Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Squirt it out on the counter. Clean it up. Pick it up. Smear it on the grave.

March 4, 2017

I’m a scumbag with a taste for adventure. Watch me collect dust on my wicker chair, as my thighs grow numb over the course of hours of physical inactivity. Like Big Foot, you may per chance to see me scratch my nose, but only rumors now are circulating of such an occurrence. Cocoa Crispies are much crunchier with cockroach legs. I haven’t seen a paycheck all month, but working for a private prison company has it’s perks. I breathed the same air as Mitch McConnell. I think I’ve been turning into a turtle. But I’m a frog, see. I smoke cigars. Is there anything as resplendent as the sound of soup pouring into a garbage can? I can think of nothing. Chili tastes exceptionally cold from a long-refrigerated container, but can I spell this well while drunk. Thank you jagged red lines. I’d like to make my own jagged red marks, but I guess that’d be selfish according the ethics of my consciousness. Cocoa Puffs cut my gums, but there’s something alluring about pink milk. Can’t you see that my teeth are perfect the way they are? I haven’t seen a vagina in months, but my dreams tell me it’s harder to piss the bed with a boner. So there’s that. What is a guy supposed to do when all he ever wants is to disappear in a blood smear. Thank god for jagged red lines. The red lines don’t believe in God. god’s just fine for them. Take it from me, everything’s taken from me. I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. I’m just a grain of Cocoa Crispy in a ocean of Cocoa Puffs. Enough is enough. I’m calling my bluff. Fuck it, kick the bucket. Gravestone domino rally. Listen, pally.

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Going once, going twice…Old

January 14, 2017

Dear diary,

Much has happened since I last graced my digital archive of complaining with more than a passing photograph. I reread this entire thing last night while drinking, and oh how my life has transformed. Not really.

I have lived through my second divorce, of course, of course. All according to my plan to isolate, alienate, and completely misdirect my life from any sort of contentment or success. I am in fact back in sunny and horrible Florida. My previously noted apprehensions of moving here have all been proven worthy.

It’s not all sour apples. It’s nice to be around my family again for the first time in a decade, but closeness also means entanglement in all sorts of drama that I am entirely unaccustomed to.

Everything in Florida is older, dirtier, and more crowded than I remember it being as a child. It is a pleasant surprise to see many of the parks I liked to walk around are still mostly the same. But my old neighborhoods and especially where I live now have noticeably degenerated.

I deeply regret leaving the mountains. But when backed into a corner, unexpectedly, it was the only choice I felt I could make. Now I’m busy turning over plans to somehow get back. This is complicated by the fact that my Dad is going to need some pretty consistent assistance to go on living from here on out. Sylvia has gone completely mad again, ejecting him from his home. We all (Jen’s family, him, and myself) now live together in sit-com-like hilarity in my late Nana’s house. I at least have my own tiny apartment to hide in.

Finding work is pretty well fucked around here. I’ve joined a temp agency that functions like a unicycle with no spokes, but I’ve been working with my Step-dad in the cafe of a corporate office that owns and runs private prisons. I can’t even begin to understand just how in the hell I ended up in this situation.

Life, if anything, is unpredictable.

Oh, and Donald Trump is getting ready to be our president, and we are all going to die.

Losing Our Pulse

June 19, 2016

Losing Our Pulse

January 19, 2015

yolo

Dithyramb

December 13, 2013

the vines run up quick the trunk that is thick
divides in three; the branch, the tree
a star? no, eyes shine on her thighs
to render and shuck all the fruit that is plucked

a beast? no, a cage that’s not fit for his rage
as he rattles and shakes all the things that he makes
though he’s unwilling he cannot be stopped

into his skies all seedlings are dropped

life begins dying at the moment of birth

flying is falling away from the earth

 as much as yo…

May 21, 2012

 

as much as you control your actions your actions control you

lured by distant satisfaction tomorrow sees you through

 

The weather’s depression falls down and resuscitates. This evil is necessary so stand up and suffocate.

October 17, 2011

the wind’s overtaking a welling up draft. the torrent is shaking and breaking the raft.

October 16, 2011

Around the corners always pressing–a maze that’s made of second-guessing.

September 12, 2011

Barry gave us a smoked pork loin. It made for a delicious meal. I bought some canvas-making material and dropped my sculpture off at school. I’ll start another painting tomorrow. I’ve been reading a lot of Hermann Hesse novels lately. Demian was a soul-affirming book, and Steppenwolf seems to be the same just halfway through.

I have an unnatural energy as of late, that I’m not used to. I’ve been doing a lot of productive things with it, while it lasts. I’ve changed my mind about a great many things. I know with no lack of certainty that I can’t go back to Florida anytime soon. I feel a suffocating fog has settled around the whole idea that I conceived only during my most terrible months during student teaching. The idea helped lead me out of my despair, but I feel as though I have grown into a person far different than the one who made that decision. There is nothing I can go back to that will be preferable to my road ahead. That isn’t to say I will never return there. And I would like to visit often. Especially when the winters of wherever I am settle on me.

I’ve been having a wonderful stream of creative thoughts lately. Several feelings I haven’t allowed myself to have in a long time have jarred my mind in a positive way. Even if the cup were to spill, I will take joy in drinking my fill of its emptiness.

 love is a desert flower

And over desolate hills I scour

For upward towards the sun it shoots

And beneath the sands extend its roots

Like candle drawing moths’ dim fancy

O’er the next hill it’s ever glancing

This flash of color entranced I follow

Is this a Fate or just Fata Morgana?

A continually renewed question of “what will happen?”

September 11, 2011

While emotionalessly uploading these photos I was thinking about accents. And how Keith’s N. Irelander accent makes all the ladies wanna fuck him. Thinking about it, it would make a lot of evolutionary sense for people to be attracted to those with different accents–due to the fact that it is more likely for that person to be genetically different, and thus more fit to make babies. Makes sense to me.

Of course there is also a deep impulse within humans to be repulsed by that which is different from them (i.e. racism). However, there seems to be just as strong a will in us to be accepting and wholly fascinated by the differences we encounter.

Cigarette break.