a little life, alot of death (i want to be known for my hits not my mrs.)

i should probably not be typing in this mood. i wish there was a lock on the keyboard. it is too enthralling in a state like this. just like all of this has always been. the world around me has changed as if overnight. "for someone so smart you are acting pretty stupid". i cant focus on but like three thoughts in my head but i am compeltely wrapped in them. they keep me warm at night. i pray for something to crash into me and smash me back to something more simple. i pray for fistfights so i cant be knocked out and wake up in the e.r. i wish for disaster so i can be razed. im telling you if i could do any of it again, im pretty sure i wouldnt.
fuck your life under the microscope.
fuck your conclusions.
you have no idea.
it never got me anywhere but here.
over and over again.
every single time.
i wish for five months ago. and not in the way you would imagine either. "you are unfixable". my eyes are washed out but they dont feel clean. they are strong you know not the athletic type, but could definitely used to carrying heavy bags. im guessing in any real light i will delete this, apologies in advance. whatever caption is written next to the picture is the exact opposite of me. i am mapless. you are caught. lets go out and get forgotten.

bad news travels fast. and i am the worst of it.

i will always remember the day i met you.

"leave you feelings in your heart boy".

we used to talk on the phone every single day (nooneknowshowitreallygoes).

its strange the way people will window shop on your life or score it for style and grace.
my personality and everything about me is just a carefully constructed collage of magazine articles and flashy pictures.
i am (not) real.

sometimes the days spent all by myself in my head are the scariest.
its enough to make you want to pack it up and call it a day.
all i can do is read and write and wait.

ihavecodedmessagesforyou.aretheygettingthrough.

the last thing i think of before i fall asleep and the first thing i think of when i wake

regardless of what stars i end up under- for the best and for the worst- you have made me who i am. and i try to make myself more decent and better only because of you.


haveanicelife

sex and the city (the part theyll never tell you)

its strange here this time of year. because the weather never changes.
it is always summer here. so it doesnt feel like the same desperate love of these three pages on the calander. or at least not what i am used to.
sometimes the worst wishes are the ones that come true.
yellow and white lines to the coast.
you can learn to love anything if its around enough.
some people learn to love their mistakes.
shakes hands. "thank you, our time is up".
what keeps you coming back?
i got a long rap sheet.
(the statute of limitations is running out on you pretty fast).
the powders wet. the sparks arent coming.
the hammer isnt hitting. its spinning.
you can learn to love anything.

my phone cuts out in the same place every single day ("the gospel of gossip").

dear 310,
you can truly think yourself to pieces.
writing too fast for you to keep up.
and why would you want to anyway?
true oranges and sedated blues.
or is it the other way around?
i am millers paris. she is always humming. i hate it.
i wish for autumn. i am always thinking of breath in the air and leaves burning somewhere. somehow i attatch it to feeling okay.
in a running home from school kind of way.
just as easily as you run away from your problems, you can run home to them.
moodswings have kind of become protocol around here. like something you have to cross off of a checklist and then have your supervisor sign.
there isnt enough breeze in the suburbs tonight.
i imagine them to be like italy sixty years ago, only with less flamboyance and wider streets.my head is sticking to the pillow like sleep doesnt want to let me go.
writing alot lately. its like i always just want to mean something, something more than me.
its getting old.
i want to be more.
you make me want to be more.
to be shot out into space or to discover a cure to something terrible.
you cant denie, there is something nice about chicago. calming.
where your waiter is just your waiter and the doorguy is just the doorguy. not the place where everyone wants to be something they're not.
not as thought it matters but it feels safer.
she looks at me like she knows how fragile i am.
but i, we, all have inside of us continents like he said. vast and lush. full of guns and loves.
like the two were different by definition.
but they are the same. linked if only by the way that you will always remember your first ones.
then she said, "many african cultures dont believe in the concept of future".

fuck your futures.

friends that lay together, stay together or how the thoughts in my head go, unfiltered.

forgive me for not showing more remorse- apologies were never really my thing- outside of feeling sorry for myself. the last nail in your coffin got stuck in the mail. youre gonna have to wait. until then focus on love below the waist. they say your head can be a prison- consider this a conjugal visit. my dad calls girls he dated back in highschool "old flames"- like it makes them feel better in his own head. he always asks my mother if "he's still got it?" but would anyone answer this question with a "no", like ever in history? its like i can't think of myself getting older without thinking about the way my father is 30 years older than me. theres not much that terrifies me more.

if i ever freely gave out the details of any of these events- theyd fucking lock me up and throw away the key. but thats okay as long as the place has 24 hour room service and a stocked mini bar.

everything everwhere is a roll of the dice. and the best way to make it through life with hearts and wrists intact is to realize "two out of three aint so bad". except when you throw a hail mary and its not caught. dont bet it all on anyone, ever, except yourself.

ive got alot of "Friends" but only two or three friends. you wouldnt like me if you saw the inside of my head but you might love me anyway.

everyone sends everyone the same lyrics as though they were written exactly for their hearts. but they werent. they were written because someone had a mortgage to pay.

noone owes me anything. no empathy or truth, little trinkets or kind words. at the end of the day im just a boy. and i know that. im okay with that.

she is a STARVINGmakeupARTIST. we exchanged sloppy kisses in the rain until i realized that she was only in it for the rain.


"tell the world to leave me the fuck alone, ie "please find me a home"..."

im pretty much just a lawyer with the way im always trying to get you off

i dont mean to have you worried or troubled. its the last thing i want. never take anything i ever say too seriously. youd need a search party to track my moods. who knows where they went? i guess this doesnt make sense. but in some strange way this is me saying thank you for always being there on the other side of this monitor.

i am watching reality bites right now.

the most exceptional thing about you is how ordinary you believe you are.

i want to be kept.
i am a bull.
she is a china shop.

the fraternal order of the handsome boy.

ive been watching you from afar
my breath on the inside window as you walk in from the car
candy caned lies in red and white against clashing patterns bending in and out of understanding.
"youre the stranger ive been dreaming of", stranger than any ive ever known.
love through a telescopic lens. when the air is clear i can see how perfect you are for me.
late at night when the city sleeps i cast a spell on you
to make you think of me the very same way i think of you.
i only love how the words feel in my head when i write them.
fireworks over the valley. how can i tell you i gut people for a living.
that everything you say is likely to end up as evidence when i rewrite history.
over and over again.
how everything you do reminds me of something else, someone else.
how im humble and arrogant at the same time,
chased and never caught.
that i just want to stay up late and wake up early to talk to you.
that i want to show you all of my jealousy and insecurity and have you not care.
youre like a light switch and i just want to turn you on and watch them all shrink away.
the words come out of my fingertips on impulse. it is instinct. my head cant keep up.
i envy the comatose. i admire the bedridden.
i am addicted to the way i feel when i think of you.

"im blowing smoke rings around the moon...."

i wish i was the exact opposite of how the world knows me.