Friday, January 24, 2003

"Depression" by Henry Rollins.

Right here,all by myself
I ain't got no one else
The situation is bleeding me
There is no relief for a person like me
Depression's got a hold of me
Depression-I gotta break free
Depression's got a hold of me
Depression's gonna kill me

I ain't got no freinds to call my own
I just sit here all alone
There's no girls that want to touch me
I don't need your goddamn sympathy
Depression's got a hold of me
Depression-I gotta break free
Depression's got a hold of me
Depression's gonna kill me

Everybody just get away
I'm gonna boil over inside today
They say things are gonna get better
All i know is they fuckin better
Depression's got a hold of me
Depression-I gotta break free
Depression's got a hold of me
Deprssion's gonna kill me.

as much of a fan i am of the abstract,the cryptic,the mysterious,and the poetic lyrical stylings of myself and others,sometimes simple words can best describe what you are really feeling better than imagery and metaphors.that is why i wrote out these lyrics...that and Black Flag kicks hairy ass cavity.

Thursday, January 23, 2003

man this documentary on Porn i'm watching is making me feel guilty about spending my teenage years with my right hand and Chasey Lane movies.

Monday, January 20, 2003

I could'nt believe how old he looked.he looked so tired and worn,like he could count his days on one hand.and he did'nt look happy about it.tapping on a piano and letting his voice echo thorugh the walls.you'd never suspect he was so old,but you might have a hint.and when he poured the glass of wine all over the table,soaking what could have very well been his last meal with a deep red liquid...all i could do was stare at the floor and remember what he once was,and silently sob.

dedicated to The Man In Black.

Sunday, January 19, 2003

I woke up on the ugly side of a sledgehammer,with my back to the wall and my face through the glass.i picked up the scent of ciggarette stained fingernails and empty,broken whine glasses.and along the flaps of the cardboard box that was your tomb i saw my name stiched in with a syringe and twine.the same makeshift burial mask i dressed you in.i was then awakend by the hum of cicadas and cackling of swans.your garments of dead rose pedils and rat skulls reminded me that summer was now in session.Now i must shed this flesh and await my winter shell.My safe haven from the explosions of the human heart.My Precious Canvas.
when you find me face down in bathtub filled with rusty water,blood outlining my rotting carcass,with piano wire wrapped around my throat tied into a bow,pills and alchohol in my veins,i hope you take time to read everything i've ever written from cover to cover.and then i hope you'll join me for a swim.
"We are the middle children of history,man.No purpose or place.We have no great war,no great depression.Our great war is a spiritual war.Our great depression is our lives.We've all been raised by television to believe that one day we'll all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars-but we won't.And we're learning slowly that fact.And we're very,very pissed off."

-Brad Pitt,Fight Club,1999



i just love being the first one up.having to wait on everyone else.time and time again i think "hmmm maybe i should stick it to them and not wake up either" but because i am a submissive turd i get up anyways.God i hate Sundays.

why must i care?