the end isnt here nor is it near. this isnt the end, this is just the beginning

i have never been more awake in my life.

do you ever get the feeling that you cant swim but are about to be thrown in the deep end.


and in some pavlovian kind of way you will tread water.
beautiful.
you will doggie paddle.


instead of sinking to the bottom like a brick...

you will become an island.

become you.

you will grow. white sands.

one day people will sit on them in the shade of trees and think the same thoughts.

this is the only thing i have ever been truly sure of.

"its scientifically proven that humans favorite word is their own names..."

can we keep this one just between you and me?

to you. to the old me. to the new me. the knew me:

Everyone thinks that they're special. That their chip was programmed different. That their antenna picks up some other sattellite. And were right and were wrong. Were not as leaky and broken as wed like to think. Were not bob. we're not kurt. But this doesn't mean we don't have insight and perspective that are completely blurry through the camera of the world. We just need to practice our focus. Make things a bit sharper. That's what I'm doing. Practicing.

Be like your ipod. Put your life on shuffle.

pain as much from the stars and black cats as from childhood. big star states spit big stars. chew 36 times exactly before you swallow your pride. you know how it goes? i want to chase the midnight glow in my veins. how do i get as big as that star on your state so youll pay attention to me. smash that glass bowl on the floor and get our keys. lets drive to another state or to mexico and watch the old men drunk on watered down beer- laugh about the way we used to be even though were still exactly the same. where do we begin? lonely spiders under our skin, regail us with tales of young love in the bottom of bottles defended by crocodile scales.

this place can spin boring. slow and steady. it can storm and scare you. wars and famine. but everyonce in awhile the planets align and it can charm you. make you not wish you were other people, but hope you get the chance to know them so they can know you too. make you not hate the delay at the airport but get to know that your friend on the phone is gonna be able to finish the whole 3am story he was skipping through for you.

essentially life is a public laundrymat. i do my dirty laundry in front of you. and you let me know if there are any stains left. sometimes we connect with eachothers stains and just wear them like badges shining in the sun.

this is us wishing we were you wishing you were us.
neverending.

thank you for being steady. for never getting sick at sea.

im putting me back on shuffle.

a note i wrote on a napkin in my house a month ago (therumormillstone)

voted boy most likely to match the bpm
got a pumpkin moon smile dont ever listen to them
my head is a pinata
beat it open and watch the bad ideas fall like candy
im the sweettooth for the dental truth
hiccuping solar flares at hampton stares

a whos who
of whos not
alphadog
omegalomaniac

slow dancing in a bathroom stall.

this is me.

disarmed.

dreaming of the east coast

i'll be leaving this city pretty soon. too soon or just soon enough i havent yet decided. late tonight the moonlight carved its way into my room as though it was light as day. i was sitting here reading kerouac but not a story, just his journals- him writing about writing. i need an adventure. i need the open road. i need the daily diner and nightly motel life. i need to hear your stories. to hear you. or else this is all worthless. a house filled with things that dont matter.

icantwaittogetalive.

you can have it all, my empire of dirt

i was told a tour story of bob dylan--how when you were in his crew on the road with him. when he had his hood up it meant you couldnt talk to him and when he didnt you could. it kind of made me laugh in some strange way.

but mostly it made me think.

catchin z's like they're a trend

i am a time capsule.
give me some bit of truth and i will show it back to you on your deathbed.
my eyes are always rubbed red.
every new lark has been designed to perfection- down to the wide-eyed wonder.
everything else is wrecked and broken down on the side of the road, and thats if im lucky.
lets dance the tarantella until the morning light comes round and i can see more clearly.


im always up until it gets light out. waiting.
for something that never happens.

im leaving on a jet plane, dont know when ill be back again...

when i was younger, alot younger, i went through a phase where i used to carry a letter filled with words i have never told anyone. maybe one day ill get some courage and a stamp.

love the ruiner of hearts.

sometimes the past seems too big for the present to hold.

i get bright ideas in dark rooms
red rooster combs on our head
we are galaxies
a catipillar that got stuck
mr moth come quick with any luck
long walk in a dark house
a roman candle heart
keep us far apart

this is all too reminiscent of things past
every bridge starts to look the same
when they are just blackened piles of rubble
this is deja vu personified.

all full of love so much that my teeth are floating.

now.

the oxidation of Joan of Arc.

the mind drinks less and less.
impatience.
highways full of crowds going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, nowhere.
The gasoline refugee.
Towns turn into motels,
people in nomadic surges from place to place,
following the moon tides,
living tonight in the room where you slept this noon and I the night before.

part two (i forget so much of what i write its beginning to scare me).

hes a lonely planet
dont stir and wake
everythings ok
give or take
the cats got the canary spinning in its ribcage
did i mention i came dressed for the intervention
(and if you were dying soon would you try to find snow in the deep summer
the june bugs dancing in wonder
and i still wonder now
if my words will stil turn you inside out)
hes a honeyjar
with that pretty face, lets never lose the lid
and keep those rosey lips in
(he breathes wet through insect eyes)
in multiples of four, no less than sixteen
mr. sandmans been showing his beam
when he walks into a room the walls lean in to listen
keep a calendar this way youll know the last time you came through
oh.
"i know what youre going through"
well i dont- its more of a "paper or plastic" grocery store choice to me
but ill sympathize with anything to get through to you
do you know what its like to watch reruns of yourself night after night
to offer nothing and expect everything in return
to cock your head just right to appear arrogantly humble
if we hurry well make the morning edition
cos everybody likes to read the bad news
theyve tapped the phone be very careful what you say
speak in code about singing birds and sleepy eyed women
his heads a junkyard for rusted midnight thoughts
hes criminally carefree
when the pills swallow the worry
hes digging like forty nine
hes making you press rewind
hes a thunderstorm so bright you shut your eyes
he is a hurricane

honestly, afraid. i cant ever sleep either.

Put the the planets in swing
Make jupiter sing
The afternoon light
Ignites
The back of my head
Spend years trying to cloud our head and not feel a thing
Just to turn around and erase the clouds so we can remember everything
Throw handcuffs on that boy
When the check comes he never pays
His cheekbones carve my moods
He shakes like a leaf
He's clicking like an old answering machine
He howls at the moon
He's breathes wet thru insect eyes
Canyon lights at night chase away the boring days

And I don't worry about death because I've seen the date I'm gonna die and its so far away.

Try lying for a change, it's the currency of the world.

its oddly haunting the way that sometimes entries from a year ago can reflect perfectly how i feel today.
its like an echo sent out over the weeks and months and pages of the calendar.
not always but sometimes.

a few weeks ago i considered mentioning the fact that while i once wrote "every new years is worse than the last" i didnt feel that way anymore
oh eight had broken the january curse
now im glad i didnt
cuz i realized it might not have
it may have just pushed it back a month
or extended it, depending on how this all looks on play-back

i find it a bit odd to be waiting for retrospect

its easy to get older not so much wiser

the light splashes in and out. its almost violent. everything rational inside of me tells me that its the dull white of a voicemail. but my eyes are playing tricks on me. i see it purple textured velvet. the tv is blaring whatever. i can see light is sneaking in the cracks everywhere of this house. like vermin. take a vote, the eyes have it. there is too much space here. between me and everything else in this room. i wish i had a habit bad or not just to pass the time.

cantsleepcantsleepcantsleep

nothing lasts forever, except the earth and sky.
i should have become a farmer.

everything real in love and life comes without batteries included

The world is your oyster, what does that mean? That I'm just grinding sand waiting to be sucked down by box dye blondes and chased with hynotik. .... dumb-luck, but there's no such thing as smart luck. Happy as a clam but how happy can clams be? Dreaming of being steamed or robbed of their only worldly possession, pearls, sounds like a total soccer mom fantasy- only with upscale spas and mugger fantasies. I am a starfish waiting to regenerate a point. Till then, I am kind of pointless. I got a bad rap for not caring but I still pay my dues and wear my seat-belt in front seats- though I'm considering changes. I am a fixer-upper. Feeling the buzz but too far off the hive for any of the other bees to get it. And man I gotta tell you, the years are like friends in your childhood. They stop being so friendly. They only want to reminisce. And no matter what they keep moving and changing you whether you want them to or not. Drive, fuck, and sleep safe. I'd like to know that you awaken in the morning with out a headache or blurry eyes. Love is in the air, just get ourselves the right equipment to grab it. Its like moths headed for the brightest light, which aint me. But I'm ready to sweat and run and get there. And just cause you got a scar on your wrist or a charcoal stomach, were supposed to get eachother? Cause I don't really even get me. I'm too busy calling everyone else crazy- in these late slurred debates on how everyone else is not exactly like us- to worry about you calling me crazy. Tho all the other rhymes for crazy work on me lazy, hazy, etc.

notes on change.

i hate explaining my own interpretations to people. id rather you come up with your own- but this one seems to be pretty glaring....

there is a distinct difference between the idea "seasons change, but people dont" and the idea "everyone changes". this difference is simply the connotations of the two. in the former: the idea is brought forth that there are certain parts of you that are inherently there. forever. whether they are a part of your DNA or how you were raised- they are so deep and solidly rooted they cannot change. to me these are your ideals, your morality, your internal monologue. they remain constant though are defined differently as your mind and heart mature. to simplify, people who are kind have something switched on within them that will not change. on the other extreme malicious people will always be malicious. not to say there isnt gray area between the two- where someone who is kind can act maliciously and vice versa. obviously there are more rare examples where something can impact someone in such a tremendous way that it will cause a deep change in them. these remain constant through celebrity, through tragedy, through happiness, through loss. i can feel certain things in myself and ways that i know i will always feel- no matter what else changes around me. if you read my actual diary entries from when i was 12 to now, while the language and subject matter has changed- and hopefully has gotten a bit better. my subconscious impacting me and my decisions seems to remain faithful. however, what was meant by the latter "everyone changes, i used to be tiny", is the idea of growing up. honestly, i am not who i was a year ago or 3 years ago or 10 years ago. i think i would hate myself if i never changed. this is an experiment more than anything. if new cultures, people, and art didnt impact me and change me than this would be fraudulent. i hope most of these changes are for the better, though i know i am human and make mistakes. sometimes i turn right when i should have turned left. but anything you loved or hated about me from the beginning have not changed- these are the things that make us each different from each other and either magnetize or polarize from others.

the lemon generation.

been watching Freaks and Geeks lately, that old tv show from the late 90's
for some reason it makes me nostalgic for a life i didnt even have.
does that make any sense?
its like deja vu
except for nostalgia.

is it possible to be homesick for a place that doesnt exist?

closer to godliness than cleanliness could ever hope to be

'fucked-up' and 'family' both start with 'f' for good reason
yet i feel right at home
maybe family is only family if everyone else is as fucked up as you are.

have you ever wanted to disappear and join a monastery-
go out and preach on manic street

fuck is my favorite word.
it really applies to everything.

salinger and pynchon

been in a shy world lately. though there have been thoughts picking at my mind like it was a lock.

intellectual property be damned.

death is a circle
that keeps closing in on all my friends
hit the brakes
dodge the bends
"gum drops and chimney tops"
this is the minutia of city flats
i want to paint the sun on my wings
than you can have it back
hell is having your choice of anyone or anything
this band that plays just for you
singing "fuck you" turnpike blues
spiritual mediums just scratching
at dull sentimental backs
declawed memory itches
break your leg in the generational gap
wells vomit childhood wishes
the midas touch in reverse
and could it get worse
the crabapple doesnt fall far from the tree
tin man syndrome
you got big dreams, watch me break them
and for everything ive seen
and all ive had
god must be a
mean lonely man

a note from sleep

good luck is:

sleeping on tile floors
grudges and hands we hold on to
hours of showers till the heat wont pour anymore
stalled cars looking out into the rain
the sleep that comes moments before the sun freezes our eyes open
hugs that remind you of the fuck that lies beneath them
boxers who fight for sweat
kids who love art but never talk about it
heirs to misfortune
warm naps in the afternoon
free love with no inflation
perfect imperrfections
hippies on motorcycles
pulling over the car for no reason
scars
city skies
black outs on laterns full of fireflies
the opposite of clarity
puddles of sunshine

i just dont want to die without a few scars.

the best way to waste your life is by taking notes
the easiest way to avoid living is to just watch.
look for details.
report.
dont participate.

jesse lacey put it simply when he wrote "life is a test and i get bad marks"

fuck the grade.
flunk the test.
cc me when you finally get the memo.