Yes, it is halloween. It's a bitter sweet occasion, though. I don't have that same burning excitement down in my belly...the little dark, goth blob that rests inside of there all year and finally gets to come out to play has been somewhat diminished. It makes me almost miss being 13...when I found joy and comfort in everything black and orange and red, and played the Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack all day....I miss that feeling. I still love halloween...but instead of wanting to dance outside in the array of jack-o-lanterns and stars and go into haunted houses, I've got my mind focused on getting extremely drunk at a party with a bunch of other lost, ironically trendy 20-somethings. I guess thats just growing up for you...
Fighting with my mom again, what else is new. Turmoil, anger, stress...can't escape it. I was born into it. Its all I've even known. Too poor to leave, too pissed to stay.
I like to create awkward situations for myself. I didn't realize just HOW fucking tiny Burbank is until last night at my friends birthday party. Luckily I think I redeemed myself....but..I really have to stop being such a bitch.
I don't know...nothing too deep to say right now....I'm just kind of coasting. Floating on the river of crap where ever it may lead me.
Anyways, some halloween-y stuff to moisten your palettes.
oh, that makes my heart happy.
10.31.2009
10.27.2009
Some more on the war against digital.
Are there other people out there at all who are against digital photography? I honestly feel like I'm the only one sometimes. Well, you can all go fuck yourselves when your artwork becomes obsolete and lost in the mind fuck of computers. I'll still have my dark rooms and my strips of film that I can physically hold in my hand. They will last forever, and you will all go fade into the dust somewhere.
sorry. its just art.
10.25.2009
You are beautiful, but you don't mean a thing to me.
You give a room full of depressed kids booze, you get a mess. A bloody fucking mess. And then, they just might sit a circle and sing Wake Up at the top of their lungs just for the fuck of it.
I drank too much, and now I am crying while on the couch while some guy kisses my neck, but his face is all blurred out.
"You seem distracted."
"Do I? I'm not......"
I am distracted though, because you don't mean shit to me, my eyes are focused on the ceiling because I'm trying to see whats behind it, and maybe it will rip off and I'll float upwards and you'll watch me go with a confused look and mutter "what the fuck?"
I realized that I can only attract the type of losers that you just have to grin and bare it with. The type of guys who sit around all day and who don't have any thoughts for art or good music, the kind of guys who aren't doing jack shit with their lives. And I try to convince myself that they 'aren't that bad..' but then I realize that they might as well be the tiny grey speck in my vision, because they don't mean shit to me. And then my beautiful friend, who I love, comes to visit, I am revisited by the tiny goblin of self-loathing and low self-esteem. And then I see my good friend with a boyfriend treating her like she doesn't mean anything and I realize that I don't want to worry about this shit anymore. I'm just gonna hang around like the tall bastard that I am and do my thing. If someone ends up appreciating that, awesome. If not, oh well...I'll buy myself a fucking dildo.
I spent all my money on a tattoo. I'm broke now, but I love getting stabbed too much.
I drank too much, and now I am crying while on the couch while some guy kisses my neck, but his face is all blurred out.
"You seem distracted."
"Do I? I'm not......"
I am distracted though, because you don't mean shit to me, my eyes are focused on the ceiling because I'm trying to see whats behind it, and maybe it will rip off and I'll float upwards and you'll watch me go with a confused look and mutter "what the fuck?"
I realized that I can only attract the type of losers that you just have to grin and bare it with. The type of guys who sit around all day and who don't have any thoughts for art or good music, the kind of guys who aren't doing jack shit with their lives. And I try to convince myself that they 'aren't that bad..' but then I realize that they might as well be the tiny grey speck in my vision, because they don't mean shit to me. And then my beautiful friend, who I love, comes to visit, I am revisited by the tiny goblin of self-loathing and low self-esteem. And then I see my good friend with a boyfriend treating her like she doesn't mean anything and I realize that I don't want to worry about this shit anymore. I'm just gonna hang around like the tall bastard that I am and do my thing. If someone ends up appreciating that, awesome. If not, oh well...I'll buy myself a fucking dildo.
I spent all my money on a tattoo. I'm broke now, but I love getting stabbed too much.
10.21.2009
now it is quiet time.
I wrote this a little while ago, and I could rant about why I wrote it...but I don't want to kill anyone.
so here.
You are the one.
You are the one who watches and judges.
You sit on that couch in between the squeaky leather and the clashing of gaudy jewlery.
You are the one with dark glasses, with two mirrors over your eyes so that they can only see themselves.
You look down into that red plastic cup and see unfamiliar liquid as it swirls around you. Its burn is familiar though, as it slithers down your throat. You are the one who has no home.
And each day you wake up in an unfamiliar house, on and unfamiliar bed. And each night you are blind to everything except the person in front of you. The person you will fuck each night. They are all different.
And you will slide away from eachother, there air is thick with smoke and sweat and you will choke on your own hot air.
You are the watcher and the judgement. You could destroy the world. This, you tell yourself everyday as you suck in that ash and look down at your shoes. You are the one who is a replica of a replica and your home is a mirage.
You are the one who will shit and vomit and drown in your own excrement. You will laugh as you drown and they will all follow you, because, it is what they were built for.
You are the one with free will. This, you will tell yourself as you suck and fuck.
And they are the robots. They pollute and replicate and pollute. Their chips and wires will melt in the white hot flames of their cigaratte buttes. And the smoke plumes will reach the sky.
You are the one who will pour alcohol on your wounds and the sting will bring you back to life. You are the one who will then run and you will slap the oil slicked pavement with your shoes until they fade into dust.
And the sky will always be black.
Now you will sit, cross legged, and as the lights grow hazy and the grouns is coated with a layer of spit and cum, you are the one who will rip out your wiring. And your gasoline will shed to the floor and the smoke will join the others.
You are the one, and the sky will be black now.
so here.
You are the one.
You are the one who watches and judges.
You sit on that couch in between the squeaky leather and the clashing of gaudy jewlery.
You are the one with dark glasses, with two mirrors over your eyes so that they can only see themselves.
You look down into that red plastic cup and see unfamiliar liquid as it swirls around you. Its burn is familiar though, as it slithers down your throat. You are the one who has no home.
And each day you wake up in an unfamiliar house, on and unfamiliar bed. And each night you are blind to everything except the person in front of you. The person you will fuck each night. They are all different.
And you will slide away from eachother, there air is thick with smoke and sweat and you will choke on your own hot air.
You are the watcher and the judgement. You could destroy the world. This, you tell yourself everyday as you suck in that ash and look down at your shoes. You are the one who is a replica of a replica and your home is a mirage.
You are the one who will shit and vomit and drown in your own excrement. You will laugh as you drown and they will all follow you, because, it is what they were built for.
You are the one with free will. This, you will tell yourself as you suck and fuck.
And they are the robots. They pollute and replicate and pollute. Their chips and wires will melt in the white hot flames of their cigaratte buttes. And the smoke plumes will reach the sky.
You are the one who will pour alcohol on your wounds and the sting will bring you back to life. You are the one who will then run and you will slap the oil slicked pavement with your shoes until they fade into dust.
And the sky will always be black.
Now you will sit, cross legged, and as the lights grow hazy and the grouns is coated with a layer of spit and cum, you are the one who will rip out your wiring. And your gasoline will shed to the floor and the smoke will join the others.
You are the one, and the sky will be black now.
10.20.2009
Tiny Warriors
Piles of snowballs and sticks and rocks and sneakers buried in fresh dirt.
And stomping and yelling like wild things over destroyed castles once standing tall in the sand.
Buried in tunnels and grimy palms, two shiny eyes see the world expanding in front of them.
Mountains of sadness and lonely trees surround, their branches strain to join them, and above, the sky is a twinkling ball of exploration.
Laying in stained t-shirts with a fortress of soft mushy grass cushioning tiny bodies:
A bunny, a snake, a happy face. Look! A pirate ship!
And then, lit from within, a collection of ordinary items becomes a place to hideaway from the gasoline and the asphalt.
And inside a circle of beady eyes and polyester stuffing propped up and spoken to, their ears can never hear the secrets so they will never tell them, but still, they hang on to every word.
And outside, squirming tiny bodies hiding in sticks and leaves and mud climb trees. They, the tiny warriors protecting what they don't understand and they don't need to understand. The burden is not for them.
And all the while we will reach up and our eyes will grow accustomed to the sight of lonely and broken castles.
We will get used to this world without tunnels and forts and our running and stomping will slow to a crawl.
But, they are still our tiny protectors who brandish their wooden swords and shields and clash together.
And in time, their tiny bodies will grow exhausted, their shiny eyes will grow heavy and safety and sleep and will be found in a big warm pile of tiny beating hearts and stretching hands.
A real pile.
And bright, shiny eyes, with the world ever expanding in front of them, will close and dream.
And they will sail far from these mountains of sadness and these lonely statues of trees who cry for they cannot join them, though their branches do strain so, they are rooted too far in the ground. Their running and stomping has slowed to a crawl and now they sink into the loose mud.
Now they will sail on, these tiny warriors, who don't have to understand these burdens, and they will yell without words for all those who can yell no longer.
And they will howl at the sky like wild things.
And stomping and yelling like wild things over destroyed castles once standing tall in the sand.
Buried in tunnels and grimy palms, two shiny eyes see the world expanding in front of them.
Mountains of sadness and lonely trees surround, their branches strain to join them, and above, the sky is a twinkling ball of exploration.
Laying in stained t-shirts with a fortress of soft mushy grass cushioning tiny bodies:
A bunny, a snake, a happy face. Look! A pirate ship!
And then, lit from within, a collection of ordinary items becomes a place to hideaway from the gasoline and the asphalt.
And inside a circle of beady eyes and polyester stuffing propped up and spoken to, their ears can never hear the secrets so they will never tell them, but still, they hang on to every word.
And outside, squirming tiny bodies hiding in sticks and leaves and mud climb trees. They, the tiny warriors protecting what they don't understand and they don't need to understand. The burden is not for them.
And all the while we will reach up and our eyes will grow accustomed to the sight of lonely and broken castles.
We will get used to this world without tunnels and forts and our running and stomping will slow to a crawl.
But, they are still our tiny protectors who brandish their wooden swords and shields and clash together.
And in time, their tiny bodies will grow exhausted, their shiny eyes will grow heavy and safety and sleep and will be found in a big warm pile of tiny beating hearts and stretching hands.
A real pile.
And bright, shiny eyes, with the world ever expanding in front of them, will close and dream.
And they will sail far from these mountains of sadness and these lonely statues of trees who cry for they cannot join them, though their branches do strain so, they are rooted too far in the ground. Their running and stomping has slowed to a crawl and now they sink into the loose mud.
Now they will sail on, these tiny warriors, who don't have to understand these burdens, and they will yell without words for all those who can yell no longer.
And they will howl at the sky like wild things.
10.18.2009
I am a shell
It's like the thought of children depress me now. Thinking about childhood brings me on the verge of tears. We're all so fucked up and filled with shit and saddness and poisons, and children are so open and emotion and imagination and loneliness. Kids are fucking lonely. I don't know...I'm crazy now. I'm fucking crazy.
You killed the sun! Its not up anymore!
I also found this:
I drew it a long time ago for the song Tunnels by Arcade Fire.
And if
Our parents are crying
Then we'll dig a tunnel
To the middle of the town
And since
There's no one that's around
We'll let our hair grow long
And forget all we used to know
You killed the sun! Its not up anymore!
I also found this:
I drew it a long time ago for the song Tunnels by Arcade Fire.And if
Our parents are crying
Then we'll dig a tunnel
To the middle of the town
And since
There's no one that's around
We'll let our hair grow long
And forget all we used to know
10.17.2009
"When I'm lyin' in bed at night, I don't wanna grow up"
I feel like a scared little kid right now.
The realization that the real world is so filled with bullshit and greed and ugliness is crashing down on me and I just want to run away from it all.
I have to put on this fake act for this stupid woman I haven't known for longer than a month just so she can sign my paychecks just so I can go on living. Who decided that money was so important? Its all we revolve around, not art or love or joy, nope, we fucking kill and betray and rape and maim just for a fucking slip of green colored paper.
I want to get into a sail boat and go far away from this vicious, vicious circle.
The realization that the real world is so filled with bullshit and greed and ugliness is crashing down on me and I just want to run away from it all.
I have to put on this fake act for this stupid woman I haven't known for longer than a month just so she can sign my paychecks just so I can go on living. Who decided that money was so important? Its all we revolve around, not art or love or joy, nope, we fucking kill and betray and rape and maim just for a fucking slip of green colored paper.
I want to get into a sail boat and go far away from this vicious, vicious circle.
10.13.2009
its raining
I wish I could take off all my clothes and bury myself in the mud and play with the snails and worms underneath the wet fresh plants. ever since i was a child I've wanted this. but instead I would just take off my shoes and bury my feet in the mud and watch snails slither up my arm while everyone else would call me gross and weird. I still do that today.
and I hope the day never comes that I get too old to enjoy rainy days and the smell of mud and the feeling of snails crawling across my skin.
10.12.2009
zero zero zero one
We are a fucking generation of idiots.
We are manufactured, reproduced, stylized and masked. We are lazy as hell.
What will the text books say about us in 30-40 years? What fucking big movement were we apart of? Facebook? YouTube? Reality shows? Our mirage of uniqueness is defined by a series of zeros and ones. We see our world through a soulless LCD screen. Better upgrade to high-def, because you don't want to get left behind.
This fucking era. I was born in a time where people vomit their mind shit everywhere; I was born in a time of lazy, greedy fuckheads. No one will discover anything new, no new ideas or beliefs will come out of our generation. This is an era of copy-robots. Nothing is new, nothing is sacred. Everything is fucking soulless now. There is nothing physical about our art. Our music is a fucking computer code, our photos are fucking computer code, our hopes and dreams and free will, we express it through zeros and fucking ones. What will happen when the last roll of film is used up? We will burn our cameras and the smell of plastic and metal will melt our brains. Not that we were using them anyways. Then, I will create my art through a fucking soulless computer eye. And I will attach this eye to another, larger eye, and my art will be there...in zeros and ones. Instantly. There is no time to develop and create, no, I need my money now. I cannot wait for it. Advertise, print, buy, sell, now now now. Instant gratification is all we care about.
What happens when the world is burnt up? When we've fucking blown ourselves to oblivion? Our fucking individuality will be gone with it. We are not permanent anymore. We are all a fucking code of zeros and ones and we will get lost in these fucking data bases and when we pissfuck our world to extinction, our bases of data will be gone with it. There will be nothing left of our generation of idiot robots. Good fucking riddance.
So I will put my sunglasses on so you can't see me while I judge you. And then I will try my very hardest to get into that college and give them all my fucking money, all for a fucking title. Because I need to pay gobs of cash to legitimately call myself an artist. And when I am one, I will paint pictures of shit and take photos of shit and all you idiot-robots will see my shit and say 'Oh they graduated from so-and-so, they're very prestigious!' and you will spend thousands of dollars on my shit and I will sit back and judge you behind my dark glasses and I will piss myself laughing. Instant gratification is all we care about.
There is no self-discovery anymore. There is no love, and freedom and expression; we are all connected through a series of zeros and ones. So we will see this injustice in our world, and we will hear the loud fat mouths of the rich and elite and will listen to them and heed their words because THEY are important. But we will not do anything to change anything. There will be no marching or protesting, instead of making our signs and marching for the world to see, we will just put some status update on some website, this will be good enough, because we are a fucking generation of lazy, copying, idiot robots, and our love and self-expression and uniqueness only exist in a code of zeros and ones.
We are manufactured, reproduced, stylized and masked. We are lazy as hell.
What will the text books say about us in 30-40 years? What fucking big movement were we apart of? Facebook? YouTube? Reality shows? Our mirage of uniqueness is defined by a series of zeros and ones. We see our world through a soulless LCD screen. Better upgrade to high-def, because you don't want to get left behind.
This fucking era. I was born in a time where people vomit their mind shit everywhere; I was born in a time of lazy, greedy fuckheads. No one will discover anything new, no new ideas or beliefs will come out of our generation. This is an era of copy-robots. Nothing is new, nothing is sacred. Everything is fucking soulless now. There is nothing physical about our art. Our music is a fucking computer code, our photos are fucking computer code, our hopes and dreams and free will, we express it through zeros and fucking ones. What will happen when the last roll of film is used up? We will burn our cameras and the smell of plastic and metal will melt our brains. Not that we were using them anyways. Then, I will create my art through a fucking soulless computer eye. And I will attach this eye to another, larger eye, and my art will be there...in zeros and ones. Instantly. There is no time to develop and create, no, I need my money now. I cannot wait for it. Advertise, print, buy, sell, now now now. Instant gratification is all we care about.
What happens when the world is burnt up? When we've fucking blown ourselves to oblivion? Our fucking individuality will be gone with it. We are not permanent anymore. We are all a fucking code of zeros and ones and we will get lost in these fucking data bases and when we pissfuck our world to extinction, our bases of data will be gone with it. There will be nothing left of our generation of idiot robots. Good fucking riddance.
So I will put my sunglasses on so you can't see me while I judge you. And then I will try my very hardest to get into that college and give them all my fucking money, all for a fucking title. Because I need to pay gobs of cash to legitimately call myself an artist. And when I am one, I will paint pictures of shit and take photos of shit and all you idiot-robots will see my shit and say 'Oh they graduated from so-and-so, they're very prestigious!' and you will spend thousands of dollars on my shit and I will sit back and judge you behind my dark glasses and I will piss myself laughing. Instant gratification is all we care about.
There is no self-discovery anymore. There is no love, and freedom and expression; we are all connected through a series of zeros and ones. So we will see this injustice in our world, and we will hear the loud fat mouths of the rich and elite and will listen to them and heed their words because THEY are important. But we will not do anything to change anything. There will be no marching or protesting, instead of making our signs and marching for the world to see, we will just put some status update on some website, this will be good enough, because we are a fucking generation of lazy, copying, idiot robots, and our love and self-expression and uniqueness only exist in a code of zeros and ones.
10.11.2009
The Quest
We all want to get fucked.
We all want to suck and lick and fuck
This is the deepest desire of every human being, even nuns. They want to fuck jesus.
and there's nothing wrong with that, jesus was fucking ripped. I bet his dick was huge too. He was the 'son of god', how could it not be? shit, I bet he even had two.
but enough about heavenly genitalia.
I haven't been fucked since april.
Just to let you all know.
I can't really remember what the fuck I wanted to write about, I just know it was probably whiney and depressing. Oh yeah, I remember.
My hands ache
They fucking bleed
Paint and
Developing acid and
Cum and
Old rotten milk.
Staining everything I touch
With rancid
smelly
shit.
And no one will hear me
while I yell and kick and scream
and throw these temper tantrums
while I get dragged
further and further away from my softly padded cell.
And no one will hear me.
So I will wait
for that fuck.
I will drink to numb the awkward passing of time
And maybe there will be the pay off
Of that one, lowly, troublesome,
fuck.
And then everyone will hear me.
While I breathe your skin.
And sweat my rage
Onto the floor.
The end for now.
10.07.2009
10.06.2009
ECT.
This is fucking me
This is me loud and smelly and basking in it.
The glory.
There is no mask on this face.
I got too lazy to put it on everyday
anyways.
So here I am
This is me
My legs are all hair
So is my fuck-hole
I do not fucking care, anymore.I haven't washed my hair.
My pits have sprouted beards.
And I do not fucking care.
No one wants to fuck me anyways.
So
I go to bed at night with paint on my hands
coffee under my fingernails
grime on my feet
I am naked in here
In this bed, it is expansive and empty.
It is a cushioned room in a mental hospital
It is an extension of my brain
The brain which cannot stop talking to itself
The brain who reassures itself everyday
That it does not fucking care.
I am alone in this bed.
No one will hide in here with me
Rest their head on my chest and breathe
Me in
So it goes..
I found our praying mantis lying pitifully on the pavement next to a small puddle of spit. His guts were coming out of his butt and his eye was popped out. He was reaching up with his front little legs asking for help. I put him in the garden next to a little glass mushroom and covered him with mulch. He kept trying to grab at me and he watched me with his good eye. Then he just rested.
There is death going on outside.
I am sorry your death was not more valiant, mantis.
I am bleeding from every orifice right now. My ears are bleeding thoughts, my mouth is bleeding word vomit, my eyes are bleeding apathy, and my vagina is actually bleeding. So, there you go.
I hate you, starbucks. I hate every fucking thing about you. That is why I am leaving you and I am finding other means of wealth. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but, if I had to picture myself spending more than one more year in your fake, woody interior, I'm pretty sure I'd kill myself. I am pretty damn sure.
Last night I had a dream I was pregnant. It was the most horrifying, disgusting thing I've ever dreamt about. So here's a picture of it!
10.03.2009
I shot a man in reno, just to watch him die.
When I woke up this morning I was still drunk.
Sorry boss man, I don't have the ability to serve coffee with the caliber of cheerful good-health-ness that you want me to have today. I seem to have suffere
d a nasty bout of borderline alcohol poisoning, so can I be excused?
Too tired to be witty today.
I'm going to use needles to etch this into a piece of copper.
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