand what the fuck you're doing. you could explain it to me a billion times, i won't get it. fuck it. too much facebook, too much arguing and explaining, and i'm out of time. fuck you assholes. six billion of you fuckers. i hate every single one of you. i truly do. you're a disease.

the cold. when it gets too cold, or too wet, my body locks up, it will not move, it's just extreme pain, red alert, alarms going off, everything is red, i can't move, and... okay... do i need to repeat that again. extreme pain. locks up. freezes. won't move. hurts. do i have to explain that again. i need a doctor to diagnose it, and write it on a tshirt name card, because people think they're fucking doctors who can get away with judging a book by its cover. if my body gets too cold, it will lock up and not move. and it fucking hurts. if you want to know how much it hurts to see if it's worthy of your record books, i'll get michio kaku to find some way to implant a digital chip in your brain that lets you feel what it feels like, asshole. if you think you're that important. fuck you.

and i forget what else there was to explain at this point. so much lost, my mind's a fragment. i fucking hate you all. you've caused the worst thing this earth has ever seen, but you claim no responsibility for it, and therein lie the entire stage show conundrum.

learn to listen

i fucking hate people! i fucking hate people! you all fucking disgust me! i cannot stand this shit anymore! i fucking hate you! all of you!

i was just in the first congregational church in bellevue. i've been staying in their shelter. i like the numbers in their locations. the shelter is on twelve and one twenty, and the church is on eight and one oh eight. the library is on ten and one ten. so it's a diagonal shot thru the town for my morning. here's how it gets slaughtered by people, and having to follow their clusterclogging fucking rules. i puke at your structure.

i was trying to talk to the guy in the church. they have this stupid rule, which i'm sure is only in place to make the rich feel that much more elite, and make the hierarchy of price tags shine brighter every morning. you fucking sicken me. every time i go in there, they keep asking me about who my eastside connection is. i tried telling the guy several times now, but he refuses to listen. they all refuse. they don't care about people's names, they just want a number and an address, which... you know, doesn't that defeat the whole 'privacy' thing we're all so obsessive over? but i keep trying to tell them that i won't know anything till i get my phone fixed. so i tried explaining that to the guy this morning. i was just trying to tell them a few names to get him off my ass. i couldn't even get to the names before he interrupted me. they don't care what you have to say. it's not relevant to them. they don't get paid enuph to listen to you. but i set it up by saying that i've tried telling you several times, and every time i get cut off, and it triggers my ptsd, so could i please say something in private without other people interrupting, and could i please finish what i need to say, because i need to get it out of my head, or i'm fucked for the day. i told the guy that. he said as carelessly as possible, 'sure', and then steps over toward the laundry. yeah, real fuckin' private, i get to stand cramped in a little corner talking over a loud washing machine. thanks. but i started trying to tell him that i won't know anything till i get my phone fixed, but that i can tell you the names. he interrupted me before i got to say the names, saying 'i don't need to know'. thanks for letting me finish, asshole.

he goes on to explain, through a series of hieroglyphic technicalities, that the connection i need is someone who i've lived with, who can give me a home on the eastside... now, wait a minute. first of all, this idiot, i swear he spit about fifty technicalities out of his mouth in about two sentences. i need to decipher the logic behind this little claim he said. you want me to already know someone with a house on the east side... okay... so if they could end my homelessness... why the fuck do i need you. what do you plan to do to help, open their door for me? if i already have someone i know who has a house, why the fuck would i need you idiots and your homeless shelter, and useless fucking rules. but i swear the way he explained it, it's specifically designed to be as impenetrable as possible, it was this quick, three sentence little weaving of impossibilities to have to break thru... what the fuck is wrong with people. why can't you speak english, instead of this verbal puke clusterfuck of red tape legal bullshit. the structure is made to make you stand under it. i do not support your structure. it's a theory i formed many years ago. you don't know me, son. you think you do, but you're wrong. it's my pyramid theory. when the bottom of the pyramid no longer supports the tiny little top... the top falls. it's as simple as that, you don't need to complicate it with your 'but we still have authority and laws and you have to obey our rules' shut the fuck up, we've heard it all, and we're no longer listening.

there's a contradiction that you fail to see. there's a dichotomy of heads here, and no one's paying any attention, but i see it affecting my life and my eyes every day. this is the contradiction in simple terms, right here, right now. in your world built on money and concrete, i can't afford to get in your golden door. but in my world where knowledge is currency... you already can't afford to listen to me. i see that as a sign that i'm winning. your jargon is becoming less relevant, and less understandable. we do not sympathize anymore, we do not compromize anymore, we do not hear your lies anymore, and you have to realize that, you have to understand that, you have to come to terms with that, because it is not our fault anymore, you cannot blame us, we are not your scapegoats under your control with your chains of rules and regulations, we do not fit into your mold anymore, when the fuck are you going to learn this, when can you afford to see us growing out of your control. will it be too late.

that being said, and understood, i hope; he was trying to tell me that if i have an east side connection, that the homeless shelter can help me get set up and on my feet more and quicker and easier... i cannot even fucking remember half of the gibberish this fucker puked out at me. this clusterfucked little web of rules i couldn't see thru just standing there. he fucked my brain against my will. and these people do that every day. you don't realize, you do not understand that you're suffocating intellect with your ignorance, and the fact that your ignorance has authority. shut the fuck up and sit down, or i will start shooting people, i swear to christ.

so, going against the whole privacy thing, he doesn't want a name, and it can't be just a friend or an acquaintance, or someone who lives on the east side who said 'yeah, just come up to bellevue', no, it has to be someone with an address they can have, which defeats the whole privacy policy bullshit they're always shoving down my throat. i'm just not good enuph for your world, that's all there is to it, why can't you just fucking admit it. can't you afford to tell a truth? are you in that much debt from your lies? i know about being in debt with lies, i watched my drug addict uncle try to lie his way out of trouble, and when you'd catch him in the lie, he would just keep lying, perpetuating this grand story of aliens came and took my bag of weed, so i had to steal your car and sell it to get another bag of shut the fuck up, that's all you are is lies, there's nothing true about you. relax, you're just my delusion. the sooner you all realize that, the sooner we can evolve.

now, still trying to fragment piece together and decipher what the fuck was just raped into my ear hole. what it sounded like to me, was that they want an address of someone in bellevue, so they can kick you into that person's house, and claim that they helped you overcome homelessness. and that's what sickens me about this bullshit. the whole fucking picture of homelessness sickens me. the fact that some people aren't good enuph for your world because they can't pay to pay you enuph to pay you more, they don't kiss your ass enuph to make your throne cushy enuph to make the dollars fall out of your pocket faster, you, the owner of all dollars. i plan to end you. i'm the man you're waiting for. i'm sick of this shit, and it's time to start playing by my rules. if you violate my rules, you die. that's how a conqueror would do it.

i've been saying for years, you're all fuckin' with the wrong guy, but it's been at least four years, and no one has listened, no one has stopped, no one has apologized, you all just keep shoving your rules up my ass and expecting me to like it. fuck you. that ends today. i'm sick of this procrastination, getting stuck in the constant, never ending cycle of tomorrow, tomorrow, that has to be done tomorrow, that has to wait for tomorrow cause we can't do it today, cause today got fucked with walking thru streets for miles with no help from the six billion pricks on this planet... i'm tired of that shit. why do we keep waiting for tomorrow, but talking about today. i say we make today happen... today. we stop waiting. i'm sick of waiting. no more waiting for tomorrow. today is today. it's a monday, let's see how much i can accomplish today, and how high above the heads of these rule infested assholes i can soar. i swear to christ, i will do it. and you cannot stop me, because i know your wall of paper rules, i know its limitations, i know where it's already cracked, and i know exactly where it can break. i'll tell you again, you're fucking with the wrong man.

it really sounded like what this mutherfucker said, was that i need to take care of this whole homeless situation myself. i need to already have a house to live in, i need to give them my address, and pay them a bunch of money, and then open my own door, get my own furniture in there, and then thank them while they're fucking me in my ass, while i'm trying to close my door, as they take all the credit for raping me into my own apartment, but it's still not good enuph to be a house, so as soon as i close my door, i owe them more money, and oh, i closed my door on his dick, so now they need to confiscate my door and charge me more money, and hey, why not take a donut with you while you're at it, i hope it reminds you off my asshole, i'll wrap a bow around it and send a gift card to your mother.

they don't want to listen to you. they don't get paid enuph to hear you. you have to do their job for them, but abide by their rules while doing so... can someone tell me, why are those people there. why do they exist. why are they taking up space in that building. why, what is the purpose of them being there. what are they doing to fix the problem. they're just complicating a situation that doesn't need to be this complex. there are empty houses on this planet. there are people without houses. seems like a simple equation to me. i don't see any dollars or money or rules or security guards or addresses or papers or forms or sign here or signs signs everywhere a sign sign, i see none of that shit when looking from this side of homelessness with open eyes, i don't even see you. but you're standing in my way, and declaring your right to do so because the cop behind you has a badge that i could give a labia licking fuck about. you'll never understand this, and it's for that reason, that the future just does not need you. simple as that. if you keep interrupting me, and destroying my thoughts and sanity, and triggering my ptsd with your disastrous communication skills, brutally verbally slaughtering me because you can't afford to listen and don't have the time, and raping your rules up my ass to where i can't breathe, all while i'm doing your job for you, i'm gonna stop listening. and i might start shooting. i warned you. several fucking times, for several years, i warned you. but when you take me to fail jail, you'll claim that you never heard me, and that it's my fault. no, it's the dollar's fault. the dollar in your pocket. it built a world of hierarchy that wouldn't let me penetrate it, so i had to destroy it. i'm sorry, but it was time. too many people were suffocating under your reign. your ass got too fat, and you broke the throne. you can whine about it, or you can fuck off and die, and we'll read about you in history class.

so let me get this straight. you want me to find someone who has a house in bellevue. you want me to get their address and give it to you. even a dog would wonder why at this point. then, you want me to thank you for making it impossible to get into that house, while trying to get into the house, and then you want me to thank you for your help. i'd like to get a lawyer and have him look over this gibberish fuckin' red tape jargon, and tell me if i have a good enuph translation of the message. and then, i want to have a psychologist look over the whole thing, and tell me if i'm completely insane, or if you're just my delusions. and not just any psychologist, but my hero psycho the butt rapist doctor bupp. spit that out in as many alphabet soup letters as you want. do it in random order, i don't give a fuck. put pink sprinkles all over it, maybe you'll feel better.

but meanwhile, i'm homeless, and being tramped thru your fucking rules, trekking thru the streets everyday, doing your job for you, walking, making phone calls when i don't have a phone, taking buses i can't afford to take, getting looks from people that my stomach can't digest, freezing my ass off, in more pain than i can cry about, jumping thru your hoops, wasting day after day after day after day, and i'm not allowed to ask why, i'm just allowed to wipe my chin and thank you afterward. that's no freedom i ever paid for. that's not what i gave up my children for. no, see, you all start playing by my rules today, or you die tomorrow, and i fuck your future as it's coming out your mother's ass, as she turns into the headstone of your ancestors, just because i held down the down key on super mario three and turned into a stone while you ignorantly passed by. i plan to shove my head right up the back door of the monetary media system, where they least expect the guy they've been waiting for, doing this whole stage show for, which really paints a clear picture of what idiots are running this circus side show... but that's it. i don't need to complicate shit by using meaningless words out of order like you fucks. i'm coming in your back door, i'm injecting my message into the power cord behind the television, i'm shoving my head right up your ass until you explode, and that, my students, is how a mushroom is born! class dismissed, go fuck yourselves till you learn something.

but anyway, the dude refused to listen, so i just walked out the door, and i figure bellevue is now just as fucked off the list as seattle. i'm running out of cities where morons don't exist. and the more i do so, the more my third eye is clarifying the image it sees of utopia. it's coming. if i have to carve it out of my own fucking heart, it's coming. i refuse to let it pass one more day. you can bitch, or you can fuckin' die. i don't care. rich greedy fucking pricks, selfish assholes... i had a picture on my old facebook that said 'republicans are people too... mean selfish greedy people'. okay, so fuck the democrats, where are the anarchists that are brave enuph to get their hands dirty to build a new city. email me. i'm tired of wasting time. clock's ticking.

some thoughts in the cold

part of the show:  i'm a libra of cartoonishly galactic proportions. but at least i'm not walking around on the streets going 'got any shards, man?'. what the fuck is that. could anyone tell me. i really don't understand that. got any shards? i'm an underdeveloped fetus, but i'm trying to do my impersonation of michael jackson in thriller. but i need more shards so i can do it better.

oh, i get it. i'm an evolutionist, you must be the missing link. well, nice to meet you, glad to see where i came from. well, mama always used to say, you can either be the missing link, or the weakest link. it's up to you, i guess.

i'm lookin' for some shards.

do you know what's in shards?

uh huh. i memorized the wikipedia page.

do you smoke pot?

no, it makes me feel stupid.

would it scare you if i told you that was a true story? that little thumbless methroach missing link monkeyturd is walking our streets, and you fuckers aren't as disgusted as i am? (i'll grow this hydroponically later).

...
a vision i had: some guy is trying to count some big number on his fingers, and doesn't realize his third eye sees another way. so he holds up his hands, and just starts sprouting fingers and thumbs all over his body. people look at him, 'what are you, a fuckin' mutant?'. 'hoho, i didn't know i could do that'. he's got thumbs going up to his crown chakra. he tries it again, and this time it opens the top of his head, and this big bright beaming light turns on from his head, and lights up the universe. we can see galaxies in high definition daylight. and we see god sitting up there in the sky. big fat naked dude jerkin' off and looking at santa clause porn. trail of butter, beer, batter, and shrimp down his chest. he's sitting on a toilet just above tucson, arizona. and every christian in this country who carries a gun, pulls it out, and starts shooting at him.

cause we all know, that's where god takes a shit. tucson, arizona. one of these days, you just know, satan's gonna pop his big evil head out of that dirt, and say 'hey, stop shitting on me!'.

...
ideas for books: go ahead and publish everything i have up till now as the first book, and call it 'fragments of another lost past life'. then, immediately release the second book, and call it, 'the story of how i lost it all'. and then release the third book, and call it 'beginnings of the right life'. and have it lead into 'the eyes of evolution', which explains... the whole fuckin' thing.

the last of my sanity

i haven't been able to get my phone to charge for the last several days. so, last night, after the eight pm dinner under the bridge, which was spaghetti, by the way. that will come into play later. i sat in my tent for a while, wishing i could hear my music. it was about forty degrees last night, keep that in mind, too. so i sat up, smoked a cigarette, and looked at the bottle of alcohol... well, okay, rewinding. the other day on the bus, when i was looking for a new place up in university district to put my tent, because little did i know, you can still be 'evicted' even when you're already homeless. yeah, believe it or not, if someone doesn't want you sleeping on a certain piece of grass, they can just tell you to move. it doesn't cause them any stress. but anyway, on the bus home, right when i'm about to get off at my stop, this bum in a wheelchair on the bus goes to get off the bus, and drops a big bottle of whiskey. almost full. now, i'm not a drinker, i don't drink, i think it's one of the dumbest drugs on this planet, but we'll get to that later. but i thought, what the hell, i picked it up, put it in my trench coat pocket, and got off the bus. i figured maybe i could trade it for some pot. so anyway. i'm sitting in my tent last night, smoking a cigarette, and i looked at the bottle of whiskey. and i thought to myself, well, fuck it, alcohol keeps you warm, and i've got nuthing else to do right now except try to get a charge on this fucking phone that might last all night. so i walked down to the spot where i sometimes charge my phone, and sat there. i started drinking the bottle, and plugging in my phone, trying to get it to charge. well, long story short, i lost my last little shred of sanity, my tent's destroyed, my phone's destroyed, my feet might actually have frostbite, and i feel like killing someone. the next security guard that runs me off, i don't care. if i walk into a cellphone store, and they feed me some horseshit line about i need to mail my phone off and wait seven days, i just might stab the guy. i keep trying to warn people about my fragile sanity, and they just tell me i'm whining too much. anyway. i sat there and tried for two hours to charge my phone. from around ten pm, to around midnight. the phone would not charge. so i fucking broke it. i smashed it up against the concrete i was sitting on, broke the glass screen so it doesn't even come on anymore. go ahead, blame that on me, it gets worse. i smashed the phone. so i walked back up to my tent, and tried to just lay down and go to sleep, hoping the alcohol would help me pass out. well, around two am, i puked myself awake in true jimi hendrix style, except that i didn't die. i puked inside my tent, are you smelling this situation yet. also, keep in mind this whole time, i've got bugs living inside my clothes. see how well your sanity would do with something like that. shit crawling on your skin, twenty four fucking seven. go ahead, i'll wait. give me two weeks of that and tell me you can still resist stabbing someone in a world where you seriously do not agree with the way they do shit. go ahead.

so, around two am, i puked myself awake. i got out of my tent drunk off my ass, and proceeded to stumble thru the streets in a drunken stupor. i just wanted a lady to show my cock to, that's all i fucking wanted. please, god, just give me one good thing to end this fucking horrid day with. a smiling set of eyes, please. there were no women out last night at two am. oh, yeah, and i forgot one of the best parts. when i puked myself awake and got out of my tent... i was really drunk and stumbling, so i of course destroyed my tent. just trying to stand up straight. destroyed my tent. it cannot be fixed, it's gone. all my shit inside there. and today was the last day i had to move my tent to another piece of grass where people won't evict me. are you seeing how ridiculous this is getting yet. i'm in a library i got kicked out of, smelling like puke, just to tell someone this, and i have no one to tell. you still keeping your sanity? good fuckin' for you. i destroyed my tent, puked all over everything in it, but the worst fucking part. you want to hear the worst fucking part? i puked all over perry's mousepad. the last thing i had held onto for this long. my neck refuses to pop, even though i declared war on it, and sent a few nukes last night, my neck still will not fucking pop. how's your sanity doing? smelling like puke yet? whiskey spaghetti puke? are you hanging on with me, on this wonderful little rollercoaster ride of sanity. i destroyed my tent, destroyed my phone, and puked all over perry's mousepad. my feet might actually have frostbite, and i need to be signed into a hospital before i kill someone. i've been begging for help this whole time, keep that in mind, but i assure you, they'll just blame it all on me.

i've got a problem with a world where i can't afford the slightest bit of sanity. where there are six billion people consuming products, and i can't get a single one of them to care enuph about me to scrape me up off the streets, and help me smell better. i have a serious problem with you fuckers. i also have a problem with this world, where if i had an idea, a solution to overcome this homeless problem, i already know for a fact that the people in charge of the tight little fascism festival known as windows phone eight, and those other assorted assmaggots and fuckclowns, would say no to my dream. i know they would. oh, you don't think so, you doubt that? okay, well, here's my idea, then, smartass, since you need proof like christians need proof of evolution when they base their faith on... zero evidence. yeah, those assfucks. here's my idea. the shit that they're making these smart phones out of? you know, all the plasticky crap. get nasa to start mass producing this shit, and build high tech houses out of. oh, fuck nasa, they're not doing anything else anyway, we've only got one fucking moon, how much of a space program did reagan really need. or even carter, who i was born under. i love that fucking term, make me sound submissive from my day of birth, yeah. i'm sitting in a library i got kicked out of, smelling pot, which is always a really... it's fucking hell for me to smell pot when i don't have any. i don't guess anyone could understand that enuph to sympathize. i couldn't squeeze sympathy out of you fuckers if i had one of those orange juicer things... i'm smelling pot, and i can't have any of it because humanity is selfish, and we're all too concerned with security and keep that nasty fucker away from me. that's where humanity's at right now. i've got no one to tell this story to. my heart is so fucking... my last little fiber of sanity is gone. you want to question that? doubt that? debate that? okay, doc, since you always have so much to say about my sanity, like you know it better than me, go ahead, let's hear what you've got. 'oh, well, it's all your fault, and you whine too much'. thanks, doc, here's a kick in the nuts as payment for something i didn't need again. go fuck yourself. i think i know my mind better than you do, how's that for a theory. i'll enforce it with the first gun i find. don't fuck with me.

i'm one of those guys, you see them once in a while thru history, i'm one of those guys, the guys you just don't fuck with. you can see it in their eyes, they will hurt you. well, our ancestors were a little lax on the teachings, and that's not my fault. i am full of passion, and desperately trying to save what little of myself i have left, and no one is listening. out of six billion of you earless fucks, not a single one of you can have enuph heart to listen to me. that's just the beginning of my day today. my tent is broken, it has puke in it, my phone is destroyed, and at this point, i just need to be signed into a hospital before i kill someone. if i get strapped down to another bed, i will kill someone. i will prove that you fuckers don't listen for shit. i've been screaming for this help for too long now, without being heard. that is wrong. your parents should have taught you that, but blame me, your beloved scapegoat, just because they didn't. go ahead, make my fuckin' day. when i finally start shooting people, every single one of you idiots is going to listen to what cnn says about me, and you're all going to blame me, because you cannot possibly handle that blame yourself. you couldn't take responsibility for that if you actually understood it. and you still call yourselves responsible. i laff at that. just so you know. but when i finally go off and start shooting people, it will be because i have gone without proper care and help for too long now, and that is not good. you people cannot do that. i live in a world where everyone can have a nice comfy cozy home to sit in every night, and... this is just a fraction of what i have to deal with, and you fuckers think that's so fair, that you can come kick me off this piece of grass... yeah, okay, where's the sign saying i can't be there. show me that fucking sign, and i'll show you a little piece of logic called 'signs' by tesla. it's an old tune, we've all forgotten about it, but it should have taught us something. i have a major problem with each and every one of you fuckers, and i'm about to turn this into a game show where you all lose, but you all win by learning what the fuck you've been doing wrong this whole godfucking time. does that sound fair to you? how about if i just stab you, and move on to the next intelligence quotient. i'm a firm believer that everyone needs to have their iq stamped on their foreheads, and if you can only listen for ten seconds before interrupting... that's your iq.

so, with all this being said, i'm saying goodbye to you all for a while. i need to be hospitalized before i do something i don't want to do. you can debate that with your semantics all you want, but you're just looking like idiots in my eyes, if that could even matter to you. that's exactly, precisely how careless and heartless you fuckers have become, and i plan to... well... in a poetic way, which you still don't understand... i'm about to do some open heart surgery on this entire planet. hope you enjoy your broken puke tent, a busted ass useless fucking phone, and bugs. they're like my tenants, and whenever i catch a few doing something they're not supposed to be doing... being seen by me, that is... i evict a few of them. i love feeling the power. it makes me feel completely insane, which is how i gauge sanity, and you fuckers couldn't understand that if it was on wikifuckin'pedia. so kiss my hairy black fucking ass, i'm trying to salvage what's left of my own sanity right now, so i don't start killing you all. but i would love to, instead of going to a hospital and wasting my time being treated like i'm stupod, i would much rather walk into a microsoft store somewhere, and say 'hey, i've got an idea, who do i talk to'. i have a dream, who do i talk to. point me in the direction of people who give birth to dreams, i'm pregnant with a big mutherfucker, and we're gonna need a c section stat. nurse, get the fuckin' scalpel. don't fuck with me. i'd love to walk up to whoever controls the ideas of this wretched planet, and tell them my big donkin' zinger. yeah, this plastic crap they make smart phones out of. get nasa to start mass producing this shit, and build houses out of it. they're portable, they fold up into a little case, they can be plugged in and charged anywhere, they keep you warm, and i'll sell 'em to you fucks dirt cheap. dirty deeds, done dirt cheap! high voltage, mutherfucker. i've got big balls, and you're about to see 'em. get an eyefull, get a real gander goin' on there. i still feel like puking again. i feel so goddamned... i can't even find the words. i hate alcohol, this is what it does to your life, and that's why i don't fucking drink. it would behoove you fucks to keep me on a constant supply of pot, but you'd charge yourselves too much, and you'd bitch and whine too much, while refusing to hear my solution. selfishness, greed, paranoia, policy, fascism, security, fear, it's all going out the fucking window. i just wish someone could be a fan of mine while i'm doing this. but they way i see you fucks, no one will even thank me when i'm done. and you wonder why i hate you. you wonder why my sanity is this fragile. but you won't even ask me the question, let alone let me answer it. and you think you care. you think you have a heart when you go to fuckin' abercrombie and buy your little (red) bag that donates twenty percent of your pants purchase to whoeverthefuck.com, yeah, that's caring. get your latté, your fuckin' prius, your designer jeans and your fuckin' chihuahua, and fucking die already. take all that fucking trash with you, would you please. i say we pick a volcano on this planet, and give it a little fuel. throw some shit in there we don't need, as a collective of mature responsible creatures, i want us all to stand on that volcano, and decide all together, hey, this fuckin' beiber asshole, we don't need him, and we all vote together, the æyes have it, toss the little bitch in there. hey, windows phone eight, do we need this? no? toss it in there. guns? meth? heroin? blonde skank snacks that don't put out? toss 'em in there. lawmakers? republicans? fascists? moneygrubbing greedmongers? people who retail fear? hey, i think we just evolved.

so that's my day, folks. that's my wonderful morning that i have woken into. i have no choice but to lock myself up, because i'm trying to save your fuckers lives. that's not how crusaders and conquerors are born. how do you think genghis khan got started. did he ask a therapist for help, or do you think he just bravely picked up a gun and started reinventing reality. you'll never understand what i am, speaking thru these lips from the other side of reality. you can't see me. you refuse to try. you won't ask me a single question, you couldn't listen to the answer if we had duct tape, what good are you. why are you here, you're taking up space, you need to go. warriors, conquerors, crusaders... and you people think because you have a smart phone... you're safe. your phone won't protect you from shit. your society, your leaders, they won't protect you if i come for you. what security are you even paying for. you don't need security, you need logic. i've been saying that all along, and have proven that you fuckers aren't listening. but all you need is logic. just sit someone down at a table and think of something, that's literally all it takes. but you refuse because the dollars tell you those people need to be in prison, and stripped of all their choices that could keep sanity functioning properly in their fuckin' soggy muffin heads. i fucking hate you all, i hate so much, that i can't even find the words anymore. and after getting another bad message from perry anyway... my heart is dead, my sanity is gone, and i thank you all for a wonderful trip thru your fuckfest. your disaster plaster. i fucking hate you all, and i will invent a better way out of this, whether you like it or not. and if people that say no too much have to die in that process, that's not my fault, they were standing in the way of a bulldozer, and their parents should have taught them not to do that, but since they didn't, that's one string of ancestors we no longer need here, and i say we start populating this planet with more yes mouths. people who say no to dreams should be shot. if you even start to debate that, you'll be shot, too. the future is no time for pussies, ladies and gentlemen. kick your balls up, or there's the volcano.

good fucking riddance.

a thought on knowledge...

something i realized today. and i'm just summing it up here, i recorded it. this morning, i realized there was nuthing i could do on a sunday, so i wasted the first couple hours of my morning listening to an idiot interrupt me over and over. just because he had pot. not enuph to give away, but just enuph to smoke to where i still don't get stoned, and it's a complete waste of time. after i walked away from this idiot, i passed by an information booth. and i thought to myself, how much information do you have. how much are you worth. do you have anything that's worth something to me, can you answer the questions i have to ask. and that's when i realized, knowledge is already a currency. i can sell what i learn to overcome homelessness here, cause no one else is. i also realized, i need to start walking and asking and seeking in the directions of the people who have the answers to my questions, the knowledge i seek that's valuable to me, otherwise i'm wasting my time. so no more talking to people that have pot, because that's all they have. no information. and i'm thirtyfive years in debt, i have no more time to waste, i need answers now, and if you're not giving them to me, you're wasting me time, and i'm walking away. no more sundays. no more vacations, not one more wasted moment. it's not a tug of war rope anymore, it's a rope going up a hill, and you keep grabbing the nots till you get to an apple, or something that will lead your body further up hill. the people at the bottom chewing on the bibles are going nowhere. i'll never know how they got the equation apple = knowledge = evil, that's not even a fucking math equation, speak english or get the fuck back in the history books where you belong, i'm evolving, i see it as apple = knowledge = fuel, value. which is what is needed to build a new world on a new currency. figure that out, i don't have time to explain it to you. but basically, that's my philosophy now, that's my rule that i will get out of the habit of breaking just for an interesting human experience. fuck humans, they don't have what i need. but that's my rule, if you aren't answering my question with anything positive, or in the direction of yes, i will walk away quicker and quicker, because i'm wasting my time, getting nowhere with you, and the woman who i will marry, who will be most valuable to me, will be the smartest girl on this planet, because that's a relationship. unless, of course, perry comes back. she's eternally got my heart. that smile is worth more to me than any knowledge, it's the holy grail i seek. it does more to my heart than any amount of knowledge could do to my brain. it gives me the most fuel. i love you, hunny.

sit on this

i need to point this out, because it doesn't seem to be getting thru, and your paranoia and authority and ability to control other people has gotten out of control. i can state it simply, but it will take much more explanation for you to understand. no human should ever have the right to dictate where any other human can sit. if you can't understand that, you should be ashamed of yourself. i'll go into more detail. you stand on that spot of land that's under your two feet, you don't own any more earth than that. you should be able to understand that. but sadly, this whole thing will need to be written.

you built this city, this society, this civilization, for people to be able to congregate and have somewhere to do something, somewhere to live their lives. but everyone who stands on that land, has to pay you for a place to live, food to eat, electricity for their gadgets... the one guy who everyone else is paying to stand on this land is seriously raking it in. great scheme. you almost had everyone fooled. and you would have kept it going had you not fucked up and told me not to sit there. this city functions on money. these concrete buildings function on money. if all those people around that building aren't paying you money, they can't be there. that's not humanity, that's unfairness, and i will point it out till it dies.

in creating a city, you also created homeless people. people who either can't or don't want to take part in your money exchange, your monetary structure, and your dictation of life. you have to understand that, not as a dollar holding boss of anything, but as a human. money has eroded your compassion, and turned you into a paranoid, selfish child. you created homeless people, simply by building a society established on money, some of those people don't like money, don't have much, and therefore cannot exist happily on the part of this round planet you say you own that we should all be sharing equally. we can get into the debate over greed and safety and policy later, as it's just the first grade of this debate. i'd rather point out your childishness, your selfishness, i'd rather focus on those.

no longer does your money get to fund your paranoia and your dominance over me. you men don't realize how much you have to dominate shit out of insecurity, but i watch its embarrassing presence on the streets everyday. it's not healthy. i can have any psychologist, any lawyer, any rockstar, any anarchist, any other homeless person, any hacker, back me up on this, and i will. i'm fighting this little argument of yours to the death. because i'm sick of it. you can't tell me not to sit there. plain and simple. you don't own shit. you own what's under your fuckin' feet, and don't you forget it. don't give me that childish excuse driven horseshit. you're a whiny little fuck who can't listen, and you need a mother to tell you so.

you created a society. some people obviously do not fit into that society. if they can't pay you for a place to sit, you don't let them sit. and i see some of their faces. you close your eyes to it, but i see it. you close your eyes to it simply because you can afford to. i'm about to make the word 'afford' irrelevant. if people do not fit into the structure of rules in your monetary society, seems to me there are a few solutions you've overlooked or not heard.

behind door number one. you give homeless people their own little 'reservation' of land where they can sit till their heart's content. all you need to put there is a fuckin' home depot. you can't take up this much earth, and tell us we can't stand on that part of the earth because you own it. you're simply able to pay a higher price than we can to stand on that spot, you cannot dictate who else stands there. when i was in elementary school, these other stupid kids kept touching my desk one morning, and it was starting to piss me off. every kid that would walk by my desk would knock my pencil out of the little tray at the top of the desk. as a child, i started getting pissed off, and telling everyone to stop touching my desk, which they of course has to be children and touch it more, and the teacher had to be a moron and neglect to notice. that event ended in total chaos because it couldn't be controlled by an adult with logic. it was a disaster. teasing, embarrassment, tears. that was me as a child. since then, i have matured, and realized that what i should have done, was asked the teacher, and if she wasn't mature enuph to help, i should have just shot the whole classroom, and the teacher, and spent the rest of the day reading a book. and a brain like me should be able to do that in the next thirty years. i've got money riding on it.

behind door number two. you start lining your streets with little beds and places to sit. when it comes to pop music, you seem insecure without the numbers. you're constantly trying to convert people to you clones. but when it comes to buildings, you seem insecure with the numbers. 'you can't be here'. do you realize how spoiled and insecure and paranoid you sound. you sound like a whiny little child fighting over a toy, 'no, it's mine'. that's what you fucking sound like. i could have a psychologist back me up on that, and i will. there's no excuse for this behaviour, there's no reason to keep people from sitting down and being able to claim a little spot of earth as their own.

behind door number three. if you can't seem to do one of the first two options, then your monetary structure and dominant dictation of life around you has to go. you're taking up too much space, charging too much money for it, making too much blood off of us, it's not fair in any logical respect, and you need to find another planet on which to take up so much space. and claim it selfishly as yours. there you go, baby, a whole planet to yourself. now how soon are you going to get insecure and call home asking someone to make you less lonely. none of us know who else we have in this darkness of confusion, so stop being a prick, and we'll let you come back home. no one told you that you could own this spot of earth, and you know it. stop acting like because mommy was rich it entitles you to own land. the earth is bigger than you.

i see it as a really elementary little cartoon drawing in some newspaper. i see a tiny little round planet. a few trees on it, some little chinese building on the other side of it. and there's two guys standing there. little bubbles above their heads. one guy says to the other, 'you can't stand here'. and the other guy says back, 'it's a big round world last time i looked, buddy'. you have your spot, i have mine, and you can't dictate where i sit. i equally own just as much land as you do, asshole, stop acting more important than me. this is elementary school, and you're pissing off the teacher. it's your turn to shut up and listen. you've dictated enuph mistakes. your track record is horrible. you're fired.

now. if that isn't clear enuph, i will offer this. this morning, i was sitting in a nice small little doorway of a big building. i'll take pictures of it for the lawyers, i know they like images of concrete. and if none of you can have any sense of humour with your logic about this this morning, i'm done feeling sorry for you, and accepting your excuses, and i'll start treating you as a child the way your mother should. you can't give me that 'it's our policy' excuse anymore. money doesn't enable policy. unless it says in your policy somewhere that it does. and if it says that, i didn't click accept. fuck you.

in this little doorway space, there's a sign that says no smoking, there's another sign that says emergency exit only, when you open the door, the alarm sounds, there's no handle on the outside of the door to get in, no one's coming out that door. idiot tells me i can't be there this morning, and won't listen to any part of a debate on the issue, none of them will. not that i'm even trying to debate those verbless idiots, i'm just trying to see how soon they'll lose control of their tempers and blame it on me. i'm just toying with them to see how childish they can be. i recorded one on my phone this morning, and i'm using it as evidence of your immaturity in this argument. you can't even call it a debate.

this tiny little doorway where i was sitting, i'll show it to you all, it's safe, i'm there butt ass early in the morning, sky's just getting light... no one is coming out that door. if they do, there's still enuph space around me to open the door and get thru, i'm not in anyone's way, i'm not hurting anyone, i'm not bothering anything, but you're bothering my morning, my disabled body, and fucking up what i was thinking as a writer, but you don't give a shit about that, you're not listening to that part of the argument, so i'll move on. idiot tells me to get up, i can't be there. i see his ears close over like an elephant crossed with a rhino, and it's children in school from that point on. and he has to run off and get another child because he's not mature enuph to handle it himself, it's above his pay grade and what he's told to do. the only authority any of you have is simply what you're being told to do. can you fucking realize that yet. it would help us get past lot of this.

now, after you see the spot i'm talking about, i hope that in that sort of resolution, you can clearly see that this is just childish, immature paranoia at work here, and no logic to speak of. nuthing is being done about this, no one is debating anything with open ears, it's just getting worse. and i know from experience, when things are this childish, and getting worse, they get out of control quick, and can become a disaster. are you following, are you paying attention yet, are you understanding this yet. do i have to spell it out for you. what legal language do you need, i'll get google translate on it quick.

can you see now, in that resolution, that it's just paranoia. it's one child's ability to tell another child they can't play with that particular toy because they're not good enuph. it's two men standing on a tiny round little world, and one trying to dominate the other out of childish insecurity and need for attention. can i get a psychologist to support that? can i get a lawyer to make this a case. can i get my heroes to back me up. robb flynn, i know you'd stand with me on this. walk with me, and take this seed, a fire for you, so dare to fail, will you?

all i need to ask, is how many rockstars, hackers, anarchists, and other homeless people can i get behind me on this, and this argument ends now. it's over. no longer can you dictate where we sit. if you don't want us sitting there, do what i do, get up and move. stop being such a child, and telling me i'm not allowed to sit on your building when i'm just trying to stay warm. go back to mama's house, and have her make you a bowl of chicken soup, and have her play 'another day in paradise' for you. remember that song? phil collins did that tune. incase you missed your history, he still has more talent than most of your pop stars. when i see pop people walking around the streets, i seriously see them as little walking suckers. you know, like blow pops, the little suckers with the wrapping around the big round head, and a tiny little stick body, and you take the wrapper off, and it's all sticky and gooey underneath, and the flies get stuck to it, and that's how you make pop music, children. tune in for yesterday's class on greed and 'but it's an emergency exit'.

you fuckers want to keep being childish, and not even have the balls to debate me on this... you keep proving that your ears have sealed shut, and it's not going to be a nice day when we kick you out of office. we don't be doing it the nice way. the longer you refuse to listen, the more it's gonna hurt. i remember my mother telling me that when i was a child. there should be some sense of irony in there. if you haven't had a blood bubble in your heart at this point, then you simply aren't allowed to own land. simple as that. if you truly can't get that yet... your time's up. thanks for stopping by, but you can't sit here anymore. fuck off.

what a fucking nightmare!

to tell the part of my story just before this would take too long. so this is where this little part of my story starts.

april of this year.

by april of this year, i had no idea i'd ever be getting out of tucson. the town that destroyed my life. in may, the wonderful scagflag mother of my wonderful stolen children asked me if i wanted to come to spokane washington. without hesitating, i said yes. anywhere can be better than here, right? so i hop a plane, and here i am.

june first was my first full day here. from june first to june ninth, it took these idiots in the trailer nine days to fuck that up, and blame it on the new guy. me. alan sears, you should be ashamed of yourself, sir. you're no fuckin' father. you're a failure of a parent just like my mother.

june tenth and eleventh, i was homeless, but i got alot accomplished. got my medical insurance, got signed up with frontier, and got two different beds. on june twelve, i met a girl named snow. i thought, hmm, female companionship, how bad could it be. i talked to her. big mistake. i just wasted a month. in the end, we were basically just using eachother for sex simply because we both had herpes. what fun. she was psycho, immature, and fat. she's got a lot of growing up to do. and now one of her idiot friends wants to beat me up. joy.

from june twelve to july twenty something, i had to cart her shit thru the streets, wasting time, getting nuthing accomplished, killing my body for no reason. yeah. that story again. but now i'm happily single, not wasting my time on any other women (for the most part). for the last couple weeks, i've been able to make it on my own just fine, getting food every day, had bits of tobacco to smoke, and had a few people smoke me out here and there. not bad, right?

this town shuts down on evenings and weekends, which is odd to me, i've never lived in a city that had a cerfew, i come from tucson, a city that never fucking sleeps, and seriously needs to. so on sunday and monday, there wasn't much i could do, so i walked around town smoking pot with people. pointless shit. wasting time. which i hate doing. but okay, whatever.

tuesday. i wasted my time and effort and energy and body walking to city gate, where they serve the food, and i had been going to stay away from certain idiots. there was no breakfast, no lunch, i think all i got was a fuckin' donut. whensday, same thing, breakfast and lunch were pointless wastes of time, nuthing to eat. but i still kept being nice to the people, because i did appreciate what they do.

today. i went up to city gate. nuthing. i figured i wouldn't stick around for lunch, so i went to ugm for their noon lunch. i stand in line for half an hour with blisters on my feet the size of my cat, waiting patiently for food. the greedy people eat first, and the patient people get fucked. i get right up to the front of the line, i'm just about to get my little tray of food, and the guy says 'you can't take your backpack in the dining area', i said 'there's no way i'm leaving this around, someone will steal it, i don't trust anyone'. so he just kicks me out of the place. i wanted to punch the fucker. what am i going to steal, you asshole, the free fuckin' food? get the fuck off me. so i walk out of there to the bus stop, and sit in the sun.

i call frontier just to talk to someone, i start ranting, and start trying to open my last can of mini o's, which is also my only weapon of self defense i have left at the moment. got my backpack, and i'm armed real well. right as i start to open the can, the bus comes. i get on the bus, and get dropped off at who knows where the fuck where, and ask the guy which bus would take me to the vtc. he says the ninetyseven. i walk all around the place looking for a ninetyseven. there is no fucking ninetyseven. so i ask a guy. he says no, the thirtytwo turns into the ninetyseven somewhere else, and he's driving the thirtytwo, so i ask if i can get on his bus, and i finish up the frontier call.

i get on the bus, sit down in the back, and go to open the can of mini o's. i'm trying to do it gently, so i can keep the lid on the can, but the lid pops off, and chef boyardee sprays all over me, my hands, my clothes. my clean clothes are fucked now. and i'm on a bus going who knows where, in a what the fuck part of town i have no idea, and now i've got fuckin' food all over me. i wish i could even remember the details between all this, because it sucked even worse. my finger is still hurting, so i of course keep banging it into everything possible, and having to overuse its minimal strength, which hurts it more. i'm pissed at this point. i quickly scarf down the can of mini o's, and get off the bus who knows where.

i call the bus people. this kid that sounds like he has down's syndrome comes on, and tells me i'm close to the argonne library. he says it's about half a mile up the road. well, he misjudged that by about a mile. uphill. thanks, asshole. so now i'm about a mile from any bus, on a crap computer, trying to type all this shit up. i wish i had just recorded it on my fuckin' phone, it would have wasted less time, and i would have gotten more of it out. i'll have to just add more to this later, cause now i have to go. i fucking hate this life. no one could help me out, no one can offer me a fuckin' dollar, or a ride. you people in your cars... i used to have a car. jolly god mutherfuck you all, man. kiss my black fuckin' ass, i hate you for so many reasons, and i'll write a fuckin' book about them. you're all going down. spokane sucks. fuck yourselves.

kitchen conversations

i wanted to go out to the kitchen to get a soda, but there were no cold ones in the fridge because there's no room in the fridge. it's hot, i didn't feel like putting a shirt on, so i opened my door and looked out there to see if anyone was out there, and no one was, so i went out to the kitchen without my shirt on. i had to be out there too long. i had to put sodas in the fridge, and pour the last of my chocolate milk in a fresh glass. when i started waking back into my room, is when fred's idiot friend came in from the back yard, and i know he saw weird little me with my homeless gloves and no shirt, thinking i'm fucking mental because of all the shit fred's told him about me. so i pictured in my head on the way back to my room, his thought was 'that kid is fuckin' mental'. so i sat down and had an imaginary conversation with that guy, and said 'well, you know, oddly enuph, i actually tried to explain that to you morons'. and he'd say 'you did?', or whatever the average morons says in that imaginary situation that never happens, or scenario, with that pompous accent like michelle used to say. and in my head, i'm thinking of whatever his inquiry might be, to have me explain my mental to this idiot. and i just start going off on all these little pathways in my head. and i get to where i'm saying, 'yeah, there's a thing you can look up on the internet. it's a webpage called wikipedia. and on it, you can look up whatever you want. it's like an encyclopedia, but current and growing and evolved. it's amazing. you can learn whatever you want on there. but the amazing thing is, no one does it. no one even created the site, it's run by a little grey alien dude the government keeps locked up in a dungeon below area fiftyone. he apparently survived trying to land here. yeah, big fuckin' mistake, huh, little guy. won't be tryin' that again. anyway, you can go on this site, and get this typing device called a keyboard, and hit the letters 'ptsd'. and take a little gander there. it stands for post. traumatic. stress. disorder. now, figure this, what it means is, if someone's an asshole, and they abuse their daughter, their daughter is going to grow up with something called ptsd. it means, if you've been hit in the head, you're gonna have a headache. for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, right? well, for irresponsible actions, there's some fucked up shit. some consequences. and some people are too stupid to deal with those consequences, so their kids usually end up on jerry springer. are we following along? cause that explains why i'm insane, but anyway, on this wikipedia thing, there is no limit to what you can read about and learn about. it's a digital doctorate, free of charge, and no one knows it exists. but it's okay, because the letter 't' in 'ptsd'? whatever word that letter stands for, is not in my crackhead uncle's vocabulary, so that's why he's out there telling his friends so much misunderstood horseshit about me. but you can go on wikipedia anytime and look that up, it's a wonderful invention, it's better than tv. pumping endless hours of brainwashing thru a box in your homes. and those children are so fucked up now, that they don't know they can suck endless hours of education into their homes now, to bring them out of this funk into a collective utopia that would make their parents look like idiots, but technology is a wonderful thing, and my daughter is the next stage of evolution. so that's why i'm completely fucked in the head, so you can move along now, cause i know you're bored shitless with this imaginary conversation, but thanks for talking to me, i was too poor to have any imaginary friends growing up, so that's why i don't believe in god, does that answer your question? have a good time with your little friend now. go easy on those funny soda cans, you're gonna grow up like your uncle. when no one tells their kids that, the entire family grows up that way, and then no one has a clue that you're the family titus talks about who live in a particular house. what were you saying about insane? i forget, must be these pills they have me on, or the society out that window i can't be a part of, i don't know, but something tells me something's not right, and you look pretty uneducated to me. run along now. this yellow wall is warmer than you.

misery and agony

well, since i never got to tell anyone who cares about my morning, i guess i'll tell my blog. yesterday was fucked. i came home, my head was not right, no one would talk to me online, so i figured i'd drive up and get a case of beer and a burger. i had twentysix bucks left, i figured i could get a case of beer, a burger, and a bag of cereal for that. i went into fry's to look for my mike's hard lemonade six packs. they didn't have any. they had twelve packs, or mike's hard lemonade lite. so i ended up having to get the lite, and by then, my brain was so fucked price wise, that i just left the store without any cereal or anything else. we're still out of kleenex and toilet paper, so i can't shit, and can't wipe the tears off my face, once again. it's something i wrote in my poem 'god's gravity' that i lost. i hate this life, i hate this world, i'd much rather put a bullet thru my head, than sit around waiting for someone to like me. so i left fry's, and got my burger, and drove home. i sat here for a while, trying to get up the appetite to eat the whole burger. long story short, last thing i knew, i was half way thru my burger and my first beer. next thing i know, i'm waking up this morning. that's the second burger in a row i've wasted, i've got five full bottles of warm beer next to my bed. but i wake up this morning, and i get a huge pop out of my neck finally, so my first thought of the day, for once, is not 'this fucking mucus', but rather, 'oh, it might be an okay day'. wrong. god decides to nosedive me straight into the ground. i miss my girl. i sat here... i turned my computer off, so i wouldn't keep hoping for some life to shine thru it. and i just kept it off. i smoked a cigarette, figuring i'd enjoy the quiet morning, and the birds, and pretend i was homeless alone this morning without any power, because i pretty much am. no one's going to talk to me online, no one's ever going to care about me. so i laid down for a minute after the cigarette, and just started crying. i sat up, wrote my daughter a little suicide note, and cried my eyes out for about half an hour. had to clean my face with rough paper towel. you know, when you see that person... sitting alone in their room... all electronics off... crying their eyes out... well, when you fail to see that person crying their eyes out, is when you fail to see that person kill themselves. and then it hurts you that they're gone. you'd think you'd learn from your mistake.

deceptive trails

this is stupid. why am i doing this. why am i continuing on. i can't stand this pain, this life, this stupid body of mine, i hate my life, i hate myself for what i did to her. i am disturbed by my skin. i hate my head. it's come to feel like a concrete prison. i'm not happy. i hate this world. it's not ready for me yet. i'm in so much pain. my hands just itched like crazy, so i scratched them so much, they're now raw. my knees and ankles won't even hold me up anymore. i do nothing but hurt and shake and cry. some may find this repulsive, but i am repulsive, so deal with it, but i'm never going to find another woman who loves everything about me, even the smell of my farts. go ahead, laff, but she literally did. and i'm sick of pulling shyt out of my eyes, and not being able to wipe it on my wife's naked leg, and see her smile. she taught me unconditional love, when the rest of this town raped their hatred into me. violated my dreams. destroyed my peace. why am i still here. why am i still hurting. this is stupid. why do i keep believing in this juvenile playground. the things i'm interested in: nudity, pot, love, touch, peace, logic, evolution, utopia, comedy, enlightenment, elegance. what others are interested in: lunacy, videogames, popular crap, blame, hatred, seclusion, separation, exclusion, degradation, competition, fear, violence, destruction. and why am i still here again? if this world is not ready for utopia yet, why am i still here. i should come back later, shouldn't i. makes sense to me. this life was trashed, and now my head feels like a concrete prison. extremely uncomfortable and disturbing. physical reality is too physical to me, and is not real. i feel every hair on my head, i feel my skin, my skull, way too much, like it's too hard, too solid. i used to be able to think outside my head, but my caring loving family made damn sure to destroy that, and turn me into a violent little boy who beat my wife away from me when i didn't want to. this chaos is exactly why i shouldn't be here. i was meant for more than this. you can blame me for wasting my life away, but if we all stopped blaming and accepted responsibility, and were brave enuph to make a daring choice, we'd realize we wasted our time blaming eachother. i wasted my life trying to motivate my stupid lazy worthless mother to get off her ass and live her life. she's now four hundred pounds with a tracheotomy. my whole family, as well as my ex, they're abusive projecting oblivious idiots in denial. i had to go thru years of forced mental help, just to have them destroy me. in the end, it was the rest of them who should have had to do that. i was always right, but never heard. i will stick around just long enuph to see if a doctor or lawyer or publisher will help me get my story told, and get back what's rightfully mine. my life. and have these irresponsible, immature, juvenile idiots held accountable, not that it would matter. if it's only going to make me feel better, and not solve any real problems, what's the point. vengeance is just as dumb as blame. there's no happy ending to this horrible story. why take a real life story this ugly and dead, and try to make anything out of it. i'd be beating a dead horse. at least it's better than being ashamed of beating my wife. you couldn't suck sympathy out of my family with a hooker and a hoover vacuum. let alone anyone else in this backward ghost town. so why keep going. why. figure this: i don't bathe, i hate money, and i have herpes. any women out there find that attractive? there are six billion people online, i've got three blogs, two da pages, fetlife, twitter, and i couldn't be more invisible. i've joked before, i'm so dark, you have to be blind to see me. it's no joke. i've said in a poem, i'm the world's greatest unknown. i used to like that. i can't even find a friend who can use punctuation correctly, my chances of finding another girl who not only deals with, but loves all my issues? i'd have a better chance of shooting myself on a dating show. just for george carlin style ratings. he said life is worth losing. ernest hemingway said 'the world is a fine place, and worth fighting for'. morgan freeman only agreed with the second part. i say, stop 'fighting' for crap when you don't even know what you want as a collective consciousness responsibly sharing a planet, stop 'fighting' for everything, instead, start living for something. dreamers have something to live for. idiots have something to die for. there is a difference. take greater care in the terms we use to define our coexistence, and stop trusting the wrong people while they distract us and mislead us thru the wrong choices. 'ooh, do i buy the iphone or the itard with lady gagme accessory kit'. which lie do i want to buy today. do i want to buy the tabloid with aliens on the cover, or the tabloid with demons on the cover. or the zombie shooting videogame that everyone else on this earth plays. or do i strip off my fears and join the logic train and say yes to now. such a hard decision. i'll procrastinate pondering that. and that's the family i come from. the town i live in. the world i stare at with a painful look of befuddlement. like i've got a nuclear fart waiting to turn me into a suicide bummer. get it? i'm a joke that no one laffs at. a rockstar in an empty bar. alien far from home with no car. and now i'm repulsively alone. uncomfortable, in pain, insane, and hopeless. a man destroyed. i saw you turn your heads and lock your doors. living in fear and seclusion. ipods and zombie games for a zombie generation that's too lazy to change the world. which is why we need iron man to do it. i was more of a hero to my wife than any fictional character. and now i'm nonexistent. invisible. i'm so dark, you have to be blind to see me. acquired taste, or acquired sight? i have taste, i have sight, but i don't belong here. i'm made to feel that way every day. sympathy is always minimal to me, but the abuse, they go above and beyond. if you put half the effort into building something that you do destroying everything, we'd have utopia now. i'm sick of waiting for now to be put off till later. i'm sick of digging for a meaningful response. a unanimous 'yes!'. enthusiasm. not apathy. we ignore our dreamers, cause the heroes in the movies are paid more and look hotter. and we don't have to worry about upheaval of our comfortable fears and inhibitions. let's just blame this guy for trying to change us. and roleplay some fictional meaning into our lives via remote control. so we know tmrw will be the same as today. i take comfort in that. fitter, happier, more productive. in denial that i'm completely insane, which is okay, cause i'm completely insane. so i conclude that i do not belong here. neither did john lennon, neither did bill hicks, we're just fine spiraling into darkness and confusion on our own, and we'll blame you for the whole thing and send you packin' anyway. oh, but you can't take yourself out, cause we'll feel lonely, so we'll guilt you into staying miserably until we decide it's your time. and we'll ignore you till you get all old and wrinkly and negative like your grandmother. i'd honestly rather leave you all to figure it out for yourselves. and when you fail, and realize there was some dead dude back there you should have listened to, i'm going to be sitting on arcturus watching you thru a telescope, and i'll laff when i see the puff of smoke. you make it so hard to live in this world, but so hard to die without a guilt trip. i used to know some elementary students who would laff at us. i'll give you a hint. one of those students grew up to be albert einstein. one of my heroes. most of my heroes are either dead or fictional. that's pretty sad. all i ever wanted was to be touched. the day my wife left, i just wanted to be touched. we argued, she left. my soulmate couldn't take the trauma anymore. she saw me go from superhero to little boy, and she couldn't handle that. i don't blame her. no other woman would love me that much. they did a study and found out that people are attracted to their ideal scents. watch it on naked news if you're curious. it's called pheromone dating. naked news also says women won't date men without jobs. which tells me, a: women are shallow and spoiled, and b: perry didn't care about jobs and money. yeah, soulmates! the only two people in the world like that. fucking unicorns. we didn't just love eachother unconditionally. we effortlessly redefined that. we were disgustingly googlesnorts over eachother. but people wanted us apart, and they won. that's no world i want to be a part of. i'm ashamed to associate with humans, so i speak alien, and i think i'll just be proud of being misunderstood until my wrist drains. how's that for a suicide note. did i impress hunter s thompson. this world says suicide is selfish. i say this world is selfish, and it leads to too many suicides. blame us for killing ourselves, but that's on you. take responsibility, and don't let one more dreamer die. we share this world. act like it. you might lose me soon, but learn your lesson, and listen to the next one. we aren't many left.

sobriety and subway

i don't have much money. i never have. nor do i have much luck with money. i am always being ripped off and cheated and just plain stolen from, and i'm so sick of it. i never had an easy chance. the other day, my mother gave me a little money. i went out and bought myself a subway sandwich, the way i like it, that i haven't gotten to have in a long long time. i also bought grandma a salad for which she didn't get her money's worth because she eats like an eighty year old bird. i like my subway sandwich made as a double meat, but the first 'meat' is the subway club, and the second 'meat' is the philly cheesesteak, together on one sandwich. it's good. usually costs me about fifteen bucks. it's not your 'five dollar footlong'. i brought it home, and was only able to eat half of it, because thanks to my drug addict uncle ripping me off, i'm going sober most of this month, and i cannot eat without my pot, because of all the trauma my body has been thru recently, which i couldn't pay my family to sympathize for. literally. i've tried. i offered once to pay them to act like they give a fuck about me. my mother rudely said no, and made it sound insulting for me to ask such a thing. but i wasted half of my special fifteen dollar sandwich, simply because i can't eat it. the rest of the money that my mother gave me was for my monthly supply of regular pot. which was nice of her. but the fact that i have no dealer to buy from. i wish i could make it legal as soon as possible, i hate feeling like a drug addict scumbag like my uncle, who smoked crack in our motel room for his birthday, which traumatized my wife and i, but i guess that's okay. at least my mother is somewhat displeased with my uncle, and wants him out of the house, but i don't see anything getting any better anytime soon. at least you can let this be an advocation for medicinal marijuana, which my uncle doesn't even understand that term, cause he's smoked the definition out of his head with too much crack. but i should be treated like a drug addict just like him, when i am nuthing like him. except in the eyes of my family, who constantly disrespect my namechange, and call me 'fred' all the time, as well as fred himself calling me 'jamal' and 'damone' all the time, like it's cool. now, i am a white boy, i have white skin, but what they do not know, is that if my mother was the black sheep of the family, i'm the black fuckin' hole. i do not exist, and i can prove that, just ask my family where i am. i'm so dark, you have to be blind to see me. i've disappeared into the black hole of poverty and neglect. and no one cares. but right now, that bullshyt doesn't matter. i just wish i could smoke some pot so i could eat something, and i really wish my sandwich was still good. i hate my fucking life, i hate this world, i hate my family, my family hates me, my wife hates me, and i hate myself for what i did to her. i want to die for the way i treated her. i pushed her away, and i never wanted to. you tell me what fucking choice i've had this whole time, over this past two years of my life being mercilessly destroyed by irresponsible people who don't even know they're hurting people. my life is over, my heart is dead, it can no longer be in love, so now my wrist is falling in love with that knife. i'll end this with a line from one of my old poems. 'hey, jesus, would you drop your healing blood, from your wrists down onto me'. i might read my poem wristblood later. and i'd also like to offer this opinion that no one would ever be brave enuph to agree with. but i think that the end of one's life should never be anyone's decision but their own. fuck you, murderers.

alien friends

you know how hard it is for me to find friends? people who share the same interests? here are my interests. i'm an evolutionist with thumbs who's obsessed with evolution. i'm an anarchist who's not interested in money or popular media. i'm a dreamer. i'm a quantum theoretical evolutionist... on acid. who, again, is obsessed with evolution, and wants to meet likeminded people. obsessed with evolution. so obsessed that they know how to spell. i know exactly what i like, and what i don't like. and i like finding the new stuff i like, and not being introduced to it by people i might not like at any point. i like elegance. high class, high style, taste. i'm not a man of wealth and taste. just taste. i like cleanliness, organization, i like desktop customization. i like people to comment on my screenshots, my writings, my taste in music. don't tell me what i should be doing, appreciate what i do. i love nudity and sex, i'm comfortable with myself, and want to be surrounded with others who are comfortable with themselves, and no longer waste time on people who aren't. i've wasted too much of my life on people who just don't care about anything. they're apathetic, uneducated, and overentertained. or, as i call it, underbrained. too much enterbrainment, are you getting me. i hate videogames, they are of zero interest to me. i don't like comic books or fiction books, but i sure do like the movies that come from them. i don't read much, but i do write alot, i think reading books is an unevolved form of education, but i like writing because conversation with disrespectful, uneducated idiots is an unevolved form of communication. i'll handle the writing, you handle the talking you're so good at. i'm sick of being interrupted. i have heroes, and i think everyone should have heroes. most of my heroes are either dead or fictional. but they were all extremely intelligent. i speak like an adult. i think anyone who asks me not to is a child, and i'll treat them like a fuckin' alien. i've been neglected and disrespected my whole life by these idiots who not just expect, but demand respect. well, it's a two way street. i know how i like to live, and the last girl who truly appreciated it... let's just say my family and my ex traumatized us, and because of the trauma, we hurt eachother too much. but we were in love till the day she left. people don't put enuph meaning into words anymore. like the word soulmate. how about this, we were completely googlesnorts over eachother. i never wanted to hurt her. i hate humanity because no one is intelligent enuph to give me reinforcing support, rather than opinionated and controlling 'constructive criticism'. and these people call themselves friends, and family. you're idiots who don't know what the fuck you're talking about, and should shut up and listen once in a while. i want someone who truly values the shyt i do. because i'm tired of wasting time on people who claim to with their words, but don't 'do the walkin' with their actions. i've always wanted to have a group of like ten or twenty close friends, who all enjoy being naked together, fucking eachother, or at least touching eachother, and don't have to just constantly bitch about shyt they don't like, but enjoy the shyt they do like, and just hang out in a big house together, enjoying the same food, and the same music, and i get to be the dj most of the time, but don't have to worry about not being the dj, because no one is going to play any stupid music i don't like. and it's not just a big house with ten or twenty of us, but there's more around the house, a whole community of people who all share the same goals. not just interests, but goals. we all wake up every morning at sunrise, go to the food house, smoke pot, have sex openly, talk about evolution, listen to good music, and i shouldn't even have to say 'good music', i wish i could just call it 'the tunes'. 'hey, let's play some tunes', or 'hey, turn the tunes down, the movie's starting'. i wish i could let other people choose the music. but everytime they do, they put on pop and rap, what the fuck is with you people, can't some of you have good taste in music? are you all really that scared of being 'unpopular'. cause i think that's unhealthy, and you're mental, and you're filling the world with idiots and clones of idiots, and we need to evolve, which i started off saying, maybe you should read this whole thing again and pay more attention, instead of just criticising in your head as you read this. i miss my lady, she would have thought this post was awesome. heroic even. she would have hugged me and smiled for it. people like her don't exist in this world. so, after reading all of that gibberish twice, let's see if the dream takes flight. happy birthday, newton.

"Copyright This, Mutherfucker" - Bill Hicks II: The Sequel!

'yippykayayyy, mutherfucker'. (or whoever the fuck you text it these days). oh, wait, i forgot the quotes. rewind. camera clicks. fade to voiceover.

hey, can i copyright the phrase, i am going to go to the store. ? no? okay, well, how about the phrase, 'i'm going to the mutherfuckin' store, dinglewhopper! ? yes? no? okay, how about the phrase, 'lunatic fringe, i know you're out there'. ? no? someone already copyrighted that one? damn. cause i think it's a cool phrase that should be said alot while we're trying to bring humanity together and unite as a collective planetary consciousness, while letting selfishness and greed and ownership over nonsense and monetary material crap go (shyt, i posted it two minutes too soon, and forgot to proofread). people we don't know telling us all how to live, that makes more sense. okay, can i copyright that phrase then? how about this for a question. can i legally claim that i am the reincarnation of bill hicks, or would that be like the ultimate copyright infringement lawsuit. would his mother sue me. cause i wouldn't want her to do that, i love her. just because i was born in the wrong fuckin' city. can i copyright that phrase? how many words constitutes a phrase you can copyright? cause 'lunatic fringe, i know you're out there', first of all, it has the word 'fringe' in it. can i copyright the phrase 'don't sue me for copyright infringement', that's six words. 'lunatic fringe, i know you're out there', that's seven words. well, six and a letter. can you copyright a letter? cause my symbol and actual signature is ø. my name is ozzy draven. ooh, that might be a legal issue. named myself after ozzy osbourne and eric draven in the crow, uh oh. i didn't think of that. i was copyright infringing on marilyn manson's idea, sorry. i thought it was kind of a 'natural born killers' thing to do. he wanted to combine ugly and beauty, yeah, whatever, i wanted to combine reality and dreams, fiction, fantasy, imagination, cause i'm a fuckin' dreamer, like john lennon, people quote his song all the time, but some people don't always mention his name with it, cause it's such a popular phrase, everyone knows it, especially in a time when we're coming together as a collective consciousness, and all that jazz. ooh, i said the phrase, 'and all that jazz', that's four words, is that copyrighted? oh, shit, it is. by who? fuck, i don't know, am i gonna get sued cause i didn't say their name? damn, i can't even legally ask this question then, that doesn't make sense. okay, well, the phrase, 'i am going to go to the store' is a common phrase, it's, let's see, eight words, or seven and a letter for the people who claim logic as their god. people who see it with three eyes, kinda like the doctor in 'patch adams'. oh, that's a fictional story. well, at least it was a functional story. imagination tends to do that. that's kinda why i like it, and chose it as the other half of my fuckin' name, cause i'm a dreamer. but i guess being a dreamer is copyrighted, too. shyt. people go crazy over that selfish, greedy shyt, don't they. and they get mad when idiots like shia labeouf don't fuckin' do it right. douchebag. okay, let's see how many people in this world have ever downloaded a torrent, or stolen something, or committed any other theft crime, especially the ones that really suck, like identity theft. my ex stole from stores all the time, my uncle stole from my family all his life to support his psychotic drug habit. oh, sorry, i forgot to tell you, i separated the drug categories into psychedelics and psychotics, and i don't do the psychotics, cause i'm not fucking retarded. and i use the word retarded the way christopher titus does, so don't flood your tampon, shut up. oh, wait, i bet that's copyrighted, goddamnit. is it a phrase or a concept, i don't know. it's a whole fuckin' comedy bit, i just ripped off christopher titus, damn. sorry, dude. well, at least i said your name, i guess i'm safe for now. i also downloaded a torrent of his, but also once owned a dvd of his before i lost it all, including all my own unpublished, uncopyrighted creative work and verbal art that pretty much proved that i am the reincarnation of bill hicks, but i guess that's a legal issue now. fuck. i don't have the evidence cause some dickhead thief stole my computer from me. fuckin' thieves, i hate them, don't you? goddamnit. oh, wait, i just admitted that i download a titus torrent, fuck, i bet he'll sue me now. please don't sue me, dude, i'm a huge fan, and i do have a letter i wrote you about how much you've inspired me to stay the fuck alive! does that count? can you not sue me please, i promise when i get more money, and rebuild my life, i'll buy plenty of your shyt, i really really promise, cause you're a huge inspiration to me, why wouldn't i. fuck, i'm claiming to be the reincarnation of bill hicks, i kinda have to, don't i? makes sense to me. i mean who knows who's the reincarnation of who, we don't know, do we. can i copyright that phrase. or is it a concept. i want to be selfish and greedy with that one, it's mine, i don't want anyone stealing it and saying it without saying my name along with it. wait a minute, no i fuckin' don't. i don't want to be greedy and selfish with that one, i want everyone saying it, i want it to be a common phrase. oh, shyt, i just legally changed my mind, publicly, too. fuck, what do i do, do i sue myself now? oh, shyt, paranoia, run, hide, they're all out to hurt you! aaahhh! cause you know what, honestly, when it comes down to it, i'm tired of the debate, i'll close jimmy pineapple's fuckin' case right the fuck right now, i honestly think i'm the reincarnation of alot of dead fuckin' thinkers. dead heroes, as tool says. they're my heroes. i think we need some fuckin' heroes, these days, cause we have no hope. some of my heroes are fictional, and some are functional. real. mostly dead. but they did some serious thinking, advancing us forward toward a united consciousness. my heroes. bill hicks, terence mckenna, albert einstein, isaac newton, who i named my cat after, i miss little newton, my family stole him from me, can i sue them for that? that one hurt, he was my awesome cat, i didn't choose to become homeless and lose everything, it was other people's irresponsibilities that fucked my life up, destroyed me, almost killed me, and traumatized me, and fucked me up, but can i sue them for all that shyt? cause it sucked, and they did alot of wrong things, or at least i claim, but i'm probly just insane, so none of it was right, right? can i copyright that, then, and at least make some money off it? cause i'm sure that's happened to another few of our fellow earthwalkers of level ground a time or two, i could make a movie about it, and tell that story, cause it needs to be fucking told, i think. oh, wait, i think it already was. i'm sorry that when i was homeless, i was such a fuckin' nuisance to your happyness. oh, wait, i bet the word happyness is copyrighted now, even though it was a fictional misspelling based on a true story, fuck, that makes so much sense, i'm legally confused. wow, how much greed do you think that's worth. can i buy some stock in that one? i bet someone's makin' a dime off it. dimebag, can i copyright that? it was dimebag's name, he's a dead hero of mine. someone once said, it was the worst death since john lennon, or something like that, i can't quote, sorry, i can't quite remember the actual phrase, or who said it. shyt, i'm gonna get sued, someone's angry, i can feel it, i should know, i was traumatized by angry people, and developed my own anger issues. can i sue them and copyright it all. but anyway, without all the confusion, let me stay on topic, that is a way i have been traumatized lately. someone said dimebag's death was the worst death since john lennon. i agree, so that's why i said it, too, cause it was helping my point, which i'm getting back to. wait, what was my point. oh, yeah. i remember. it was back at the jimmy pineapple part, okay. it's a good thing i'm writing this, i have no one to tell it to. everyone hates me. can i copyright that phrase, 'everyone hates me'. ? i wanna put it on a shirt and wear it, and take a picture of it, and copyright the picture, and put that image on a shirt, copyright it, and sell it, cause i think that would be a cool idea, and then i wanna copyright that idea, cause i could make enuph money to get back the life that i lost when i was homeless, including all the shyt i wrote that i can't get back. hell, i could have enuph money to hire a hacker to track down my computer. i certainly wouldn't want to hire a tracker to hack down my computer, and that's pretty much what happened to me. can i sue them for that? oh, good. well, it sucks actually, cause i'll never even know who did it. i know it was someone in the oasis apartments in tucson arizona around the time of april 2013, i'm sure they might have a list of names, or a history or something, and you could get the fb fuckin' i to investigate and interrogate those people and waterboard the fucker who did it, right? cause i'm an american, and patriotic people should back me on that, they're selfish enuph. claiming land, i don't even like those people, i'm not even patriotic for this planet, i feel like an alien who can't even prove he's been here twice legally in this place, it's too illogical and legal. can i legalize logic. like make it an actual religion or something. that would be cool. i'll copyright that. and i want to copyright 'everyone hates me', and also the thing i was saying about jimmy pineapple, getting back to the point and cutting to the end of the fuckin' debate right the fuck right now. i like to say that phrase alot, i think it's cool. i think i'm the reincarnation of alot of dreamers, because the concept i'd like to copyright and sell and make money off of, is this. i think there's a part of our collective consciousness that is from somewhere outside this consciousness, and he keeps peeking in from time to time, or a few of them maybe, and donating their wisdom and knowledge to us, to guide us in a better direction, toward uniting as one, is that concept already copyrighted by tool. shyt. well, cause i just built onto it, i guess that's illegal, too, huh. damn, i can't even think anymore. you made illegal for your heroes and dreamers and that certain spirit who reincarnates whenever the fuck they want, whoever they are, and however many of them there are, but that big fuckin' brain that stops by once in a while, you know, that guy. what's his name, i can't think of it right now, i'm trying to stick to the point. oh, yeah, jimmy pineapple, the thing i was saying, ending the debate, right now. there's a consciousness on this planet, that's all we know. it's growing out of this planet. right now, it looks like a fuckin' virus, in bill hicks' copyrighted opinion, but i quote that concept alot, so does his friend joe rogan. yeah, the debate. what i wanted to say back there, the first time i said it, was how many people do you think i just copyright infringed in that one little part. i'll copy and paste the whole bit right here.

cause you know what, honestly, when it comes down to it, i'm tired of the debate, i'll close jimmy pineapple's fuckin' case right the fuck right now, i honestly think i'm the reincarnation of alot of dead fuckin' thinkers. dead heroes, as tool says.

okay, how many people do you think i stole words from right there. let's see, there's bill hicks, of course. and all i did was add jimmy pineapple's name to that part of the quote, and then i quoted phil anselmo, cause that's copyrighted on pantera's live cd, but dimebag got sued after he was killed for using the word dimebag as a name, cause that system loved raping corpses, and just had to fuck up as much as they could before they were no longer relevant in the eye of consciousness... oh, wait, i'm still in 2014, shyt. i almost reincarnated again. i have been wanting to kill myself after all the trauma, so i guess that's legally copyrightable, right? is that wrong? is this whole concept wrong? fuck.

well, who cares, i'm going for it, i'm still going to end the debate right now, because i think i can copyright this thing and end up in lewis black's starbucks universe cafe. wait, is that copyrighted with the cafe, or the café. does everyone know how to do those symbols now, or is it still 2014. ah, okay, we're still texting, gotcha. can't copyright that part yet. fuck. well, anyway, still getting to the point. ending the debate. remember, i have been traumatized. my mind isn't exactly legal. but i have copyrighted the phrase 'i'm out of my mind and never going back', because it used to be an intentional choice of my own to take lsd, but that's illegal, so i can't copyright it. anyway, the point. the debate. let's see, where was i. oh, yeah. there's a spirit out there, and i don't think if he reincarnated, he would want to copyright himself. here's my concept that i will copyright someday when i get enuph money to actually legally do so, i mean i want to patent this sumbitch. wait, is 'sumbitch' copyrighted? fuck, then how about 'git r done'. do i have to do it with the dashes? i think if we all copyright infringe sued eachother, we'd end up in a lewis black universe where starbucks is like an evil dictator enslaving us all, and tying us up with dollar bills, and raping us with a copyrighted big black cock of death, and i can't do bill hicks' satan voice after that, cause i'm writing this. remember, i have no one to tell, everyone hates me. remember, i copyrighted that phrase and put it on a tshirt. oh, wait, i haven't done that yet. fuck, this linear time shyt sucks for my enlightened spirit, or legal brain, whichever eyes you're reading this thru. for people with glasses, click here. oh, wait, that's copyrighted by google. fuck, even the word google is copyrighted, i'm confused, can i say google me legally? i can't say that? shyt, man, who owns that one. oh, wait, it's 2014, i'm still talking to myself, there's no one actually here. i guess was traumatized, i'm writing this idea. shyt, that's bad. is that a legal issue. cause i'm going to clear up the debate before it happens right fucking now. i would like to copyright the phrase, 'i am going to go to the store'. i also want to copyright a future rant of mine, called 'noam sane', but i want to copyright the concept before i actually write it, because i'm about to be sued for it. someone got angry. (i should say here, that in the year 2014, it's still illegal to read this, so be careful).

here's something i never got to copyright and lost. the phrase, 'if you tell someone they have anger issues, and they get angry at you... hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!'. cause i put that on a tshirt five years from now, and it gets put in the forest gump sequel. you'll love it, it's not even conceived yet. wait, did i spell conceived right. the point is, if something is a legal issue because of selfishness and greed, it makes it impossible for my soul to reincarnate in a logical fashion. and that doesn't make any sense to me, so i'm going to leave this world legally. i'll sue myself and end up in lewis black's butt. at least there's coffee there. or something brown. don't worry about it, the point is, i want to copyright the phrase 'i am going to go to the store', and it's eight words, it's an official phrase, and fifty thousand years ago, they once proved it was legally uncommon enuph to be copyrighted, but those documents were burnt in the alexandria fire, so it doesn't matter anyway when you look at it with three eyes. anyway. the point. i want to copyright it so i can end up in lewis black's butt. is that legal? can i do that? have i already asked a lawyer? judges? oh, wait, it's 2014, i'm not in alice cooper's guillotine on the reality show yet. okay, still safe. but you know what the truth is. this is what the reincarnation of bill hicks would legally say, by the way, and it was legally proven in the year 2032, the year of bill hicks, so we're clear. oh, wait, that's not copyrighted yet, no we're not, shyt, call the fbi!. wait, is it with the ! or the . ? the way i write makes alot of sense, doesn't it? haha.

okay, ending the debate, i swear i'm going to stay on topic here. this all gets famous a year from now, so stick to it. sorry, my past life was talking to me again. the q is talking to me, the q is talking to me! sorry, denis leary quote, just to piss him off. don't sue me, i'm just joshin' with ya, dude. i'm sure i spelled that one right. i saw someone text it wrong though, and he got sued. here's the point. when it's all said and done, and the debate is over, and we all agree, here's the thing. get this. cause i wanna copyright it, it's fuckin' great. i'll even start a new paragraph, just so you can pay attention.

when it's all said and done, we can't copyright shyt. because everyone says 'i'm going to the store', and not 'i am going to go to the store'. but i want to say 'lunatic fringe, i know you're out there' in a poem of mine, which i already did in a past life as well. i want to quote myself, get it? oh, wait, this is still 2014, and reincarnation isn't legal yet. what a conundrum. if we want to get perfectly legal about this, and tighten up our assholes instead of loosening our minds, we can really think about this. like a thinker would do. it's stupid to pick and choose which phrases we can be greedy and selfish over, and which ones are common enuph, it creates a legal issue that keeps us from entering a united consciousness, and our future splits off, and we don't get to michio kaku's utopia. this is the reality where michio kaku dies, and i am quoting men in black four. wait, is it with the iv, or the four, we don't know yet, do we. yeah. when it's all said and done, how do you know you can't reincarnate and sue your past life for copyright infringing your current life? how do you know? you know how you don't know? because the truth is, and i'm quoting the legal reincarnation of bill hicks here, the truth is, when it's all said and done, when it all comes down to it, you don't know what the fuck is out there. you don't. you fucking don't. you legally don't. and i can prove it. you don't even know what the fuck is in your own mutherfuckin' mind, man. and i partially quoted the crow there. you can't legally prove or disprove reincarnation yet, and that's what makes it magical. that's life, this reality bubble we're all together in. john lennon's reincarnation once said that, but we never proved who it was. what a fuckin' tragedy. oh, wait, who am i quoting there.

so, when you want to argue about greed, and selish people, and shia labeouf, you can take my cock out of your ass and sue me with it, cause i just stole from you and copyrighted it. but hey, i'll be okay, cause i'll be in lewis black's butt, and you'll all be in the wrong future without me, so, i'd say it all works out fine. it's what you all wanted, and my soul never should have come here. so i take back all my files and all my past life files, including john lennon and bill hicks, which puts you in a legal bind of your own confusion, and i'm going home. as if i was never here, which is a fictional concept, and if you want, you can sue goatboy@billhicks.com

so, now that i legally can't exist anymore, i'm going to post this online, and see what people think of it. then they can read my twitter, and laff at shia labeouf, and beat the shyt out of me, and we'll all laff and become one, and live happily ever after in michio kaku's utopia. yes, i fucking did it. so, now i can legally say the phrase...

that's the fuck how you fuckin' do it, shia, you fuckin' douchewank!!!

and now i want to copyright that phrase, and put it on a tshirt, and take a picture of me and shia both wearing it, and copyright that, and sell those tshirts to people, and get rich. oh, wait, we're still in 2014, shyt, now he can sue me for stealing from jim carrey. cause that's too bad, man. cause i think it was also jim carrey who said...

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssmokinnnnn'!

but i put that at the end of my already copyrighted song, 'i'm bringing thinking back', which proves the point anyway, so we're all good. legally, you can't do shyt to me. cause i'm a fuckin' genius. wow, that was pretty cool, i think i'm gonna smoke some pot now, and imagine myself being a mutant while i watch x-men. have fun deciphering this.

oh, yeah, i forgot the ending. haha. fuckin' linear time, man. bill hicks quoted jimmy pineapple when he said, 'case fucking closed'. is that copyrighted? i believe it was jim carrey, who said, 'i believe it was shia labeouf who said that'. ooh, that's gonna make some greedy selfish people mad. my trauma tells me i can feel the fbi getting in their big black suvs. is that just in the movies, or do they actually do that in a functional really real world, too. cause in the really real world, and i'm quoting the crow here, as ozzy draven could do, cause i'm real, and i claim logic as my god... in the really real world, there ain't no comin' back.

fuck, that's a confusing concept if you're a christian, isn't it. or a government official, too. damn, i bet i just pissed all of them off all at once. you're gonna see another waco on cnn, man, i'm so dead. bill hicks saw waco. which means, i saw it, but i technically wasn't there, cause it's illegal copyrightwise to claim yourself as the reincarnation of anyone. fuck. i'll just sue myself, pay everyone else, and kill myself. that should make y'all happy. sorry i stole this entire concept from myself, i'm a fuckin' no good thief, and should never be forgiven. especially by christians who forgive. wait, didn't bill hicks say that one? damn. that's like going up to jackie with a rifle pendant, they don't like hearing that. i'm quoting so many versions of myself, i can't keep up, this thought is so far out there, it's illegal. and dangerous. or, dangerously sane, i say. which bill hicks would also say, if he were still 'round here, boy. but anyway, back to the point.

oh, wait, i wrote the jim carrey parts in the wrong order, shyt! nooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!......................................... (plop!)

ah, man, it's not coffee! fuck.