11.05.2009
11.04.2009
something that should have been done a long time ago.
Its like
There is this thing in my throat that I want to cough up. I want to take it out and see what it has to say about all this, but it is nestled in too deep. I think it has claws. Ones that grip and hold on tight with all the strength they can muster. It's got little beady eyes too, ones that behold all of the crap I shove down. The crap that comes right back up. It must be huge, the thing in my throat, because I can't seem to get anything past it. It must have been in there a while, growing and feeding. I wonder what it was eating, that fucking little thing in my throat. Maybe it was eating all the turmoil. It was snacking on all of the yelling and shouting, the stuff that I would drown out by turning on my tape player as loud as it would go. Maybe all that stuff got into my throat and this little menacing demon licked it all up like chocolate. And as I got older, it grew with me. It became a wall that guarded my tower and peered out from behind my tongue with its huge, undulating belly. And maybe this little fucker wants me to be just like them. Maybe it too wants me to have anger and madness and help create other little fat, cackling demons in other people's throats. I don't want this little fucking monster in me, anymore. I don't want to feed it, anymore. How do I rid myself of this scheming, crafty little bastard?! Do I stab at it with needles and implements? Do I drink stinging liquid to burn its skin and push it down into my belly? Do I use my hands and grasp at it or scare it away with bright colors and the smell of fixative solution? Sometimes, when I yell, not for anger or for sorrow, but for joy and feeling, I can feel it weaken. I feel it shrivel up as I steal back its nourishment. I'm going to scream for you, little clawed and toothed devil.
I AM GOING TO SCREAM MY LUNGS OUT!!!
UNTIL MY LIPS ARE RAW AND MY THROAT IS SORE!!
I AM GOING TO MAKE YOUR WALL CRUMBLE!!
I AM GOING TO PUMP MY FIST AND STOMP MY FEET AND LAUGH WHILE YOU WHIMPER ON THE GROUND!! YOU ARE CRUSHED!! I WILL TURN YOU INTO RUST!!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
There is this thing in my throat that I want to cough up. I want to take it out and see what it has to say about all this, but it is nestled in too deep. I think it has claws. Ones that grip and hold on tight with all the strength they can muster. It's got little beady eyes too, ones that behold all of the crap I shove down. The crap that comes right back up. It must be huge, the thing in my throat, because I can't seem to get anything past it. It must have been in there a while, growing and feeding. I wonder what it was eating, that fucking little thing in my throat. Maybe it was eating all the turmoil. It was snacking on all of the yelling and shouting, the stuff that I would drown out by turning on my tape player as loud as it would go. Maybe all that stuff got into my throat and this little menacing demon licked it all up like chocolate. And as I got older, it grew with me. It became a wall that guarded my tower and peered out from behind my tongue with its huge, undulating belly. And maybe this little fucker wants me to be just like them. Maybe it too wants me to have anger and madness and help create other little fat, cackling demons in other people's throats. I don't want this little fucking monster in me, anymore. I don't want to feed it, anymore. How do I rid myself of this scheming, crafty little bastard?! Do I stab at it with needles and implements? Do I drink stinging liquid to burn its skin and push it down into my belly? Do I use my hands and grasp at it or scare it away with bright colors and the smell of fixative solution? Sometimes, when I yell, not for anger or for sorrow, but for joy and feeling, I can feel it weaken. I feel it shrivel up as I steal back its nourishment. I'm going to scream for you, little clawed and toothed devil.
I AM GOING TO SCREAM MY LUNGS OUT!!!
UNTIL MY LIPS ARE RAW AND MY THROAT IS SORE!!
I AM GOING TO MAKE YOUR WALL CRUMBLE!!
I AM GOING TO PUMP MY FIST AND STOMP MY FEET AND LAUGH WHILE YOU WHIMPER ON THE GROUND!! YOU ARE CRUSHED!! I WILL TURN YOU INTO RUST!!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
I'm Tired, I'm wasted, I love you darling!
I don't have anything depressing to say tonight.
In fact...I don't really have anything tonight.
Just a happy mushy thing with warm delicious goo. So much goo. I got stuck in it, so while I'm here, I might as well get all cozy.
I think the amount of brain cells destroyed while watching The Room is on par with a night of alcohol poisoning.
Self portrait as of right now:
I am an awkward ass balloon.
But I guess this is what happens with new things. We are still all learning to walk.
I wish I wasn't so fucking bad at opening up about how I feel, there is this fucking wall always stopping my tongue from making the sounds that I want it to make.
All that being said, I'm really fucking glad you were at that party.
In fact...I don't really have anything tonight.
Just a happy mushy thing with warm delicious goo. So much goo. I got stuck in it, so while I'm here, I might as well get all cozy.
I think the amount of brain cells destroyed while watching The Room is on par with a night of alcohol poisoning.
Self portrait as of right now:
I am an awkward ass balloon.
But I guess this is what happens with new things. We are still all learning to walk.
I wish I wasn't so fucking bad at opening up about how I feel, there is this fucking wall always stopping my tongue from making the sounds that I want it to make.
All that being said, I'm really fucking glad you were at that party.
11.03.2009
11.02.2009
Fill your pockets up with earth
In sleep, thinking doesn't exist anymore, my head separates itself from the rest of me and floats up somewhere above the horizon line, the line at which I can't seem to stop staring. There are better parts of the sky that have been left undiscovered by my eyes, but I am focused on a destination more outwards. I wonder what is over that wall and as I get closer, it stays the same distance away; perhaps I wasn't moving any closer in the first place. They tell me I was anyways, though, and at least that gives me hope. As tragically fake as that hope is, it's all they have to give me. They've lost it all for themselves, and in an unselfish manner, they scoop their nothingness out of their hearts and place it in my out reaching cupped hands. I try to look pleased with their bountiful gifts, but inside I am hot with anger and frustration. I throw it all away when no one is looking so I can instead search for it myself. On my hands and knees, I dig through moist, warm soil and mulch and the dirt under my finger nails makes me feel alive, at least, only for a little while. The inevitable cleansing comes all too soon afterward, and once again I am pure and white, just as they want me. I am flaky and raw from all the scrubbing but they dig with their pens and needles into my empty flesh, regardless of my screaming. After they have finished their job, I close my eyes, and let myself fall asleep. As I dream, under eyelids filled with blood, I am floating somewhere, up above the horizon line. I am straining to move outward.
I draw ugly stuff sometimes. alot.
I draw ugly stuff sometimes. alot.
11.01.2009
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