sick.

I haven't felt good lately. I'm pretty sure I contracted some mild form of cold during my overnight shift. Good thing it wasn't pneumonia though, it was really cold and wet. My nose and throat just won't clear up, though. Its disgusting. I realized that I'm also feeling a lot sicker in a different sense lately. Just by observing people in general, namely the people who I surround myself with a lot. Bosses. Coworkers. Classmates. Friends.

Here's what I realized... EVERYBODY succumbs to their demons in some form. The guy who doesn't drink fucks a million girls. The guy who doesn't fuck a million girls sells drugs. If you think objectively about it, everybody has an indulgence that they partake in excess. No matter what. Does that mean everybody is impure? Because indulgences are nothing more than aids to enjoying life. A temporary antibiotic to cure a problem: lack of enjoyability. But, indulgences lose their meaning and force after awhile, much the same way antibiotics lose their effectiveness after building up an immunity. So my only question is this: which way do I sway? What do I indulge in? And that isn't a rhetorical question, I really AM searching for a new indulgence of some sort. I've tried the rest. But I'm looking towards something that will benefit me. I have already built up my physical fitness immunity, to the point where it doesnt feel like an indulgence anymore, but more of a duty. Piano lessons? Baseball? Photography? I've already done the girl indulgence, along with the booze indulgence. It didn't get me anything but an inflated liver, a confused head, a loss of self-respect, and some notches under my belt. I want something that I can carry with me throughout life as a memento of this time period. I want to be playing piano for my wife's family someday, and have them ask where I learned to play so well, and I want to be able to be proud to tell them how and when I learned, and why I learned. I have already messed up a lot of future storytellings. I can't tell my kids or grandkids the REAL story of the most pivotal events that shaped me as a person, and it truly saddens me to know that. I guess I just want something good to show for a lot of bad things and harsh times. Wisdom is nothing without the means to convey it. Experience is pointless without an apt audience. The kids won't be able to hear daddy's stories. I guess it just kind of bums me out that of all the older people I hang out with, all of the "interesting" people I know, few, if any are aspiring to rise above the level of a recent 17 year old high-school graduate. Who the fuck do I relate to? Where do I go? Where do I turn? I have no common ground besides my own willpower and volition. And I don't know how much more life those have in them before I succumb to my environment and break into reminiscent relapsing of old habits and traits.

retail retell

I worked midnight to 8am on black friday. And before that, I didn't sleep all thanksgiving. Went to bed at 5am, woken up at 10am by loud family arguments. Thanksgiving itself was AWESOME though. My uncle Greg and aunt Deborah came up from Berkeley. We talked shop about jazz for a long long time. I claimed that Elvin Jones was one of the best all-around jazz drummers that ever lived or played, their thoughts differed, saying Buddy Rich was way more innovative for his time. Elvin Jones did so much more within his musical contraints. Volume. Finesse. Nuance. Then they gave me a tribute to Charlie Parker album which I am currently eating up with my ears. So good. Then, I drank wine with the family, got a cool wine buzz, and watched YouTube videos with the entire family. Around 10pm, I started preparing for the long night ahead. Brewed a whole pot of coffee, grabbed my iPod, snagged a book... the whole works. I bundled up really tight. The outlets were madness around midnight. People left and right. Caught some wannabe thuggish ruggish white kid stealing a pair of aviators. He gave them back cause I told him to. What a bitch. Around 3am, it died down. I tell you what... listening to your entire Coldplay archive at 4am with no people around in the freezing, thick fog is pretty eerie. Then, around 6am, it picked up again. No bueno. I made the bonus though, and got my commission. Then, I came home and changed and went to work at payless until 3:30pm. After I got off there, I came home and took a quick shower. My cable was out, so after the shower, I just laid in bed playing drums on my pillow with drumsticks at about 5pm. I woke up still naked with sticks in my hand at midnight. Threw on some pajamas, and slept. I got woken up at 3am by a really really really spooky dream. I woke up shaking out of anxious excitement and genuine fear. Went back to sleep. Woke up again at 9:10. I was supposed to be at work at 9am. I threw some clothes on and essentially stole my dads truck and went to work. Got off work at 2pm and hung out with Kyle for about a half hour before I went to work at Payless at 3:30. Worked at Payless, had awesome talks with Itzel. Cause she rules. Friends visited. Got off. Came home. Here I sit.

I am about to take a shower because its definitely been almost 30 hours since my last one. Then I am going out for a night on the town with friends. Then work tomorrow at the kiosk 9am to 7pm. Come say Hi. Then studying for a Political Science test on Monday. Then, I will finally get a full nights' rest before it all starts again.


So long.

transient.

i am a fucking ghost.

i wish

i had a time machine so i could take it all back.

psyche.

holiday time again.


:/


thanksgiving is never really that cool for me. highlights of my life on thanksgiving so far have been losing my first tooth on thanksgiving when i was 5 (i bit into a baseball) and getting in an argument with my mom and walking around oakland for 5 hours when i was 17. needless to say, im not a fan. the food isnt even that good. but still, this time of year has a drawing curse to it. its a quality, but a detrimental one at that. yep.. im gonna get all sappy.. spending the holidays with somebody who matters is the best thing in the world, even though ive never really had a full taste of it. granted, ive had a girlfriend in holiday times before, but that relationship was a disaster in itself. so i guess im speaking from what i consider having happy holidays with a loved one, and i can only derive that from what i see. maybe it doesnt exist. maybe couples hate the holidays. the commercials and TV shows and movies could have fooled me.

in my house, theres always a family fight on every major holiday. this year, thanksgiving is at my house. that means that theres going to be awkward tension at the table, then after dinner, my sister is going to go off with her boyfriend, my brother with his girlfriend, leaving me with a bunch of old, grumpy, drunk people. sounds awesome. theyll be fighting and arguing and being dramatic over probably nothing, as per usual.

i realized that im jealous of my little sister's relationship, awkwardly enough. its going too well. ive never been good at relationships. at all. so to see my little sister have everything that i want at such a young age without any failed attempts makes me envious. i know its immature of me. what sucks is that hes such a good dude to her, but i cant bring myself to accept him. because he is everything that i am not. hes a good kid. he doesnt have any problems. he isnt crazy. he isnt weird. my only aspiration is to be like him. but i dont admire him. riding my bike miles to deliver my girlfriend food. then eating it with her. giving my girlfriends little brother a ride home from school. giving her family tons of free bread from my job. taking her out on dates. some of my past female encounters who may or may not read this will probably doubt that til the very end, but thats because i never really gave them a chance to know me and see it. sucks. but at the time they knew me, i gave nobody a chance. nobody knew me. even now, very few people know me. but thats the god honest truth, past all my sarcasm and wit and assholeness and toughness. once you get past my skin, my core is soft and warm. i never knew why, but i always find it easier to be me over the internet. in person, unless you already KNOW me, you will never get ME. youll get what i pass off as me. as i said a long time ago on here in a booze fueled rant... i wear lots of masks. and i switch them out all the time. but... im learning to let all that go. all the guilt and wear and tear of the things ive done in my life and the things ive done to other people is just now setting in, now that ive given myself a chance to FEEL. and you know what? ive found that once you accept how shitty of a person you are and how amazing of a person you are, life becomes easier. everything becomes clearer. you become literally a stronger person because of it. the past month or so has been insane for me, in regards to self-assessment. i literally took the most ridiculous 180 degree turn for the best. and you know what? its safe to say that i am PROUD of myself. for the first time in almost two years. i went from being an alcoholic 20 year old kid who literally did nothing else but wallow in his own heartache, depression, and negative experiences and who was NEVER happy to being who i am right now. who am i right now? i am a 20 year old mentally aware american citizen. i believe in a well-rounded diet. i dont condone the abuse of alcohol or narcotics. i work two jobs anywhere between 40-50 hours a week. i work out four to six days a week. i run a mile a day. i dont have promiscuous sex. i dont feel like i NEED the opposite sex in my life. i am working on a very healthy relationship with my family, instead of never being home and always arguing. i indulge in occasional cannabis consumption. i listen to coldplay everyday. i dont drink. i dont indulge in hallucinogens. i do my best to excel in my studies. i smile. i converse with others. i am a way more open person. i am a MAN. i think i walk taller, even. this is real me right now. those who know me know that i would never SAY these things. with me only procuring my ugly exterior shell of cynical jade, nobody will ever see the good that is beneath. i realize this. that phase of reformation is coming next.


p.s. this isnt me sounding like a conceited dick. but it is.

insanity.

this next week or so is going to wind up being pretty gnarly. lots of wild plans that are cool, and lots of work, for the most part. on friday (black friday) alone, i have to clock in at the kiosk at midnight, then work through the night until 8:30am. then, at 8:30am, justin is picking me up and we're playing a jazz gig (outside tweed hut, you should go...) for two or three hours, then i have to clock in at payless at 11:30am and work until 4:30pm.

i started eating meat again, temporarily... just so i can regulate my protein and iron ingestion so itll be easier to EASE slowly into vegetarianism again, so i dont damage my body further. i hung out with a friend last night i hadnt seen in awhile, that was nice. we got cocoa at peets and swung on the swings at an elementary school. hanging out with another friend i havent seen in a long time tonight after work. all around, things are awesome.

i have a ridiculous amount of schoolwork now this time of year, which is the mostly un-awesome part of my life. i got an essay back today in English... D. have an essay test tomorrow morning in History, and a speech due in speech. then next week, I have a test on monday in political science, and two rough drafts due, one of them being 8 pages.


im off to go walk to work and peddle sunglasses in 50 degree, cloudy weather. bye.

submerge.

my feet are dry now. no more weights on my ankles. no more whirlpools. no more tides. no more squalls. no more swells.





just dry land, flapping gulls, and warm sun.

Dear Paper,

Words cannot express how truly thankful I am to have you as such a pivotal stronghold in my life. After a long days' work, where trial and tribulation are in a constant cycling contingency, knowing that I have you to come home to puts the zest in my life. You're soup for my soul, Paper. I know I don't express it more often, or ever in as such meticulously chosen words as these, but without you, there is no me. My silent confession booth; devoid of religion or premise. There are no words in the world that could fathomably reciprocate the infinite sense of endearment and solemn love that I feel. I hope one day to acquiesce to being solely with you. Enduring as a homogenous, omnipotent, cohesive machine. I say machine, Paper, but really, I want for what is you to become me. What is me to become you. For every atom that belongs to me, as well belongs to you. I'm sure a being of your popularity and neverending demand has heard this before. I just want you to know that for these words to be spoken on these gray, chapped lips, should make their weight a little bit more leaded and meaningful.

I hope to one day, be able to share the same loving compassion that you have shown me. Thank you. For making me what I am. For curing who I tend on becoming. For being the side-trail of an unpaved highway.


-Ryan-

just another worthless soul from the other side of the tracks.

i feel REALLY good lately. I still cant decide if I'm doing it for myself or if I'm doing it to spite the skeptics. For all I know, I could have started off doing these amazing things for myself out of spite for everybody who has ever told me I'm a lost cause. Or deserted me out of lack of persistance in sticking with me, whether that be friends or something more. It feels so much better to have a clear conscience on my shoulders instead of a thick, confused head. confused heads tend to be heavy. My neck still hurts from heavy my last head was.

I've been listening to a LOT of elton john lately, namely his blues stuff. I love how a gay british guy can decide to write a blues-pop album themed around the civil war. and pull it off.

I started my jobS this week, payless is pretty cool... the coworkers there seem pretty awesome, despite the imminent workplace drama that is bound to occur when you work with literally ALL girls. The sunglasses place is REALLY awesome.. I'm basically the manager of the store, i open and close and do count outs. and i work alone which is really cool. Oh yeah, did I mention that I get to wear whatever I want? And I get to make my own hours? YEAH. Only shitty thing is that some chick didnt show up for her first day, and shes a full-time employee. so, unfortunately, all her hours got dispersed on me, which is cool cause its $$$ but bad because I have another job and school to work around also. Once school is done though, It'll be probably 50-60 hour work weeks from there on, which is awesome because its something productive for me to do with my time, while progressing towards goals I've set for myself. They're already talking about making me a keyholder at Payless and switching me up to full time, when the time is right. So I'm glad the whole money/job aspect of my life is working up to par.

School is eh. I'm passing. That's all that really matters.

On the opposite sex front of my life, I have no comment. I like it a lot more when that aspect of my life isnt KNOWN by anybody except me.

My family and I are getting along a lot better, but I only have me being home more often to attribute to that. I'm not gone on weeklong booze binges anymore and I dont come stumbling in the front door, so thats always a plus when trying to be civil, right?

Physical Fitness is going swell, as is eating right. No visual improvements yet, but those will come in time. Im not worried. I decreased running 2.5 miles a day to running a mile every few days, because I found out that its not good for a skinny cat like me to burn all those calories while JUST running.

I went shopping not too long ago, got some new threadsss. into it.

yeah, thats about it. theres an update. bye.

see you.

the last few days have been really awesome.


other than that, i have nothing more to say.




goodbye.

regimental.

every day is becoming ironclad in its own concise clockwork. the cogs and gears are meshing together in a smooth machine-like motion. this is what its all about. uniformity without conformity. socialism without communism. the egotistics and complexes are drowning somewhere in the sands of time and progression. the vehicles of passion are being driven on a two-lane highway, boxed in by responsible white vans and logical green hybrids. modesty silently sits in my corner, hiding behind wire frame readers and scores of Faulkners and Hemingways. everyday, i wake up and walk on golden paths that erase the past's bridges and gaps. passion wanes grey on the ceiling, eminating stagnant life. governing. logic burns fiery red resonating in my eyelids. my heart beats a healthy rich blue, thickening with the cold freeze that no longer halts it. white skies. blue smiles.

this song has no title.

Tune me in to the wild side of life
I'm an innocent young child sharp as a knife
Take me to the garretts where the artists have died
Show me the courtrooms where the judges have lied

Let me drink deeply from the water and the wine
Light coloured candles in dark dreary mines
Look in the mirror and stare at myself
And wonder if that's really me on the shelf

And each day I learn just a little bit more
I don't know why but I do know what for
If we're all going somewhere let's get there soon
Oh this song's got no title just words and a tune

Take me down alleys where the murders are done
In a vast high powered rocket to the core of the sun
Want to read books in the studies of men
Born on the breeze and die on the wind

If i was an artist who paints with his eyes
I'd study my subject and silently cry
Cry for the darkness to come down on me
For confusion to carry on turning the wheel.

good night. bad night. early night. late night.

i start work at payless shoes on wednesday. im stoked?


tonight was like a girls' night out for me. with myself as one of the girls. they played dumb dance music and drank vodka and played "i never" and i drank sparkling cider and changed it to pop punk when they werent looking. me and mike were getting DOWN on rockband before the powers of estrogen decided that us having fun wasnt in their game plan for the night. really, an uneventful night. but it was still fun. on the walk home, me and pilar were talking about how cool it is that both of us shrunk our lives down into the tight little ball that it is now. the shit that mattered to us when we were 16 and 17 simply doesnt matter nowadays. im content with who i know. im content with what i do for fun. i dont need shitty people who are just distant names. or places that really arent that cool anyways. i guess thats one of the major differences between being 17 and being 20. the three years is called "growing up". and a lot of it happens in that gap. 90% of my absolute wildest, most intense life changing moments happened in that three year timeframe. so it only makes sense that i cant relate to 17 year olds nowadays. or even sadder, most people who are my age. your whole outlook changes, on everything. and if youre 17 and reading this, then you're probably offended. because thats the 17 year old complex. but keep your offense to yourself, because three years from now when you think about the same things im thinking, you'll look back on yourself and those around you who are younger, and see the difference between 17 and 20. its a lot.

equinox. solstice.

i had a REALLY good day yesterday. I went to school and realized I didnt even need to go. In political science, we only had some lady speaking about prop. 8 and i left class because theres no point in talking about it or listening to somebody talk about it. especially since its after november 4th and whats done is done. got home, decided against the gym... i think i pulled a tendon in my forearm. so instead, i got coffee with my friend haley. I got a DELICIOUS peppermint cocoa that was sooo worth 4$ from peets. Not gonna lie though, I was pretty bummed that the chick behind the counter didnt have candy cane bits to sprinkle in there. But I dealt with it like a man and pressed on. Me and Haley caught up a lot, which was really nice, because we used to be pretty close a few years ago. She's moving to seattle in a few weeks which is pretty rad cause seattle is an awesome town. then we went over through HQ and played san andreas for a bit, cause thats what me and justin do well: kill people and commit crimes. then me and haley scratched scratchers outside of the ampm in the lot and won a new ticket and 5$. that was pretty righteous. chilled at HQ some more, watched how i met your mother on dvd. i had in n out grilled cheese meal for the first time in a long time and i ate it in about 3 minutes. went to mike poseys house and kicked it for a bit. i miss mike SOOO much, we used to hangout from 9am to 3am everyday awhile ago. then, we went back to HQ and chilled some more, and i came home. i wake up this morning and my brother tells me im about to get kicked out of my house? so yeah, thats pretty cool i guess ill have to see whats going on with that...


the season's changing. from fall to winter. but really, for me, its going from fall to spring. the desolate winter wont exist in me this year.


ten page essay due monday.. havent even started it yet..

in my 20 years:

- i have moved ten times
- i have used and partaken in six different kinds of recreational drugs.
- i have hit rock bottom.
- i have been shot at.
- i have had my heart fully destroyed twice.
- i have been homeless.
- i have been an addict.
- i have never broken a bone.
- i have seriously pondered suicide on more than one occasion.
- i have been in serious financial debt to three separate parties.
- i have had two jobs at once on three separate instances and time frames.
- i have had sex with a double-digit amount of people. 3 of them meant something.
- i have destroyed countless other peoples' hearts.
- i have been in countless fights in countless places.
- i have already been through my equivalent of tattoo removal.
- i have never had more than 800$ to my name at once.
- i have seen women holding babies ask me if i wanted a blowjob for 20$
- i have shared bottles and time with the people that are cast aside.
- i have picked up the pieces of my own heart countless times.
- i have nearly killed somebody.
- i have had a threesome.
- i have felt what it is to be truly empty.
- i have been in a touring band.
- i have had thirteen jobs.
- i have kissed so many people, i cant tell you how many nor half of their names.
- i have done things i regret.
- i have stolen.
- i have contemplated leaving and telling nobody where i go.
- i have been in legal trouble eight times.
- i have had warrants out for my arrest three times.
- i have gotten six free tattoos.
- i have won the city spelling bee.
- i have been on the front page of the newspaper four times.
- i have known what it feels like to truly be cold.
- i have been catholic.
- i have been an atheist.
- i have killed another mammal. not for the sake of food.
- i have knowingly gotten with a girl who was whole-heartedly loved by another man.
- i have been kicked out of a place of living four times.
- i have used people to get things that i want.
- i have not had contact with parents for seven months.
- i have been fired.
- i have been dumped twice.
- i have denied the opposite sex.
- i have placed in the county spelling bee.
- i have caught a turtle in the creek and kept it.
- i have vandalized.
- i have led people on.
- i have deceived.
- i have been on a hitchiking journey.
- i have woken up on a lawn.
- i have woken up naked next to somebody i dont know.
- i have been incarcerated.
- i have lost.
- i have had braces twice.
- i have only cried a handful of times.
- i have won jazz awards
- i have taught three people how to play the drums
- i have burned bridges
- i have punched and broken mirrors.
- i have lived on my own for a total of one year and three months
- i have known what it is to feel truly whole.
- i have had to endure the death of a BEST friend.
- i have been to seven funerals.
- i have been to disneyland fourteen times.
- i have been to las vegas seven times.
- i have seen a person inject heroin.
- i have seen a fourteen year old privileged boy smoke heroin.
- i have tried to drink all my troubles away.
- i have felt stupid.
- i have had to wear one change of clothes for two weeks straight.
- i have wrecked a hotel room on tour.
- i have had sex with a woman with fake boobs.
- i have lived in two metropoleses.
- i have stood in a food line.
- i have protested at the capitol.
- i have gotten coffee with a famous person.
- i have seen ron jeremy in real life. he looks better in the movies.
- i have watched porn.
- i have had four VERY close near-death experiences.
- i have had a gun pointed at my face.
- i have been robbed.
- i have bought coffee for somebody i didnt know.
- i have given up hope before.
- i have chugged a bottle of hot sauce.
- i have thrown up out of anxiety.
- i have destroyed no less than one person's life.
- i have been the catalyst to no less than one person's fate.
- i have been the nucleus to no less than one person's life.
- i have known what desperation is.
- i have LIVED.




i just want for it to all be over. im sick of being a 40 year old man trapped in a 20 year olds body.

rant.

why is it impossible for somebody like myself to have girls in my life that are merely friends? its not impossible, one of my best friends, if not THE best friend is a girl, but it seems either i always feel too strongly towards girls, or they feel too strongly towards me. and i cant even relate on any level to most guys enough to be good friends with them. so that sucks because it essentially leaves me alone with my thoughts.

i hate how girls EXPECT every dude ever to hit on them and want to fuck them. and i hate how they get offended when i DONT do that, because i am not that dude. you arent gods gift to men, lady.


girls, stay away. i dont understand you and i never will. ill just keep being awkward when one of you is around and either be really mean to you or be nice to you and have you think i want to do you because im being nice to you.

underrated.

The Beastie Boys are so underrated. these two albums moreso than all their other ones, too. total drug albums. weird, wild, off the wall, genre crossing stuff that most people didnt think of or do unil 2002 being done in 1994 and 1997, respectively. listen to hello nasty if you want to hear REAL indie.

kurt

dussander.

smiles and cries.

things are finally looking up. no more rain. i can look up and see the sun and blue skies now. and it makes me heartwarmingly happy to know that i am climbing off the shitheap, even faster than i ever thought would be possible.

today, i sold a bulletproof vest i got for free to a redneck man for 300$.
that money was used to get a bunch of necessities for myself, and the remainder will be spent on taking care of my warrant so im not a wanted man, then the remainder from THAT is going towards my phone bill.

today, i also found out that i got that job at the sunglasses kiosk in the factory outlets too. so thats two jobs that i have.


ive been in the gutter for too long, so even the most mediocre of all accomplishments means so much to me. i feel like a MAN for the first time in a long time, even though I am nowhere near the level I once was. I'm getting there though... fairly quickly too. I'll work two jobs til i get a car, then after that, im getting my old job back at the airline in sac or sf. then, when all those pieces fall in order, I will be a man in most aspects of the definition.

I've already learned through heavy self-criticism that dwelling on the negative past and displaying it to people isn't healthy. and i learned that the hard way. so im just going to continue keeping my head down, remaining quiet, and working hard. although, occasionally, i might let a satisfied smile sneak onto my face.



:)

freewrite.

"I can't feel my fuckin toes, man.."




I return to reality at once, puzzled by this sudden droning from the creature next to me. But my daydream still weaves a translucent veil over my eyes... I can still see the trigger.




"I said I can't feel my fuckin TOES, man... how long are we gonna stay out here?", Chewy mumbled through a mouth devoid of teeth.


"As long as it takes, you dumb shit, you know that."


Its just me and him out here on the side of the road, thumbs out. Frozen solid like flags on poles. Half-mast, our spirits are getting dampened by each passing car that kicks frozen sleet at our sneakers.


There is a dark spot on my blue jeans, indubiably some of Kathy's blood that the washing machine didn't get after the third cycle. It's ok though, I have a backstory... dumb waitress at Denny's spilled a whole plate of baked beans in my lap. Definitely didn't put a 12-gauge shotgun to my mom's face, officer... I swear. Scouts honor.




Chewy is dancing now. To keep warm. I wish I had that fucking trigger in my finger now. At least his dead body would give off enough steam to keep me warm for a few seconds, minutes if I'm lucky. The impending smile from this realization warms me like a can of Tomato soup and spreads throughout my body like an infectuous, welcoming calm.


Chewy is somewhere between the ages of 19 and 53. A network of wrinkles gathers in a few estuaries on his face, carved by years of meth and life's lessons that are better not learned. I found him eating out of a trash can in Truckee, feet black from frostbite and teeth rotted and discolored; telling tales of malnourishment and neglect. I bought him a meal at Denny's where the fictional waitress spilled nonexistant beans on me and he's been attached to me ever since. Kind of nice having a dog around, save for the fact that most dogs thankfully dont complain.


"Chewy, I know its fuckin cold stop your jumpin around and shit, nobodys gonna pick us up if they think we're a buncha escaped loonies"
"

Sorry, boss", he said with some guilt.


"Here we go, Chewy... we're in business..."


An '81 F-150 slows to a cautious halt next to us on the shoulder. A balding fat man with a stupid hat emerges from the forest green truck, "Hey strangers!! need a lift? nobody should be cold on Christmas!!"


Me and Chewy grab our army packs off the ground. I spit the triangular swatch of bone out of my mouth, confident that I had gotten the last savory morsels. I smile a hearty travellers smile at the man and get in the cab. Chewy too. We start driving East. I start a saying in my head and can't finish it. What is it? What did they say about the West? Or was it the East?


Dale, the nice passerby who picked us up on the side of the road is droning on and on about home and life insurance sales rates in the area, and I am not paying attention. Chewy knows the drill. He knows how this game is played. Suddenly, I wonder to myself how many times throughout Chewy's long, sad life he's found himself in such instances. I deduce that this certainly isn't his first rodeo.


Feliz Navidad annoys my ears in mono through a severely outdated transistor radio. What a terrible last song. Swiftly, I take an elbow to Dale's throat and tell him to pull over. He does. Chewy gets out, smiling a sinister smile as he exits. My thumbs go to work on his throat. Strangled. Dead. Then his eyes become next. I hang them from his mirror like dice. Amusing. I kiss his dead lips that are already waning warmth, check his wallet and take the 23$ and picture of his children that are in the billfold. Nobody should be alone on Christmas, Dale...


Me and Chewy now find ourselves on the side of the road again. Thumbs outstretched and eyes begging. A '98 Galant pulls up next.


"Think you could give us a lift, man? Mine and Chewy's car is shot..", as I point to the old truck and hop in the back seat of the Mitsubishi.






Go West, young man...

pastry walk.

I open my eyes slowly, the latent dreams gluing them shut.
8am. Perfect.

The virgin sun peeks a curious head through the shutters, warming my cheek awake with a smile. The shower calls my name, I can hear the echo reverberating in the hallway. I decline after a long moment's temptation. Besides, the rolls are probably just now getting out of the oven and the croissants' flaky crust is going to turn to mush if i take the extra fifteen minutes. I throw on some black jeans. Skinny fit. Levi's 511's. Grab a white v neck tee shirt from the roster of neatly pressed cotton linen cutlets hanging in my closet. Medium. Fits a little tight nowadays... especially in the chest and upper arms. I opt against a sweater and throw on a new Old Navy peacoat over the white tee shirt. It's not too big for me anymore. I throw on a pair of black shoes... vans. always vans. My sunglasses offer me a friendly, beckoning smile through its lenses. I laugh a teacher's laugh and tell them to come on because we're going on a mission. I grab my keys and head out of my studio apartment, my feet undoubtedly waking old man Cranston downstairs in 16. Better than him being woken up by the fighting couple in 8, I guess.

The hallway is stagnant and stale. This place really needs an overhaul makeover. I exit the glass paned double doors and enter into the world dressed to kill. Everything is bright and smiling on this sunday morning. The remnants of blizzards past melt upon the sidewalk. Cars speed through the intersection down the street at Washington Plaza. My sunglasses and I smile to each other and giggle, excited children on a field trip.

Ramon's face is happy and jubilant and he is humming a salsa or a bossa tune as he takes a batch of blueberry croissants out of the german imported Grumman oven. I hastily grab a Strawberry Croissant and a cup of fine coffee and head out, carrying the souvenir of the same tune Ramon was humming. Nothing else matters, everything is right in the world.

I see you. Arm in arm with him. Our eyes do some silent negotiating with each other through false smiles and tangible thoughts. Five years' happiness and hate and sorrow and dormant love uproots through my croissant and out. The false smile stays on my face, and I cant figure out why. My sunglasses cover my eyes in a shielding attempt to protect me. You look beautiful. You look so beautiful. My smile is still there, and I suddenly realize that it isn't fake. It is implicit. Understated. Collected. It is the smile of a man who knows what he has and what he is. And I am proud to say that I am the owner of it. That I wield such confidence, of all people. For years, I thought of this moment; seeing you randomly with somebody else while I am alone. I see that you are not happy with him. You see that I am happy alone, by myself. I want you to mutter something silently secret to me, even if I dont hear it. Just to see your lips succumb to your heart. You don't. The doe eyes I once knew go back to grazing.

I walk back home, smiling happily to myself the whole way, eating a fine, authentic croissant, drinking fine, home-brewed coffee. It is sunday and I have the whole day off and nothing to do. life couldnt be better. I put season one in the dvd player and press play and make it feel like its happening all over again and again and again.

stranger than fiction.

god.... i love this movie.

sunny day.

all i know is that whenever i see the sun, i be sure to thank it for being there for me no matter what.
i know that when i see green grass too rich with potential, i ask for sunlight to look it in the eyes and give it the recognition it always deserved.
i know that when i see grass rotting brown with imminent death of flourishment, the steady rhythym of dripping from my gutter is a welcoming siren.
storms and suns.
i look back at the rain clouds i emerged from beneath, i smile a wan, salty, sailor's smile at the brutal mentor.
storms and suns.


thats all it is..

dismemberment.

i had a really good day/night today.


i woke up too early, justin and jake woke up too late... so i missed my first class which im not too down with. once again, i guess it goes along with not having a car. went to english, found out some criteria for my 8-10 page essay that i have to outline by monday? and then i present a blueprint of my essay to the class for a 15 minute discussion period on wednesday? that was sort of lame, considering the prompt is vague and the requirements are extensive. justin didnt feel like going to jazz, and frankly; neither did i. so we just came home instead. i did a bunch of house stuff and hung out with my kitty, then went to mario's bands show in san leandro. people were acting like it was all ghetto thuggish ruggish, but it wasnt that bad at all. the show sucked. that type of testosterone hardcore is so fucking dumb, with the exception of lose none. and i wouldnt even demean that band by classifying them like that. the new album is off the wall good, and the dudes are off the wall nice. saw the typical sketchy shit that is to be expected, said hi to a lot of old friends i havent seen in years, as well as made some new ones. this kid omar kept passing a 60$ bottle of tequila around, and he was trying SO hard to get me to drink it, i kinda felt bad. chopped it up with some of the old tweaks that live? there about slayer and creedence. they know whats up. met some wild coke lord who tried to get me to start selling coke. not into it. basically, it was me and mario having sober fun with all of our drunk/coked out/high/Oed out friends. fun times all around in that regards. told some wild stories to people and we all shared hearty laughs. SQUID WAS THERE. he plays bass in lionheart now? that kid is everywhere hes a wild dude. bradball was crackin me up. consoled friends in long talks about serious serious shit, gave advice. played wingman for paul. the usual. got back into town, went to some party? it was weird he was all white trash but he was playing michael jackson? basically, had a lot of memory sharing and long talks. saw my friend brandi which was unexpectedly cool. saw some girl who said she remembered me from a few months ago then told me some wild shit i did. that was random. geno bought tacos for me and i got dropped off at home.

back into the known.



im going to go to sleep now while i still have the smile on my face, because id rather know nothing and remain in the unknown.

October

the smell is always what did it for him.


nothing else brought him alive with anywhere near as much voracity as the smell of that dirt on a crisp spring night. it always had to be spring too, summer was too stagnant, fall was just too windy, and winter just didnt even exist in his world. The only months that mattered were March through October. for those seven months, him and twenty-four other men were all on top of the world. pharaohs in a kingdom of grass and dirt, instead of sand and sun.


Reggie "The Duke" Richards bent down on the third base foul line and grabbed a handful of rich, red dirt that could only be called Cincinatti's finest for the sole reason that it WAS the finest. it looked petty in his hands, yet he wielded it with such an artistic attitude. as if the dirt was being conjured into a brush and he was picking colors from a palette to splay upon an eggshell canvas.


He sloshed the dirt around, in an oscillating motion. artistic and machine-like all at once.


The crowd roared. a staggering audience of 45,000. congregated in this one moment of time to view and critique a legendary artists last piece. The Duke gave a sobered look towards the club suites and convinced himself that he could see his wife and five year old son, Noah in there, eating delicious chocolate chip cookies. Everybody was standing. 90,000 legs and 90,000 hands clamored in unison. the least they can do to repay him. Billy Hubert tipped his cap from the Reds bullpen. Sonny Markowitz did the same from the Phillies dugout. They were bitter rivals once, The Duke and Sonny... Sonny had a mean splitter that bored in on the hands like a backdoor cutter then at the last second, dropped off the table and wound up at the ankles. vicious. The Duke struck out eleven consecutive times before he found it was easier to connect on the 2-1 fastball on the outside Sonny was known to throw. And he connected, alright. four straight home-runs. one game. that was in '94. eons ago. centuries ago.


The Duke was old. his knees pulsed an arthritic heart rate until it was euthanized by pain killers and Bengay. he had already had three surgeries on his eyes for astygmatisms and corrections. he had been knocked out three times. he had hit fifteen career grand slams. he had hit 755 home runs over a thirty year major league career that took him from baltimore to houston to cincinatti. he was 49. and purely, he couldnt keep up with todays game anymore. he never worked out once. he never had a personal trainer. he lived in a humble five bedroom house in a small suburb outside Cincinatti with his wife, Helen of twenty-five years and their three children, Lana, Noah, and Jack. he never had a supermodel girlfriend. yes, he got paid what he thought was high, but he was always lenient and compromising. he didnt even have an agent. it was all him. everything that Reggie Richards had in this world that he built was his. and they loved him for it.

he stepped into the batters box and gave an uninterested look at the figure on the mound of dirt sixty feet and six inches away. Holt Higgins. another respected old-timer. one of the last great dinosaurs still alive and functioning rather than displayed in a museum like the Hall Of Fame, like the rest of the bones there. when Holt came up from pawtucket in 79, he had a 102 mph fastball and a curve that could make you look like a 12 year old in the box. but after a long battle with tendinitis and tommy john surgery, Higgins' fastball now blazed across the plate at a hot 85 miles per hour. but god did he have control, he could paint the black on the corners and hit a dime in a catchers glove every time. and he knew how to work the hitters in different counts. deadly.


Holt nodded and tipped his cap in this bottom of the 9th inning in the NLCS. the two high priests connected eyes. Holt gave an achey hitch and fired. ball. low. 83mph fastball. a setup pitch. The Duke was astonished that Higgins had the confidence for such a slow first pitch fastball. mind games. Higgins danced around Richards in his head. the two were now engaged in a mental dogfight. a game of elusion and maneuvering rather than attacking.


Richards patted the tar on his 33-30 louisville white ash bat. the smell never got old. his dirty hands made a paste with the tar. grip. confidence. he choked up on the barrel, just like he learned in Nashville when he was five years old.


cant be too careful.. that first one was a setup but this next one is going to be a challenge pitch, The Duke thought warily to himself.


Next pitch, swung and missed. wicked curveball inside. looked so big on approach, like a beach ball. then fell off and away at the last moment, like somebody tipped a table and the ball rolled off. that swing hurt his back. he winced, and pressed on.


Change-up. too low. good mistake for Higgins though, better to throw a 65mph change-up in the dirt than to miss high and at the letters.
another setup pitch, The Duke concluded.


Curveball just a bit outside. Higgins didnt miss by much, if at all. this umpire might need corrective surgery too.


3-1 count.


Richards has Higgins right where he wants him. he has to come in now. challenge the batter, or you are a wimp for dancing around him, is the cardinal rule. Richards needs something belt high, inside, to break the 755 he and Aaron both now shared. Just something he can push over the left field wall. no effort, really. just waiting. to flip it over that wall with his wrists like a cook with a burger. or a drummer with a drumstick. sweat rolled down his forehead. it wasnt even hot. he stepped out of the box and did his pre-pitch ritual again. this time, he really did see his family up there. smiling. his wife in a double breasted tweed overcoat with a rose lapel and his son happily eating an ice cream cone. 90,000 eyes searched him. 45,000 brains assessed the situation and scrutinize silently. 90,000 hands crushed the silence in the same motion used to crush bugs. the stage he was standing on shone its spotlight on him. he was on the scoreboard, and for the first time in his career, it flattered him. the stage lights perched high above, in towers. illuminating the setting for the next scene. everything and everybody appointed itself around Reggie Richards and Holt Higgins.

He wound up and threw. 34,000 cameras flashed in unison. blinding each other in a sick game of spite. when the lenses focused back on the batters box, Richards was nowhere to be found. The Duke had done it. he'd tied Aaron. he was found moments later rounding first, a slow trot in his old age. headed home. back to comfort. home. that was it. he was done.


it could have been a hanging change-up. it could have been a flat curveball. it could even have been a 93mph slider on the outside at the knees, which is what id like to think; just extending his arms in a timeless translucent effort and the ball finding itself in a glove in section 147B, right over the right field fence. he did it. he had joined the gods. he was dead. he was now immortal.

the six degrees to square one

i keep my hand out of politics, usually. i didnt vote and never vote because really, its all rigged anyways. until this recent election decisiontggvffffffffffffffffffffff



that was my cat stepping on my keyboard. hes too cute to delete his writing.


ANYWAYS, BEFORE I WAS SO RUDELY INTERRUPTED...

until this recent election decision, the country has essentially been in the hands of religious fundamentalists and free masons. basically, people who are out of touch with reality. granted, this country was forged on the basis of religion and god, but progressive thinking in the last few decades has come to realize the checks and balances system of "separation of church and state" to be a literal definition, and not just figurative. the irony in itself is that the whole rule of separation of church and state was made in a time where America was more of a theocracy based on the ten commandments. but, as America grew as a country, so did the weight of the constitution and disagreements. thus, amendments were formed to alter this primitive doctrine of living. nowadays, our country is based more upon its own constitution rather than the ten commandments, so doesnt it make sense for our train of thought to reflect that?

evidently not. as i said, i keep my hands out of politics, but the ratification of proposition 8 REALLY is a setback for california, the theory of mind over matter, and people in general. and what really makes me pretty angry is the lack of a logical argument from the side in favor of the proposition:

religion is not substantial. god is indefinitive. you cant validate an argument by falling back on something that may or may not exist. and does or does not have a definition. so when in an academic argument where substantiative evidence is furnished, extending God as a basis doesnt work for me. no sir.

logic and common sense seem lost in the political world. by adding the two words "gay" and "marriage" together, you are merely creating a compound word out of a prefix and a suffix. much the same as inter-racial "marriage". or "gay" relationship. the terms by themselves still hold an infinite number of word possibilities, so conjoining them only brings together infinitive connotations.

why focus on the deprivation of the sanctity of the word "marriage"? that statement alone denotes the inferiority of gays as to imply that the prefix "gay" in itself demeans the meaning of the WORD "marriage". its a word. nothing more. im married to my thoughts. is that demeaning? my thoughts are more deadly and virulent and sinister than anything a gay man has ever been. so why isnt the the term "im married to my thoughts" bad?

it all comes down to inherent morals. stuff that NOBODY can change. you cant force a right wing radical christian to spawn conscious thought if it conflicts with what they have BELIEVED since birth. thats why this whole prop. 8 thing will always be running in a circle.

CA supreme court ruled gay marriage legal
petition of 100,000 signatures sent to CA congress allows prop. 8 to be put on ballot.
prop 8. passes.
opposers of prop 8 protest alllll over the state. peitions are signed (including by me, the only role ive EVER had in politics)

whats next? ill tell you whats next... this whole controversy will keep stressing everybody out and making people mad til the next election. then what? the same cycle will repeat. because there will never be a compromise when you pit religious beliefs with common sense.


maybe it makes it to the US supreme court. then what? this whole thing will be nationwide. until the last of the religious fundamentalists dies off.


it makes me happy to see progressive thinking get SO close to prevalence, finally. ten years ago, it wouldnt have even made a wave in the media if somebody proposed legalizing gay marriage. thirty years ago, it would have been a fiery debate that would have ended in a radical riot and national guard troops. fifty years ago, people would have been beat.

just stop with the protests. and all the media noise. change will come eventually.


we're moving along. progressing. we dont need obama for change, we're doing it on our own. with minds.

zero hour nine a.m.

i got a phonecall last night at 4am. and since i have no alarm clock and i keep the house phone next to my head so jake or justin can wake me up in the morning, it woke me up. it was nobody. it was the most unfortunate thing to happen to me in a long time, because all i did was stay up and think until right now, where i just got the REAL phone call telling me my ride is outside. years of stuff went through my head last night/this morning. memories. ghosts. all the people ive made cry. all the lack of crying on my part.

forgiveness for myself is out of the question. escape is nonexistant. i haunt myself. my ghost appears on nights like last night. eating my own weak blood. it wont be soon before long... so long.

i need a vacation.

id really like an extensive vacation. preferable someplace ive never been. someplace rainy so i can savor this sudden flood from inside myself. i dont think ive ever thought about myself or scrutinized myself as much as i have the last few days. i think its a good thing though, because i realized so much in me that needed to change.

i have another job interview tomorrow at 6pm for becoming a sunglass salesman in the factory store. im almost 100% confident ill get the job. 8$ an hour sucks, but it also comes with commission, and i am a great salesman, so combine that with my other job at payless shoes, and i should be ok. all of that is probably going to conflict somewhat with school, but its worth it to me, considering im not going next semester anyways, no matter how badly i want to. i need as little time to ponder myself and my life and my choices as possible, so filling my time with responsibilities has always worked for me in that regards. come january or december, ill have a car. then ill get my old job back at the bakery during the day, and keep one of the jobs for the night time. i hope my family lets me stay here. i pay rent now, but thats only on the condition that im enrolled in school. i will gladly pay more rent when i drop out, i just hope those terms are good enough. come this time next year, perhaps as early as april or march, ill be a ghost again, which is what i think would be best for me and everybody that knows me. before i leave, i owe a lot of people a lot of dinners or lunches for all the times that ive been on the receiving end with no way to reciprocate.

im a humble, proud person... so it hurts my pride and overall value when i keep on having to resort to other peoples services to get by even in the most menial regards. if i dont talk to you at all, no offense. it probably isnt you, but it might be... just know that its kind of what i have to do to be where i was again. i have a bulletproof vest as my only liquifiable asset right now, and im trying desperately to sell it so i can take care of my warrant, and part of my cell phone bill. then thats where the jobs come in for the other things, like rent and debt. then, finally, come the luxuries like a car and new clothes. its been over a year since ive actually been clothes shopping. no fun.

school is getting really intense. it seems as though every class is pushing essay material or test material in my face and i have to absorb it all within a certain amount of time and expell it upon paper. its really just a vicious cycle. i want to go to school so badly... i want to be a teacher more than i want anything in the world. i am just not willing to have nothing, not even the dignity of buying my own food or getting to school on my own while i do it. ive done a lot for myself in the past, essentially everything except for lately. i dont like it. i cant stand being back at square one when i was never even there in the first place. im lower now than i have ever been as an adult. simply because i have nothing to call my own besides some old clothes and a bulletproof vest. the rest just seems like its on loan... a lease from the powers that be. and that i have to pay it back in pride and dignity and desire and heartache.


the pen and the pad are my sanity. my sanctuary. i have written more over the last few days than i ever have in my life. always writing. and never what im supposed to be writing. sometimes, ill write an entire 10 page short story, read it once, then delete it. entertaining only for myself. nobody is deserving of reading my most profound writings nowadays, save for me.

frozen.

we walked into the room. strewn upon a very impersonal stainless steel surgical table were the remnants of what was once their son. he was in one piece, just cast aside like an insignificant candy wrapper in a dumpster of candy wrappers.

"yes...", mama said..
"yes, thats him."

we were stricken with a sudden fit of silence. this wasnt the way it was supposed to be. he couldnt have just been gone. my brother? the one who would stay up until 3am playing super mario world when we were younger? the one who could always make me laugh? the one who taught me everything i know about baseball and music and diving? no. couldnt be. must have the wrong guy, fellas. my brother is the kind of guy to die in a war saving an entire platoon of fellow GIs by tossing himself on a grenade. or saving a dog from a burning veterinary hospital. not by freezing to death in a cold prairie city. alone.

it saddened us to see. not even in the sense that it was the direct phyisical manifestation of what i had already presumed to be a dead brother, but if it was anybody, it would still be sad. pathetic, is more the word. we glared at that body with such a grey contempt for the empty soul that it once effortlessly contained, it seemed as though we were random medical students examining their first cadaver. there was nothing familiar i saw in the fleshy vacancy on the table. what a specimen it was...

six foot five. one hundred seventy-five pounds. nearly impeccable dental alignment. blue eyes. dressed in old, tattered sweat pants and sweat shirt. his hand showed the scar and its covered decoration. his shoes were vans. size 11.5. black. just how he wore them since age 15. they were relatively new, he always had to have a fresh pair of black authentics. in a small pile of what little belongings he owned and had on him at the time of his death, i saw a keychain i gave him two christmases ago. calvin and hobbes hugging each other. his girlfriend at the time hated it. said it was too juvenile for an adult to have on a keychain. she hated everything. even the keychain itself. i bet she even hated keys too. she wasnt very nice.

we all knew it was a bad idea to leave. we couldnt tell him though. the face that was long adjourned of a smile and warmth was too full to deplete. as time goes on, the love and warmth in my older brothers face became vacant, leaving wrinkles that were once filled and overflowing with radiance. that was the face we saw here now. in examination room number 13. in lansing, michigan. on march 11th, 2008. he was only 19. but he had the mind, face, and experience of any salty 47 year old sailor in a maritime bar.

he loved the sea. once, when he was six years old, him and daddy went out to catalina island on a daytrip from our home in L.A. and rented a 12 foot schooner. they set course for the bay, and set the barge as their target. the winds were strong that day. on the way back from the barge, the winds shifted. the ten foot sheet automatically tacked back to the east without any will or desire, making the small sailboat lean away from the wind, lean towards my brother and my daddy sitting on a side of the boat. they tipped. then the oncoming wave capsized them and they were trapped underwater for a good thirty seconds. suspended by gravity. bound by rope. daddy put my brother up on the bottom of the boat, which was now belly up to the sky. and then they got rescued by little orange men in little orange inflatable rafts.


he loved the water. and the snow. one time, at big bear mountain when we were realllllyyy little, we all went tubing down the slopes in inflated tire tubes. we struck a ditch, we fell. hard. he giggled with glee and shrieked with laughter. he loved the snow. but not the cold. and seeing his cold body on this cold slab of sheet metal sheltered in a cold room protecting him from what was ironically his very cold outdoor death, it brought a curious whimsical smirk to my face.

the electric smirk that creased my lips and pursed my dimples was connected to my brain by a hot telegraph line that rarely ran without stops. the whimsical smirk suddenly turned into a fiery, hateful, demonic, toothy smile. one on the verge of cackling laughter. it was all a sick fucking joke. given so much in life, yet he strived for so little. what a selfish man.

you little cocksucker... you got what you wanted and we have to sit back and take a seat to you once again. life, death... doesnt matter. its always about you. its always about you. you picked up that bottle when that whore left you and you didnt set it down until your lifeless fingers splayed flat and dropped the glass bottle of jack daniels you so expressingly loved. it didnt love you back. she didnt love you back. nobody ever loves you back. youre as cold as the steel you lay on, kiddo. colder than the death you were given. no, earned. you had millions of chances for warmth in a million different places, and you still managed to turn everything cold. im not crying, because i had your funeral in my heart months ago. you died when she left you. you died when you picked up the bottle. you died when you were born. you never had a chance. too loving, yet too smart. wicked combination. you saw the good in everybody and wanted to believe it, but were overwhelmed by the depressing logical reality of it to be a falsety because you were so fucking smart. cursed. with a heart and a mind and only one life.


mom is crying. dad is crying. Jill is crying. SHE is crying. All these tears for you. all of THIS for you. what a waste. you are undeserving of the tears that fall at your side. at the pronunciation of your name. I know this, so i am looking at your face, with hate. i zone out on your temples for a minute, then look back down to see your nose crooked. broken. i realize with no humility at all that i am beating your dead body and that there are 4 people struggling to get me to stop. no end in sight. i want to kill you. i want to exhibit ten seconds of pain on you for the lifetime of pain and guilt you have already begun to display on us and in us. knees in the stomach. digging into refrigerated intestines that are now like dense coiled bales of hay. kicking the hand, chipping the frozen keratin off the dead nails that continue to grow. i am off. i am on the ground. i am breathing. i am calm.

i cry. a silent, profound cry that ascends this ceiling and these ears in my presence. i cry for what was, but mainly i cry for what could have been. astonished open mouths fear my next move, praying i dont take another 180 degree turn of emotions. calm. silent. the cry subsides into a weep. i lean over your bruised, battered, chipped, crooked body. i curse the unfulfilled serenity in your face, yet long for it at the same time. my tears fill the empty vacant wrinkles that time and waves have battered into your face. a stale kiss escapes my soul and finds a temporary home on your forehead. containing stagnant love and dormant hate. goodbye, brother. i wish you wouldnt have always taken the hard way out

prescription: logic.

i guess all i can really do right now is type in this thing. no thoughts or meanings behind the words, just typing until i think of a way out of this town and back home, where at least i understand things. its 8am. there are drums here, and honestly, all i want to do is play them. but there are people sleeping... good people whom i respect and adore very much, so that wouldnt be too fair. theres a perfectly good tv in the living room, but i dont much feel like watching tv right now. i feel sick. but i know im not. thats psychosoma of the worst type, having your brain so overloaded with negative thought that it affects the body. i dont come from anything, so i guess all i can do is go back to nothing. i HAD something, but not anymore. but, did i REALLY have it? maybe i didnt.... maybe it was a well dressed lie. or a falsety. or a deceptive embrace with a strong curse behind it. maybe there is no curse. but that its forced on their part too. im hurting, readers and inanimate paper of the world. im hurting relatively hard. in the last 24 hours, i got taken away from all my troubles in the world, into a REAL place that makes it alllllll go away, and then i got reminded that not only it all exists, but that i am not and can not rise above it all. that i cant offer the moon. disheartening. drunk talk or real talk? who knows. who cares at this point.