mas shit

who would have thought

sonny john moore wrote this....strangely inspired.....even if it's the 16 year old me still inside of me....


Words don't seem to come so easy
When I need them oh so badly
Here's to playing tug of war with my vocal chords
Maybe I can give this another
Shot or sing about a broken 
Heart, or imitate the way it feels
If this is happening for real

This distance seems closer
When you shove it in my face
This moment has left me with nothing else to say
I'm losing my interest with these empty pages
They're torn, and have frayed edges
This torn, dusty book
Is bothered by my rusty eye and I can't see
No, I can't breathe
Put me on the next page outta here
To live forever on this paper
Capture this void and fill it with the frenzy in my voice

Killing time by drawing faces that stare back at me from the margins
In a sea of 8 and a half by elevens
I'm drowning in...
Treading through run on sentences
And sinking into empty text
I'll swallow the salt
And spit a few dry words out

This distance seems closer
When you shove it in my face
This moment has left me with nothing else to say
I'm losing my interest with these empty pages
They're torn, and have frayed edges
This torn, dusty book
Is bothered by my rusty eye and I can't see
No, I can't breathe
Put me on the next page outta here
To live forever on this paper
Capture this void and fill it with the frenzy in my voice

No matter what I say, no matter what I write here, 
I'm sick of always looking at this page with a blank stare
You never seem to know, and they never seem to tell you
Words don't always come as easily as you might want them to 

Throw this paper into fire and take me with it
Just take me with it
Throw this paper into fire, into fire, yeah
Throw this paper into fire, into this fire 
Throw this paper into fire and throw me with it
Just throw me with it

and then i find out he turned into skrillex....

whoa

ive never listened to any of his music

but i know he is huge

grammys and shit

strangely inspired....

ummmmmmm

i haven't been sick in ten months...possibly longer, maybe this is why I am up at four am trying to fight this feeling

sometimes i think i should follow through with ideas

and make money
and make followers
and boost my ego
past what it already is.

but then i think of who i want to be,
and who i can't stand to see

and it all goes back...

the city is a dirty place
filled with the sad and  the sick
hands seems the most filthy
and maybe for once
ill stop biting my nails.....

because when the madness hits,
i don't want to help it out....


i hope you're a part of this building of defense
against your image, and your memory
swept up like sand, and tossed to the wind.


i want to go back to sleep....

naan sense

revolting

no strange gods 

fuck you- sf

more journal fuckery

the tides of time are working their magic.
sending me out of my sun spot and back into orbit
among the cold, unteathered, pressurized space,
the winds spreading the seeds of change
are one again planting sprouts
created many seasons past.

I may not be marginal, but I sure can't agree
with the confines of my mind.
the spaces between the hard work and sacrifice
those places i was told to enjoy,
simply because they are so fleeting.

my hand grows tired from holding the pen,
my brain turns against me because I have
what ive always dreamed of
the quintessential human, killing and disposing
of his own desires,
because the projected images
are not enough.

my buried  sense of self hatred
is once again sticking it's decomposed hands
through the wilting, annual flowers
smelling blood.

I am back.
dead as ever, decomposed like never before,
and not smelling of compost.
If I could wake myself from this horrid nightmare,
leading my love to a breath taking cliff,
and pushing her off, like i never wanted to.

I would,
but like my previous pilot, conductor lives,
I was meant to take us both.

Our separation is  merely your survival instinct,
sensing an emotional murderer in your midst,
but some times,
you have to believe,
we're better together....

sailing, surfing, and role models

even today, after ive thrown it all away,
you wont vacate my thoughts.
after ive thrown every form of "iloveyou",
i might get a four word response,
which is more words than your mouth could tell

i hope one day i can find what, at least, i felt,
the smile that caked my face,
in each and every photo...just look

...and a fair good luck,
followed by a shallow...
fuck off...
it might convey every corner of my sad little boy
just be past it, just be past it, just be past it.

dizzy...and sick, drunk from the tick,
that life could deafen us with,
and we got in line,
we wouldn't define,
what love meant to us.