quotes of the day

i walk in to that class just wishing i would see those old piece of shit macs lining the wall and you there with dustin chillin out in the orange chair bout to start a half-assed piece of squeezing me and dustin into just because we had to

you on the tamborine dancing around.. me on the didge and djembe.. michael on the spoons.. and tim do something too like an indian tribal chant or something that would roll in some bank

Upon any offence you taketh upon thyself, give voice to me. And at once. M’self in arms, shall ride upon the knave wot challenges you. And dispatch him right smart, will i. A swift kick up the read in shall be in order i believe.

When you realize you could have anyone, then the loneliness sets in. There’s not one person to turn to, yet they all claim to take care of you, to wipe the tears, to share a bed. But it’s empty. It’s void of passion and heart. It means nothing to me. And as the images scrolled across the screen, I felt parts of myself collapse. The frustration, the hatred, the bag and the head and the bumblebee handful. I’ve been there, and I am there, and I continue to progress there. To my left, I want to punch and kick and walk away from. To my right, I want to pull closer and feel the warmth of another human being for once. I roam, I travel, and I avoid settling down. It hurts, at the end of the night. I detach and run away. Everyone had someone, or at least they went and found someone. They had stories and feelings… I felt so  misjointed and misplaced from the cracks it the concrete. I am a shattersome person, and cinema grinds to my core, tears me to shreds, and spits me out.

I am flaky and undependable. I wake up and realize all the plans I’ve made, I wish I never had. I want nothing but to be alone with quiet music weeping loss and insecurities to me. Yet guilt consumes me. It chews me slowly, digging into my sides as the blood drips down my legs. My father told me “Sometimes you have to be selfish.” And fuck it, that’s what I need. I just wish I could stop caring about everyone around me.

King Cobra, back in action!

I love waking up the next morning and still drunk from the night before. The sun is overcast and the sky is cold and grey. It shines through the window onto your face on the floor. You roll over and over, debating whether or not to get up or not. Once you stand, a rushing sensation passes, and you fumble to take a piss. Friends roll over, tell you good morning, and doze back into dreams.. and quietly, you sneak out the door and head back to your room.

This morning, I made my coffee stronger than yesterday, turned up Commander Venus, and stared at my greasy hair in the mirror. I am full of negative energy, self-loathing, and doubt. But last night, I spent the night with all guy friends, got my ass ninja kicked, linked arms and played bad music, sang off-harmony to Simon and Garfunkel, shared drags off each other’s cigarettes… talked on the phone at 2am inside the shower while the boys in the den demanded I come to bed with them, slurred a lacking conversation and slid onto the floor between them both and slept peacefully. My brothers, my lifemates, I want these boys to be. My family. Here to remind me that I am not alone and that I am not a frumpy-good-for-nothing-drunken-ball-of-negativity. Carpe diem, man!

I can’t tell if my nose was bleeding this morning from smoking an unknown amount of cigarettes after I tried to quit for a week, or from Eric punching me in the face when I held a drum over my nose. I can’t tell if I’m really dumb, or I’m buzzing all the time. In class, which I somehow still manage to make it to everytime, I can’t fucking round off a number. The class sits silent and the white walls go whoooosh. I throw my head on the desk and laugh. “.69987..” “.6999..?” “.69, .60?, 6.7??” fuck it! My professor shoots imaginary guns at me and wipes his cheek with chalky fingers.  In his old, nasaly voice he jabbers “Don’t just sit on yer brains getting fatter!” And I stare into the blackboard, sip on my lukewarm coffee, and listen to the grumbling in my stomach.

It’s going to be a good day.

man, my money won’t last.

every day, the woman is there, running up and down the creaky wooden stairs. on the third or fourth stair up, to the right, there is a plastic water bottle and a diet coke. she runs up while i walk down. rain, snow, hot, cold, she is there. burning calories. silent. repetitive.

last night, i had my longest phone conversation since i was dating dylan. i think maybe this conversation was longer than when i was with dylan. 2:57:09, 10, 11.. the screen read as i closed it shut. i am argumentative, defiant, and an all around pain in the ass, i thought to myself, pondering one spoken thought over and over in my head until i fell asleep sometime after 3am. i awoke to the same thought, still trying to decipher “how” and “why?” yet, these are questions we will ask throughout all our lives, and something not worth wasting a day on, i suppose.

burning a receipt and letting go of the stress of money on the equinox is really taking it’s toll on me, in minor ways. i constantly remind myself not to worry, but small parts of me continuously churn thinking “what now?” “what then?”…. “how?”… “why?” and then another part yells, “why the hell not?” as i swipe my card through the machine and punch in my pin.

why, oh why, oh why.

“the universe works on a math equation” our whole lives are wrapped around recorded numbers, databases. social security number, phone number, lock combination, phone password, price, value, weight, clothing size, scales of rate and feelings, ink weight, volume, number-of-cigarettes-and-shots-in-a-row, days we have left, days we wasted, hours, minutes, seconds… averages, songs, rhythms, land, mass, breath…

tell me something that is innumerable.

Never the same twice.

“That one there – she’s my angel,” she says to me.

In that moment, I was overcome by extreme, bitter anger… and pride. Pride in that my mother, whom I have not seen nor spoken to for nearly half a year, still thought of me as an angel. Still thought I was going to save her.

And then another part of me felt deeply guilty… because I cannot be there to save her anymore. And I will not save her.

Techcommunicationology.

Your fingers sped up as I muttered those words. Running rampant across the keyboard, you spewed bile and sour milk onto a blinding screen. Without thought or hesitation you vented nonstop, click click click click click. I tossed and turned, I rolled and huffed. Puffed and grunted. Click click click click.

It’s a sad state that this world has become. There are no spoken mumbles. There are no under-your-breath witty and bitter remarks. There is only that technological impulse that we act upon. And sitting in front of a computer screen, we type away.

We explode into particles.

“Just sleep on it” is an empty phrase.

Just type on it, and wake up in the morning, and toss it straight into your recycling bin.

Loneliness is the human condition.

I was afraid to be alone, now I’m afraid that’s how I like to be.

People are always focused on loneliness. Alone in a crowded room. Alone with a circle of friends. Isolated, cast off, and alone. Alone and well, really alone. Even if we aren’t alone, we find ways to make it appear that we are. Saturday night, I was dancing at a bar with a group of people I’ve never met. My friend stood awkwardly with her friends, only dancing once one of her group of pals started. I, on the other hand, started to feel cast out and shunned. So instead, to push that feeling away, I danced anyway. I danced to vulgar rap music that I had no clue what it was referring to. I danced to slangy country. I closed my eyes, held back tears, and danced and sang to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Simple Man.. alone. But was I really alone? Yes. Was I lonely? No. There is a difference that people fail to recognize.

I am alone, but I am not lonely.

With my coffee, my books, The Doors, and MadLibs, I can do anything. I can be anyone. I can feel happy and free..

Alone.