everything is jail.

so i guess i'm going to switch th entire dynamic of this blog..

2010-02-11T10:18:00.000-08:00

and since absolutely no one reads it anyhow, the transition should be remarkably smooth. I'm going to hurl depressing poem-like things into the boundless void that is the internet like a monkey throwing shit at a wall. This initial piece is an excerpt from an obnoxiously long poem i'm in the process of trimming and lubing called "a poem about how i'm gonna die alone"

oh, and by the way.. everything i write is dedicated (and pertains) to a girl who i taught the ways of hatred and fear and depression and madness but she chose, remarkably, to love..despite it all..

i was digging for a vein, slowly fucking the puncture with 100 cc's of metallic needle cock
cooing, drooling, talking filthy to it... it knew i was it's fucking whore
black and pissed off managers banging on the locked bathroom door
as i say "hold on, i'm taking a shit" while i push the fucking junk in the mainline
and as the vein fattens with dope like a salted slug, i think of the time we layed
in the tent and you were drunk and i was afraid you wouldn't wake up
if you fell asleep
i was so scared
and i told you to sing so i knew you were okay
and i sat in a mediative position, rolling a joint
while you sang "you are my sunshine" and i smiled in the partial darkness.

everything hurts all of the time and if i'm not dopesick i'm suicidal
and if i'm not suicidal i'm standing in the rain, talking to myself
trying to light a cigarette, remembering when my head roommate
at one of the many rehabs said "there's nothing as beautiful as the silence of the night"
as we were laying in bed and i was soaking wet with moonlight and the stars
were like so many diamonds and god was a giant squiad and space was his ink..i guess she's scared too.

"Fuck poetry!"-Bukowski

2009-08-04T22:46:00.000-07:00

i thought i heard whimpering and despair and agony
and expected to see mangled fucks with cuts so complete
in their hatred for nirvana
that shards of filthy bone
stuck out and could be seen
by children who knew nothing
of death and death metal.

and i started laughing..
not in a sadastic manner
more of a
"seriously..what the fuck?"
...
the cyclical epiphany
that we are such fucking animals
and there is no magic
or happiness or god
but it's quite strange
when i look up sometimes
in the midafternoon and a full moon
is out and about and pink and whispering
"..........."

I think your train is leaving..

2009-06-02T06:31:00.000-07:00

loud/soft music, the kind stiched and sung and bled from the band Indian Summer, is an allegory representing the human condition and experience. It is the soundtrack to falling in/out of love, the soundtrack to being expelled from your mothers womb by her vaginal thrusts or the incisions made by a glistening scapel executing a shaky c-section, the soundtrack to cross country Greyhounds slowing gradually to a complete halt to let on an Appalachian poet with a tortured conscience and the worlds smallest cock. When I listen to the exaggerated build ups I can't lasso my mind and order it to function like a supposed normal individuals. I can't just hum to delicate background music while I fiddle and fingerfuck around on the Village Voice crossword puzzle. I fall fucking head first into thoughts of Freudian obsession, exisential anxieties, philosophical riddles pertaining to questioning if i'm even hearing music or if i've never been born yet and nobody has and god is testing the brain wirings of his prototypes. I think of turning on a black light in my bedroom, stoned, and seeing cum stains on the wall like stars in the virgo cluster and lint on my insurance paid glasses which could have obstructed me from seeing an ant that could have changed my life for the better. In short..I think too much. Always have. Always will. It will probably be the death of me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YOHPjSUyPw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2wgnuFkbxI&feature=related

happy today

2009-04-07T12:16:00.000-07:00

I made a list of music that induces the feeling of finding out your parents died while a drunk, sadastic dentist is drilling into your fucking gums with rusty instruments..in a good way.

Sonic Youth-Confusion is Sex
Big Black-Rich Man's 8 Track
Velvet Underground-White Light/White Heat
Lou Reed-Metal Machine Music
Lightning Bolt-Beautiful Rainbow
Electric Wizard-Dopethrone
Burzum-filosef
Nomeansno- Wrong
Godflesh-Street Cleaner

After listening to these albums and ruminating on the poetic hatred and disillusionment for a few years, I was inspired to write stories that will hopefully be published collectively sometime from either tomorrow or the day I die (hopefully the later will be spread apart generously from the first) The book will be named after a random tenament with hallways flooded and walls waterlogged with excrement and bloody semen and tiny rooms packed with dirty needles, broken promises and commandments and pans caked with several years worth of eggs. Excerpts shall be posted sporadically.

Ramones

2009-03-17T12:57:00.000-07:00

The Ramones were the greatest rock n' roll band of all time. I don't feel like explaining why because i'm tired and it's futile. Why is it futile you may ask? because..

A) You agree
B) You just don't get them and nothing I say could make you get them.

I have read/heard in numerous places that miraculous changes occur every 7 years give or take. I feel my devotion for the Ramones fluctuates yet resurfaces stronger and stronger in a cyclic manner approximately every 7 years. Around this time in 2002/03 I grew out my hair, entertained the idea of sniffing carbona and/or glue, and dramatically tossed out my Zeppelin cds. Now in 2009 I want to get the cover of Leave Home tattooed on my arm, I get chills and shake and expell pre cum when I listen to "Listen to my Heart", and watch japanese Ramones documentaries at my NA sponsors abode.

Things change. The scenery has altered. The characters have disbanded and moved to states to pursue an image of themself they created and cultivated in commercial college towns. Sometimes I have a beard and sometimes I am clean shaven. The Ramones remain...

lists

2009-02-12T09:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I have the attention span of someone who has just come off a three week crack binge and is told they have to immediately sit down and write a thesis on War and Peace. I often read several books at once and finish approximately 1 out of 3. The difficulty doesn't lie in my comprehension but in the fact that I feel claustrophobiac and overwhelmed that I am missing out on some yet to be read great American novel. One of the books that I deviated from in search of some obscure collection of early Bukowski poetry was High Fidelity. The book was pleasantly sardonic and the main characters sexual and social awkwardness hit close to home yet I wasn't able to finish it. However, one thing that has stuck with me was his tendency to insert sporadic and quite random "lists" between segments and chapters of trembling prose. Here are a few of my own lists.

Good albums that inspired other artists to make great albums

The Seeds- S/T: A few burnouts in the 1960's who seemed to prefer ampthetamines to LSD and inadvertently cut the trees to make way for the highway that would become punk rock n' roll. The majority of the songs sound as if the Stooges shot enough dope to maintain their composure and were fucking around playing some Beach Boy songs to piss off some rednecks at some divebar they were forced to play at. Some sounded like the Hollies if they were angry because someone stole their lunch money. The angular and raw rock n' roll of the Rolling Stones prior to their later day pretension after Patti Smith declared them true poets. The Seeds made music that I would imagine Quentin Tarantino would play while jerking off on ectsasy to Asian girls in high heels.

Television- Marquee Moon: When I was younger my father had this album laying around and pulled me aside from whatever stupid fucking little kid thing i was doing to play the song Torn Curtain. I remember seeing Tom Verlaine's gaunt Nasferatu hands on the cover. I knew why my parents told me not to talk to strangers after hearing this album. This album has an underlying sense of impending doom. It doesn't quite erupt raccous and molten, but it is enough to leave one with an erection and visions of the Lower East Side when it was dangerous.

The Vaselines- Dum-Dum: So yeah, Kurt Cobain liked them but that doesn't mean anything to me because I like them. Son of a Gun is just as good as (almost) any Beatles song. The female vocals melt like chocolate icecream. The drumming is a primative mantra that tells me "everything sucks but it's okay". Feedback bursts like boils concealing a beautiful, angelic face.

Lou Reed- Metal Machine Music

2009-01-21T11:08:00.000-08:00

I finally had a room all to my own. I wanted to write a poem and I figured i'd put in Metal Machine Music as a soundtrack to forcefully vomit some stanzas as if I was a literary bulimic. However, I was constipated, battered and molested by the album. I had listened to the album before but it was background music as I lay in a strange bed, young, drug addicted, hypnotized by persuasive thoughts of shoplifting and hungry. But when the "music" began the other evening I was pink, pants down exposed. Metal Machine Music isn't an album someone can "like". Anyone who says they do is a fucking liar. But on a somewhat contradictory note, anyone who doesn't recognize it as an avantgarde, symphonic, cacophony minuet masterpiece is a fucking mongoloid.

The sounds preserved on the record consist entirely of feedback. If you listen you can hear beautiful, beautiful, BEAUTIFUL arpeggios and metal crescendos and mercury whispers. I closed my eyes and waited to see what images and emotions the sounds evoked. I saw a tree growing very, very old and nobody realizing that trees lead miserable lives as men do and are plagued by madness, starvation, greed, agony and love too. I saw someone awaken from a dream to find that everything turned to static and he was told that he would live forever and ever and watch everyone around him die and it would continue until he learned to meditate completely and honestly and disregard the insanity and find true love within himself admist the chaos. i saw a black and gray image of my father standing alone along the ocean looking down, pensive, broken, vulnerable. and the waves. the waves. then i paused the cd and went outside to smoke a cigarette.