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i will laugh right in the face of the poison moon [entries|friends|calendar]
candied-cain and break-abel

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no subject [25 Apr 2004|10:12am]
[ mood | bored for weeks ]

no event

no connections

no things personal
no extraodinary spark that would leave me to believe collective traits exist that could be at the very least interpreted as something more than useless, something more than nothing something more than nothing something more than nothing something more than nothing
i want a different translation
or a different chapter
in a different book
in a different genre

or a different form of communication

i don't care about the details
the characters have no interest to me
and the plot is meaningless


and now that you've talked about thinking about slitting your wrist,
finished every last fucking book about some fucked up kid
and convinced all your friends you related to him
middleamerica has sent you your plaque for emo-streetcred
now you are just as boring as your image is trite
but
i did like the way your fingers twitched
that time in my room you held his gun to your head
(nail polish hitting the white light just right)
you should've... you'd be a lot more interesting

but, as always, the problem is symmetry

2 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[21 Apr 2004|09:24pm]
i've been thinking alot lately... not about anything important or anything cool... but, maybe... i can't remember... i wonder what it feels like to kill someone...

party saturday, bring your friends and tell them to bring their friends

when i died i woke up
and did something a bit different
read something that wasn't the same
did a drug i didn't do last time
so now i know it all
?from experience?
bought this dildo... "a priori extreme II" TM
i use it to stir the vodka into electric yeast infections
and i made a waterbong out of the original directions
and then i died and i woke up
and wrote this poem and went to the nakedhouse
and made a proudhon-statue with dejavupapermache
just to create phucart and blow it the fuck away
then i killed the president and he woke up
and castrated his fawder with sharpened lincoln logs
1 gunshot|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[27 Feb 2004|05:27pm]
!!party tonight!!

...in other news...
the ted kennedys make their first song...

this is not the lovecats
and we are not the cure
lovecats make andrew sneeze
and they shit on patrick's floor
....
we hate the fucking lovecats
we also hate thom yorke
lovecats get stoned at our house
and they bend up all our forks
....
we stand out on the porch
we smoke and we talk shit
while the lovecats eat our goddamn food
and we act OK with it
....
and on... tis a wonderful song (i forget most of it)

...in other news...

reality executives making first appearence in folioweekly...
how cool

i am working at the bunnery... you come say hello to me...now.
2 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[23 Feb 2004|02:20pm]
we can all stop talking about this goodslashbad shit
there is a lot more and you should honestly kill me if you have something to say because this is getting too fucking formal and setting off landmind sequence of deteriorating emotions syntax junkies on tvsitcomnews shitcummuse sitting in on cause we knew cause we read the books and watched the news and once filled up electroshock churchouse pews and heard landmind sequences of deformed epiphanies and sitcom beliefs while we sat in on your daily psychiatric sessions and the artist's rendition that will be lost in translation or forgotten with sensation or disregarded with all the psychotic incantations fueled with garbling mental masturbation of internal cocks shooting fashionjism which we won't mention because the words are too close to fascism which we only detest because we read the books and watched the news that told us the beliefs to use and the prescriptions to abuse and now all we can do is sit around and wait for this goddamn emotional fever to break or for a drunk girls virginity for us to take or a false poppersona for us to fake or for christ to show up with vicodin and very eager to rake the mental backyard of landmindsequencemo leaves it'll be a best seller

she walks in the door and if she comes over here...
whatever is done from anything occurs beyond good and evil
i wouldn't worry too much about love
i will kill you first
5 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

mwahaha [19 Feb 2004|06:15pm]
:-)
we're going to play a game



andrew is going to see how quickly he can ruin his future
and the rest of us are going to go out to lunch and talk about it

watch
i shall be approved for plasteek destruction
watch
i shalln't dress like "a bible salesman" 4 days a week
watch
i shall be armed
watch
it shall be fun
watch
you fuck-o

:-)
3 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[15 Feb 2004|02:16pm]
i'm sick for the second week in a row.. i am going to the fucking hospital tomorrow... blah.
say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[02 Feb 2004|04:47pm]
oh fuck life...
i was hoping to postpone that until wednesday
i am a piece of shit
you have no idea
2 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[02 Feb 2004|01:41pm]
woke up at five am for work
you were in a bad mood
i have to go to class in a few minutes
and he might be confusing and we might be bored
and tomorrow at school you will wonder
where i was on thursday
i was hanging out with him and then
perfection occurred that night
with you
because on wednesday night she upset me
and i confused her
and in two days i have a test and at night
she will want to know what is up
and when i see you sometime this week
i will fight back if you give me shit
and when i see you next
i'll be happy
we are having a meeting tonight to discuss it
blah blah blah
sorry
i got in a fight with formal words
and started making out with pronouns
because they were a better kisser
just to confuse you and him and she and we and it
is
nice
to be passive when you chew
and stay up watching films that are not there
because it is easier then that other thing
that we won't mention because he/she knows who
it/me is reffering to when i in the third
cheated on syntax because i in the second thought he was seeing other people, mainly her...you(, know[optional])...
isn't it fun
to just get by
and smile because
it is easier than
(to vague for words)

hmm.

fill me up at the sewing club
and please tell me how it feels
when i dice yer throat
cause you were mincing words
while cliche kept the camera rolling
and stole the trophy from your rag-doll lips
for the best snuff film in the last few weeks
2 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[26 Jan 2004|02:36pm]
when you have nothing better to do but think for a few hours and figure out what you really want...

ain't that a kick in the head?

i am going to make a movie
i am going to blow something up
i am going to run away

maybe not in that order...
4 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

gonna step up, step up, step right up... i'm never ever never ever comin home [15 Jan 2004|03:45pm]
my house is good
perhaps a party sunday night?
i do think so.














(it's all as fake as they come:burn my eyes like a sunset gun)
4 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

what made you think i cared about why it is that salt dissolves to easily in water [10 Jan 2004|09:27am]
blah
face hurts
like dirty acid and too much water
doodoododooo

why do all the statues have such big venom eyes
and such round faces with morphined teacup-lips
you need to feed me an injection for this weather change
for the burning sadism, napalm manipulation, jaded vindication
so we can sit in a pleasant state of utter perturbation
us cardboard boxes in this plastic world

and why the fuck do i feel like such
a stranger in the house of perdition
why am i not yet use to the deviant curtains
who fuck me thru smiles
and the passive-aggressive knives,
whispering seductively
as i shuffle past dead linoleum
on this suicide day

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<funny?..>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

blah
face hurts
like dirty acid and too much water
doodoododooo

why do all the statues have such big venom eyes
and such round faces with morphined teacup-lips
you need to feed me an injection for this weather change
for the burning sadism, napalm manipulation, jaded vindication
so we can sit in a pleasant state of utter perturbation
us cardboard boxes in this plastic world

and why the <i>fuck</i> do i feel like such
a stranger in the house of perdition
why am i not yet use to the deviant curtains
who fuck me thru smiles
and the passive-aggressive knives,
whispering seductively
as i shuffle past dead linoleum
on this suicide day

<b><funny?.. now i know funny AND THAT IS FUCKIN LAUGHIN></b>



(why do you hate me so much
cause of what she did
when she could barely stand
and much less care to try
to think)
6 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[01 Jan 2004|03:56pm]
i have nothing to say actually... i got my own house with lucy... but i am not sleeping there. post-alcohol induced articulation deficiency. happens... life is tuff all around. too\tjh

(a haiku)
we all live in the crazy house
and there are plenty of places
to go to sleep.
(end haiku)

(an essay)
carter scoots about
and travis wants to colour
the anus picture
(end essay)

there was an index nobber in my hand
it was very upsetting
and some face is looking over my shoulder
and some mouth speaks of abraham.

we all live in the crazy house
and there are plenty of places
to go to sleep.

i have a difficult time writing now. my hands do not work. i shall be getting a cell phoner s-]aew;nlka;onadspnODIS m

fuck.
3 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[11 Dec 2003|12:46pm]
your parents are mean and the schools are corrupt. start abusing drugs at a young age. be sure to get caught after a few months; your parents will yell and you will want to explode. put on your coat and take a walk – don’t have a destination. see your breath, think about things unrelated... like february, and how people die in february, and how it has more days this year than last... like the years are getting longer, life drags, you want to grow up... you want your youth to fade away with the sun like a dream at dawn. a stranger will slow down (breaks squeak). he will ask if you want a ride. look bored, blink like your tired. get in the car, he does have candy.

the rest of your life will be like a dream. When he rapes your young body you will cry. You will bleed a lot, you have never done this. keep crying... he will look at you with those pretty green eyes of his and pet your little head with his blood-stained hand, this is your blood: you made a mess. You will feel like a small animal who got hit by a car. Look into those eyes and stop crying, just sniffle sporadically but don't overdue it... we don't need no melodrama. don’t smile... remember, you only smile for cameras and mirrors.

when he stabs you, he will stab hard and it will hurt a lot... he has to break through your chest plate. you will taste blood, but it isn’t like the blood drying to your bruised legs, and it isn’t like the blood from when you slashed your wrists last year... it tasted wrong... it is death blood... you are going to die.

and when you will see bright lights, you will think it is heaven. it isn’t, dear child, tis only your retinas burning.

---------------------------------------------------

and my life becomes confusing once again... damnit
fuck with me and i’ll dig yer grave

you know... i'll dig it with the sole purpose of placing your body into it... your dead body... because i will kill you probably... get it?.. be threatened... GRARRRRR (unneccesary amount of exclamation points)
6 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

a dreaded sunny day... [24 Nov 2003|08:34am]
yeah... what a nice weekend i had.

the room spinning and managing to see about 30 people in my fucking living room. more parties this week? anybody know? bleeding lip with too much swelling...christ... all the drunken writings on my walls and posters... i have this huge bruise that starts on my shoulder and moves up to my neck and carpet burns on my elbow. i have to go see if my leg is broken today... after walking on it for a while... quite a bit of injury this weekend... and i dig. thank you everybody (who was invited) for coming...
2 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

[17 Nov 2003|07:54pm]
damn, fucked up shit in words up in my life
we ain't got no more painkillers for the ride home either
party at my house friday night 10:three0 pm
(i'm a fag, boy, what the hell am i doin here?)

pigface sunday - fuck curse m
7 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

whatcha gonna do when the novelty is gone? [10 Nov 2003|04:14pm]
this weekend was absolutely fabulous and somehow liberating. suspiria, swans, alcohol, badass people and a few hours of utter confusion. i felt so connected to so many people for the first time in a while. thank you to all who helped. i love you all and think we need to fuck shit up more often (tonight? Neil’s? what are we all doing). travis, you are such a badass. amanda and all the people over there, you are wonderful and i hope we see more of each other. and as for lucy and ashley, i love you more than you know... thanks for being so fucking wonderful... we need to hang out more if that is at all possible.

so, talked to people who matter about apartments... how reassuring that this is going to happen (so, by january, i shall be able to stay the night and not roll around on the ground and whine).

it is cold and raining outside... i have many new sweaters... i love this town.

matt grecko (about two weeks ago):
"if i could go back and do my senior year over... i would drink more alcohol, smoke more weed, and do more pills because (pause) drugs equals cool."
1 gunshot|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

i'll turn the light out now cause there's nothing more to see [04 Nov 2003|04:06pm]
and it's all been lost before so there's nothing to lose


well, damn i am in a pissy mood. not in a bad mood tho.
read at that open mic night thing at that coffee house... twas nice. umm... shit... i have nothing to say.

three 14yr olds approached me and wanted to know what marquis de sade's justine was about... and then made jokes about me raping them... and then we got in trouble with the police.

cafe 11 kicked josh and me out the other day... and, even tho i decided i wasn't going back, i did... my pretend obsession is working there again... portishead ripoff band and some other decent band with shite vocals...

am seeing kill bill tonight with patrick and some random neurotic fuck named andrew with a large vocabulary who doesn't like sacrilegious jokes and doesn't dig girls too much and isn't a huge fan of homosexuality but is fine with homosex...if that makes sense... this kid is sketchy as hell.

there are many bad things in this world.
4 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

this is macabre, muthafucker. [13 Oct 2003|08:17pm]
well... haven't updated in a while. i'm doing fucking amazing if anyone cares. i got an idea the other day and it was the first time that i felt like i could write something longer than 20 pages... yes... novel-ish sort of thing. i hope.

ok... on a different note.

i hung out with josh the other day and had a six hour long conversation with him... twas amazing. he said something to me that i never really realized before. we were talking about the beat generation and i said that i wish i had been around then... when something was going on. he said "well... nothing was going on in the fifties either... it was just a junkie, a queer, and a crazy all-american columbia university student sitting in a coffee house writing poems to each other."

he's right... later on that night i was thinking about this and i realized that the main reason i wanted to live in san francisco or new york city was because it was the mecca for a literary and cultural revolution that happened fifty fucking years ago. sure, they have cool shops and record stores and obscenely large investment banking headquarters and expensive department stores... but who the fuck cares?

then, a few days after i started writing this piece of literature... i was talking to this kid named patrick... who lucy and i determined he was the only person doing something with this town... one of the only genius people who wasn't waiting til he had the money just so he could leave. the only important thing, to me, that he said, really, was that there is so much talent that is being hidden in this town. it isn't going to waste, it is just lying dormant it seems.. working in coffee shops in the outlet mall and behind a counter and just sitting about waiting to leave so it can do something... i am making a generalization and i don't really care.

i wan't to buy a building and turn it into a movie theatre... and show independent films and old underground horror, psychotic, surreal films. and i want the building to have a room and have art shows and i think i can do better than living off the glory of a half-century old flow of talent. and i think a lot of us can as well. there is talent here in this town and i hope that it shows it's face.

and it fucking better
12 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

fuck [02 Oct 2003|08:35pm]
[ mood | heartbroken ]

so, my computer is no longer working... the virus has taken over and left me with a broken heart... so, i am at this little school playground without any aim in my life... so sorry, i do have a phone tho and that is good. call me... i shall have my computer working as soon as possible... (now there is no reason to go home at all... well... jesus)

3 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

Love: Defined... With Festering Psychosis [30 Sep 2003|12:22am]
He stared over the mutilated corpse and shifted his gray eyes to the blonde staring up at him with eager eyes.
“I really wish you would stop falling in love with so many other boys" He said, almost ambiguously.
She leapt up and kissed his cheek. "I love you," she whispered with a natural smile.


i'm all about these 55 words or less stories.. kind of like haikus... only less dumb.
6 gunshots|say what again, muthafucka, i dare you

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