| Slippery Slopes |
[20 Dec 2006|04:36pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 curious |
] |
I am starving to death, but no one can feed me. My arms are tied behind my back and nothing sounds delicious. Nothing makes my mouth water. Everybody is so inspired. Everybody is an asshole. Road blocked, is me.
Brainfudge.
I'm in the belly of the whale, digestive fluids and rotting fish.
If the world were flat, I would jump. Seamonsters and the infinite abyss. Jackpot.
Cross your fingers so hard your bones break. God is dead.
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|
| Grandma always said... |
[31 Jul 2006|02:45pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 annoyed |
] |
You are what you eat and you are only as good as the company you keep. Chances are if you're hanging out with Adolf Hitler over a nice, chilled, bottle of champagne the two of you must have something in common.
I drink alone.
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| Independence. |
[06 Jul 2006|02:23pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Operation Iraqi Freedom |
] |
They say revenge is a dish best served cold, so we waited in the wings. Three hundred and sixty five days of refrigeration and finally it was time to serve. We set the table kindly not even knowing the day had arrived. Place your napkins gently in your laps and enjoy.
This is the start of a new decade. A new series of unfortunate events, I'm sure. Let's get this shit started with bloody knuckles and cold vendettas, just like we always have.
I wish everyone was on the same wavelength.
An eye for an eye. A broken jaw for a broken heart. All is fair in love and war and this is a heartfelt revolution. I remember the golden days... everyone gets punched in the face once and a while, especially when on enemy soil.
I remember fist fights and roof tops. I remember when the cops never got called by anyone except old ladies making noise complaints.
Everyone is an old lady now. Seattle is a fucking retirement home.
I came here to die.
I came here to steal from the rich and give to the poor.
Sit back, sip on some Rossi, and hear me loud and clear.
Prove to me that I am not surrounded by fucking geriatric assholes.
Nothing is sacred.
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|
| Holy ghost |
[30 May 2006|04:02pm] |
I am swollen and bruised up beyond repair. Internal bleeding. Some wounds never heal. Some of us will bleed to death. I have been keeping my eyes open for god. Searching for the holy spirit. I need some good news, can you tell me any?
Sometimes I feel like I will die alone or bored to death.
I fill my empty stomach with red wine and try to forget. The blood of christ was a well thought out gift. Sometimes the unknown may become unbearable, so bottoms up. I appreciate the compassion.
Is this all you have for me?
|
|
| Tigerbeater. |
[07 Mar 2006|07:18pm] |
Everything is backwards like I'm at a Kriss Kross concert or something. This city is a graveyard. I am laying flowers and mourning the deaths of all who have been lost. I'm next. Grey hair and a wilting spine. So dramatic.
Of course.
Everyone is a fucking asshole. I have cats and nothing better to do.
See you never. My door is locked.
|
|
| bullshit flows like wine |
[28 Feb 2006|08:32pm] |
There is no god and the world is ending. The world is ruled by Cruella Deville and puppies are dying everywhere. There is litter and shit and the destruction of the ozone layer. Polar ice caps are melting. Polar bears are dying. Everyone is hungry or addicted to crack. Right?
China. India. Harlem. Michigan.
It doesn't really matter. What do you want to do?
Have a drink because there is nothing to do. This is the way of things.
Death is mandatory.
Lint and lost socks.
At the end of the day, that's all you've got.
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|
| Electronic Deathwish. |
[09 Feb 2006|01:37pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 monster |
] |
The best part about bull shit is you can find it anywhere. This is the suck. Welcome to Viet Nam. Welcome to rapid machine gun fire and a high death count. Here is where I am.
I need a helmet. Some bullets. Some TNT.
Everything is more emotional than I mean. It's all hormones.
It's all Lifetime made for T.V. movies and I am not a fucking pussy.
NASCAR. Football. COPS. This is what I feel.
Fix the wiring. Everything is all wrong.
I bleed the truth.
|
|
| The beer flows like wine |
[07 Feb 2006|03:36pm] |
|
There is nothing to say in my defense. I am a free ramblin man. I sleep until noon, at least.
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| Bang. Wow. |
[16 Jan 2006|04:45pm] |
Sometimes life is a graveyard and you are buried up to your neck. You are gasping for air and worms are nipping at your toes. Thats when it is time to buy a gun and head north.
Bullets are cheap. Who shot JFK?
Happy Martin Luther King Day.
|
|
| Tripple dog dare. |
[25 Dec 2005|03:15am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Christmaster |
] |
I'm sick of tom foolery and back stabbery. I'm sick of the trenches.
I am being crushed. My back is breaking.
One vertabrae at a time. Crack, crack, crack.
Under pressure, but where do I stand?
It's all in your head, is what I say to myself late at night back to the ground while my nose points straight to the heavens. Maybe this is just a pipe dream.
Maybe I need some sleep. Some dinner. A nice warm bath, but
maybe I'm right.
Today a preacher man raised his hands to the sky and asked the question,
"What would Jesus do?"
Only god knows.
I want to shake hands with the holy spirit. Drunk, thanks to the blood of christ. Full, thanks to the body.
I want to fall asleep knowing.
Communioned.
Tell me anything.
|
|
| Next time you hang a man, take a good look at him. |
[15 Dec 2005|05:56pm] |
Everything hurts. Especially the throat.
Maybe the heart.
At least I have a job to go back to. At least I have good friends. At least I have good records and good drugs. Surgury doesn't have many upsides.
My life is about to change.
I can't eat. I can't sleep. I am a monster.
I want to live the life of John Wayne, so I will.
When this golden throat is healed, it will begin.
There will be Whiskey. There will be new tattoos. There will be solitude and Patsy Cline records.
There will be no more bull shit. No more Seattle.
No more heartache.
So give me a week. Heal me up right and send me off.
Have fun without me.
Sincerely,
Wasted.
|
|
| A hair of the dog that bit you |
[10 Dec 2005|08:53pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 sparkssparkssparks |
] |
Last night I wore a fancy dress. My nails were painted red and I drank pure whiskey from a plastic cup.
There were a lot of beats, and a lot of kids too cool for existance.
So we danced. Not me, exactly, but they. They danced.
Hours fly by when you know how to drink and I do, so I did.
Jennifer Hoover appeared. Three o clock in the morning and there was still more to be done.
More drugs. More music. More drinks.
We all fell asleep like babies. All over the ground.
Everywhere.
Cooing and drooling.
Party dresses and pretty earings.
I woke up to the hot sun and the russling of the morning paper. I was still drunk and Patsy Cline did the trick.
Sometimes you realize what life is all about.
I choose whiskey.
|
|
| Sincerely. |
[08 Dec 2005|11:29pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 sure. |
] |
Fashion and Theivery. Always drinking. Always stealing.
My tonsils are spending their last few days in my throat drenched in alcohol.
These are the days of our lives
and we are wasting them away.
|
|
| But wait, |
[03 Dec 2005|11:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Sincerely, |
] |
Life is shaped like Portugal. A big turd.
I want to go to the hospital, just because I am confused.
I don't even know where I am right now.
This city is an elephant graveyard. I want a fat lip and a cold drink.
Call it a night.
|
|
| Liche Liche |
[21 Nov 2005|02:54pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 cowboy boots |
] |
Today Mayleea and I ventured to the top of the rainforest. We zipped down 600 foot high zip cords through the tree´s. Tucans and sloths beware. We traveled at speeds of 40 miles per hour and got to wear cool helmets and gloves.
May puked, so I called her a wuss, but it turns out she has food poisoning. It´s hard to recieve medical attention when you speak no spanish and you don´t even know where you are.
Costa Rica is full of adventure, dirty water, and stray dogs. The dogs are hungry and I name them all Pepe Lucho.
There are no clocks here and no telephoñes, just lots of latin shakedowns and the occaisional 50 cent. The only television channel in english is E! True Hollywood. Want to know who´s hot and who´s not?
Ask me.
|
|
| Destination : Costa Rica |
[19 Nov 2005|10:43pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Poison dart frogs, |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
daviddaviddavid |
] |
We are in Costa Rica, but it was no easy task. May puked up here breakfast burrito on the plane and the altitude was way too high for my comfort. We made perverted mad libs and listened to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on a stolen $50 book on tape. The DaVinci Code was too serious, so we were convinced it was a comedy.
We arrived safe and sound, barely and almost lost our luggage, due to a tiny Burger King detour.
Mayleea probably tipped our cab driver a thousand dollars. We dont understand the currency here quite yet, but we do understand hammocks, and they are everywhere.
This is a tropical paradise, full of toothless teenagers and a three foot deep swimming pool.
Viva Los Costa Rica!
See you in seven days, if I make it out of the Rainforest alive.
|
|
| Death is soon. |
[17 Sep 2005|05:46pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 I am the death |
] |
I found an entire case of 211 on the ground the other day. The can's were dented as though they had survived a brutal attack. Dropped and strewn across the sidewalk.
Some may say I'm a scavenger, I prefer hunter.
Now they are all in the belly of another man and I am still thirsty, but that is the way of the world.
Pillaging can happen even when you least expect it.
I stole from the poor. Who else would be lugging a giant case of Steele Reserve through the dark streets of downtown Seattle on a Thursday evening?
Not some business man with a well paying job on his way home from a long day at the office. No way. That guy dropped off at the corner store to pick up a nice case of Fat Tire. Something classy to dent his $100,000 a year salary.
He will drink it and watch the evening news. He will loosen his tie and relax.
All I want to do is relax. Seattle is a battle field.
I hate pornography. I hate attention. I don't enjoy looking cute in unfomfortable shoes.
I was born to walk alone. I was born to walk with a belly full of cheap beer in a pair of dirty old shoes.
Who are all these people? I don't know anyone.
I've got clenched fists, and red cheeks.
What do you have?
|
|
| Rape is realistic. |
[07 Sep 2005|02:11am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Chach |
] |
No one let's me listen to Kelly Clarkson. So what.
I'm drinking. Three different liquors in one tall glass.
I call it suicide. You can call it carnage.
And then I choked her.
Can we please listen to Kelly Clarkson?
|
|
| Hated by all and to all a good night. |
[22 Aug 2005|09:04pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 seven |
] |
I am a third grader at heart.
I still play kick ball. I go swimming in dirty lakes as much as possible. I am a firm believer in the ten second rule. I have scraped up shins from riding my bike too fast. No brakes. No mercy.
I have no cartilidge left in my knee because I decided skateboarding was more important than safety.
I am not responsible. I pick up worms when I see them on the sidewalk.
I play video games like it was my religion.
I never wash my hands. I pick up pennies off the ground when they are heads up. For good luck.
I knock on wood and kiss the roof of the car when it speeds through a yellow light.
Thundercats is still my favorite show.
By no means am I a grown up.
Who cares?
I don't even wear socks.
Call me immature like it was my god given name.
Nineteen years young.
Love it.
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