Monthly Archives: April 2009

Beyond the Thunderdome.

(At several points, I attempt to collect my thoughts, and make sense out of the chaos that was the prior 8 years or so. At the same time, I am trying to reconcile my conflicted feelings regarding the outcome. This proved to be unsuccessful for many years)



October 5th, 2005.

as far as choices go, I am thus far rather pleased with most of mine.  although events of the day can sometimes attempt to convince me otherwise, I feel that things have turned out somewhat okay.  All brain imbalances aside, I can honestly say I am quite satisified with most things I have done.

In truth, the best part of my experiences has been the lessons imparted, one of the more important ones being, with apologies to tina turner, whats love got to do with it?  just as one chemical imbalance will make you want to kill your body, another one will convince you to kill your soul.  having swam in that cold pool for way too long, one might think that I would shudder to even stare at a glass of water, but even the best of us let ourselves get carried away, and I would certainly not say I am the best of us.

Singing Fool.

(Well now, lookit that! Even back then, singing, albeit poorly, could brighten my day. However, notice how the reactions, read: attention, colored my perception of how the evening went. I am certain if I had not heard and believed those things, the emo abyss of my life would have grown and swallowed any fun I could have had. I would like to further add that despite all the work I have put into singing, and improving, there is a distinct possibility that I did indeed sound good. It is very possible to lose natural muscle coordination when one over-thinks something that has always been routine. At any rate, I am glad for it, because I don’t think I would love and appreciate it half as much as I do now if I always had it)



September 30, 2005.

I cannot believe I actually sang in front of a crowd, I won a karaoke contest, and I was told I was quite good and I should sing in a band, and none of it was the least bit condescending,

so, I sang sober, teenage dirtbag, say it aint so, add it up, and pardon me, and apparently, it went well, it was quite thrilling, and I do think I will do it again.  So for the moment, I am quite happy with myself, it seems singing in cars is actually good practice.  american idol, here i come! yeah right.

Truthful Fiction.


( Once again, different entry, same idea. This kind of hell comes from years of swallowing down what you know is not right, and carrying on because you HAVE to, not because you WANT to. And again, age has afforded me further wisdom as far as knowing what I have to do, and what I do not have to do, who I have to be with, and who I do not have to be with, etc.)


September 28, 2005.

on a rickety stool, the man stands, precariously perched. the hemp snug against his trachea, he listens to the strains of bobby vinton coming from the other room ‘so lonely, Im so lonely’, perfect, he thinks, and his vision becomes clouded momentarily, he shakes his head quickly to clear the emotion, remembering that regret and shame will only prolong the process, necessitating another go at it, several days or months down the line, the first step to losing your nerve is thinking, he says to himself, and bobby vinton croons mournfully at him, goading him to take that final leap,

not just yet, he checks the tautness, understanding the difference between a swiftly broken neck, and slow strangulation, wanting to die, and wanting to die in agony are two different things, he thinks, and then he feels the slow creep of regret steal softly into his mind, would the oven have been better? he asks himself, he considered a gunshot, but realized the unsteadiness of his hands was more likely to cause serious injury, and the humiliation of waking up in a hospital bed would be too much to bear, all the questions, why? and how could you be so selfish? and the reprimands, you are a father, how could you? he closed his eyes, thought about his boys, held his breath, and heard a faint pop, it seems he would have help this time,

it all crashed down, and he crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap, defeated, but still breathing,


( I have decided to add some notes to the more disturbing entries. This one here being a prime example of such. It is the very first one, and what this should tell you is that I needed an outlet badly, and immediately. This entry, and any subsequent ones in this vein are primary examples of very deep, and very long lasting pain. Age has afforded me enough wisdom to know that I am way too much of a self-absorbed attention whore to ever purposefully pull it. The genesis of my blogging is right here, and not a moment too soon )



September 28, 2005.

being careful not to chip an already chipped tooth, I carefully inserted the cold barrel into my mouth, truly these things are quite heavy, television gives the illusion that somehow it is easy to handle steel, but in truth, it is awkward, and it makes one feel sillier by the moment.  not helping is the continous need to swallow the spit that constantly threatens to spill down your chin, readjust, careful to keep your thumb away from the trigger, lest you be taken by surprise, and spoil your ultimate moment.

the song plays softly in the background, ‘let the good times roll, oh, wont you let the good times roll’ and you wonder why you didn’t listen to the cars more often, it tastes terrible, and for a moment you worry about about germs, then laugh the laughter of the mad as you realize the ridiculous irony of such a concern.  suddenly the laughter becomes hot tears, and you wonder if the high emotion has somehow aided in raising the temperature of the salty fluid dripping down your face,

and in that instant, you place it softly on the floor, press the clip release, and cock the chamber to remove the last explosive pill.  unbidden, you recall the sharp pain, and shower of fireworks behind your eyes, then the numbness of an irresistable sleep, consciousness fading and the feeling of trying to hold it as one might try to hang on to a greased cliffside, you then remember, that was your dream, and without having felt it waking, you know that is what it will be like, unable to fullfill your own promise, you despair, only to find that you cannot run forever, it is one, or it is the other, and instead, you choose the other, and here you are.

half-heartedly, you seek to rebuild, and you find yourself sweating profusely, and often, and you wonder why your narrative keeps shifting perspectives, and you understand, as you always have, that there are two of you, and you wonder how to eliminate the stubborn one.

My sane self wishes that were fiction.

Moving sale.

For the next few days (weeks?), I will be transferring the ENTIRETY of my over 1000 myspace blog entries onto TWYL.

I will indicate these entries with their dates of posting.

Some of these are pretty motherfucking disturbing, and some of these are re-posts.

fair warning.

Box seats.

Honestly, I saw your pictures a little while,
I was there, and perhaps there, and maybe there,
Back when it mattered,
Back when I cared,

Do you think for a second,
That I will regret my go,
Even for a single moment,
By reading your crow?

Mejor solo, so they say,
I would have never believed it,
Pero veo bien,
And I see how shallow the gain,
When one claims to love in vain,

But good for you,

Remorse is an expensive item,
But priceless to those who lack it,
I don’t think I would put a price tag on it anyway,
Knowing damn well you would never pay,

I think I can read your mind,
Let me try,

-I want what I want, all the time,
and if I can’t have it, fuck what you want,
until the end of time-

Man, I hope they put on a good show,
Then go,
Because the price of admission,
Was not worth the lesson.

Dirty Bombs.

This website is in trouble.

For fucks sake.

Rough week doesn’t begin to describe this clusterfuck.

You know things aren’t going very well when even at work, you have your boss’s wife bashing a fence door open to grill you on his whereabouts.

Calgon, infiltrate my digestive tract and poison me slowly!

Oh wait….

Take me away? Rightttt, that’s it.

The water is just fine.

Big changes in my life always cause a lull in creative output, although the upside is that when it settles down again, I have a whole slew of ‘what the fucky’ goodness to dole out.

With that said, last night was a prime example of all sorts of ‘what the fucky-ness’.

More on that later.

For now, come in, take a look around, and enjoy some of the other blatherings I call ‘creative output’.