defunct,

it brings a secret, severely satisfactory smile to my blatant face knowing that i make you feel what i feel. i am a black widow. i am a sturgeon. i am loch ness. i will nothing for you except bring you down to my level. i am kurt dussander. my demons are awakened and then stirred in a cauldron until i decide to serve them to innocents. the gleam in my eyes is perverted. my face is wrinkled. the pupils burn a pedophilic red right through you. the icy frosted blue turns you to stone. i see the coals that cook the soul of all of you. and i smile a teachers lecturing smile knowing that one more remnant of a person just fell of a cliff. and that i pushed them. i am a murderer. a slaughtery of everything pure. i would be a cannibal, save the fact that i dont have a soul or a heart in which to use to cannibalize other hearts and souls. even the most abyssic of people. vicious. calculating.


it seems like my weekend has gone by very fast, but in all honesty... thats only because i have been steadily in the middle of the drunk spectrum since 11am friday. i am on the high end of that spectrum now. does it cheapen my words to know they are merely the silent confessions of an old drunk? im not very well liked by many people... ive come to terms with it. i sincerely dont care. my deep dark damp thoughts that enter my brain yet have no exit find their home on this canvas.


i dont think anybody will ever TRULY know me.


im going to disappear in a few weeks/months and not resurface til im done writing.












masturbatory. all of it.

attorney at guilt

i dont really remember writing the last post. i saw some things that changed me as a person tonight. literal things and abstract thoughts that were really just an abbhoration of things. i wish i had more to say, and since i have a lot i want to say, i wish i could find some means of conveyance to relate to the rest of the world, the part whose best friend isnt a pen and a pad. i guess this is my silent confessional turned public. its almost masturbatory... a public exhibition of privacy. maybe that makes me an exhibitionist.. maybe it makes you all sick fucks for reading this and figuratively watch me masturbate in torment. this whole process REALLY is masturbatory, the more i reflect on it. i guess its some sort of exonerance of toxins. but instead of toxins, im unscrewing the cap on a jar full of demons, and letting them squeak out, one by one. even right now, i dont know why im writing. all i know this that when words expunge into actual existence, i am put at ease. all that is wrong in the world is immediately morphed into right. this website is the closet for all of my skeletons. they resurface from the ground and it is my job to lock them away again, until they feel like gnawing at my mind some more. the gnawing aches. it makes my head feel like the thin outer shell of a maraca. right now, it is 2:02am. i am sitting here, in an apartment in vacaville, california in a humble green recliner. the chair isnt reclined backwards with its leg stand jutted out at a jaunty angle. Its upright, as if its too scared to break some force of nonexistant tension that the chair creates for itself. i dont belong in this humble chair. my thoughts are not humble.. they are not pure. my thoughts arent a quiet faded green, theyre a hot fiery orange. so why am i sitting here? jakes passed out on the futon. hes not drunk. i am very drunk. i have been drinking steadily since before jazz ensemble. im wearing clothes that dont suit me and talking to people that dont matter to me. i simply am. you have to fill in the blanks on the rest of me, but thats how i look at myself. i dont feel myself drifting off into haunting dreams and cold sweat anytime soon on this night. its chilly... theres a cool fan blowing on full blast on the windowbox. a remnant habit of the summer... the dial will be neglected until probably november. everything is perfect in this apartment in its moment right now. outside, the world is a chaotic sanctuary for ignorant hollow hope. i havent shaved in two days. i didnt shower today.. i woke up too late. i ran out of acne medication. basically, what im saying... is that theres no point in caring about appearance because the world isnt a place stock full of depth, and im not good looking anyways so this just gives me more reason to not care. i have a job interview at macys on thursday. i wish i could let just one person know me... but the truth is, when i start to let that happen, i get carried away and tell too much too quick. and i catch myself for it. and i realize that im not gettin the same in return. and i put two and two together and i mentally bail on the situation, even though i know i shouldnt. 2:19 am now. im thirsty again. every girl that ive ever thought worthy of dating/liking/loving/marrying, i really wish id never met. its just more evidence of the perfection i will never achieve and evidence of the mediocrity that total pieces of shit possess as material objects. i will make somebody happy someday... but it probably ideally wont be who i want it to be. im so fed up right now, that honestly all i want is a really smart really cool butt ugly girl. at least she can level with me. i guess its my fault for being so complex and weird. curious. girls are the bane of my existance. i think about them too much and theyre never any good to me, in turn causing me to be no good to anybody or anything. i am a selfish, selfish individual... the relentless alchohol indulgence speaks of this on its own. jake is snoring on the couch. i hate every good looking male everywhere. i hate what they possess in other people and willingly choose to throw away, even though i would give anything to have an inkling of what lies in their hands. i gotta get off this girl subject, its killing me. torments. plagues. trials. i speak softly. maybe thats my difference. maybe i can only level with adults, even though i am an irresponsible adult in myself. i need money, a dog, a car, a computer, and an apartment. so i can have enough distractions to never think about anybody. you all make me sick.. but god dammit... there are a few of you i just want to know as PEOPLE.. not as facades. take your mask off when you talk to me, my xray vision is getting tired of being used.

n

it stared me down. appraising my worth with a slightly parabolic eye. i stared back. right through it. first I made it lower case, then i made it nonexistant. i was staring at the blank text behind the n. it was a word to some, a modifier from english to spanish for many, but it was a menace to me. i hated that n. my eyes burned a hole in its icy heart til it was only an abyss filled with the shadow of frost. it didnt go away. it stood there.. mocking me.

Dear Boat,

I'm very excited to finally obtain the opportunity to write you this letter. Its been 19 years going on 20 that ive been learning the means and ways to muster up the vocabulary and defeat the arthritis that has since settled in my fingers. It is a terrible pain, Boat, so it gives you great recognition of the willpower I must have to continue with this note. this plea. See, Boat... we're not so unlike, you and I. On the great ocean, we are both alone. We both know the trials and tribulations the other has to overcome. The waves, the wind, the tides, the gulls. Im sure we've seen our share of maelstroms and flat waters are actually blue stained elegant mirrors. We are both literred with the remnants of trial. scratches. barnacles. Im here waiting for you, boat. I know you've been searching for me, too... but just didn't know where to look. I have nothing to offer you. I can't even mutter reassuring words in the dark to let you know that there is, in fact, at least a little light in this world. I can't embrace you like you can embrace me. With your enveloping arms of rope. I can secure you. Tie that rope to me. I can be your anchor. I only want to be your anchor. and you mine.


Sincerely,
Island

window shoppers.

goodbye.. thanks for stopping by.

choices.

#3

It was her eyes that gave her away. Her eyes didnt so much look at me or see me as they did morph me. to me, i was me. to her, i was who she wanted me to be. If the eyes didnt tell her secrets, the frowning smile picked up the slack where the eyes left off. Those eyes.. if they weren't staring at my shoes, they were searing through the wall behind me, trying to envision the setting also as wherever she wanted it to be. transcendental psychosoma, i guess you could say. whatever it was, i recognized it. i didnt so much stare back, as i did beckon. my eyes pleaded. they were being ignored. i realized right then and there in this one instant of humanity, that she didnt know me at all. that all the words and allusory nuances that escaped from her mouth were just red tape she hoped id become entwined in. i was a dolphin. caught in a tuna dragnet woven by red, sticky words. what an excellent angler this one was. i was hooked. her dark, smooth hands were almost invisible grasping the tanned leather steering wheel. the grasp was not tense, but rather expectant. anticipating what she already predicted. the rain is a snare drum on the roof, firing off upbeat rudiments and double paradiddle rolls. there is only the thick silence in the front seat, periodically cut short by jabs of hot breath. she looks up from my shoes. her eyes look TO me, for once, instead of through me. she makes her move. vicious. the eyes scour my soul for good things in which to defile. i feel what is one of the last remnants of my innocence being prepared for a hanging. i cant even see out the windows now. the clarity in my head that once reflected on the windows has disappeared, leaving a vague cloud in its place instead. this vague cloud also was reflected in my head. the air is cold and damp. i look around and understand her empty gaze towards an inanimate wall, if i were her, id project myself to another setting too. i felt lucky to have been given this sacred bond of trust. i was nothing to her, she was something to me.