Almost lost.

I’m trying to write about today, but I can’t, the words stick. Instead I will say this simply and elaborate later: I love you and I’m glad you’re okay, I don’t know what I would’ve done if the outcome was different. Everything else seems so insignificant now and I’m sorry. 


air conditioning is king.

man, I hope it wasn’t me that broke that necklace. The necklace of…who I ‘m going to refer to as “ugly rhianna” on the bad girls club: Las Vegas. Don’t ask, please. you don’t want to know anyway, trust me. 

I don’t know what to make of anything anymore and it’s quite frustrating. 

What are you doing?

you and you and you and you. Fuck. Is there nothing better for the three or four of you to do then mess with my head? No, that’s not fair.

It’s me messing with my head. 

Me wanting to believe things are the way I want to be.

I have a hard time accepting things, I have to deal with that and unfortunately so do you.

Quit trying then, if it’s so hard and not worth it. But then move on. Really move on, don’t just tell yourself and I lies like “you have”. 

You never learn.


Either do you.


Either do I.


Dramatic spaces.

It’s funny how often people forget or don’t realize or just plain don’t care about the empty space, it’s just as important as the filled. 


huh. Maybe I don’t even. As empty as I seem…words for my own thoughts, i suppose.


I like it here.


I wish I could stay.


I wish a lot.





So, she’s slowly tracking down the girl who broke her necklace, just an update on what you shouldn’t ask about. Shit’s about to get real.




Shit is now real.Drunk bitches.



Anyway, today went the exact opposite of how I thought it would, you’d think I’d get used to it.




think I’m done for now.



creature feature and a puppy on my head.

we are of flesh and bone. liquid. easily disposed of. more easily forgotten. 

i find it anything but humorous that we only appreciate what we’ve lost. 

being perpetually lost doesn’t gain you the appreciation you seek, though. life’s fucking hilarious.  


I miss you. 

I miss you. 

I miss you.


I have ruined much in this short amount of time and I plan on destroying much, much more. 


“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster for if you gaze for long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

Looney Tunes. (or some shit.)

So, dear reader, I pose a vary important question. Have you, yes you, been keeping up with the Looney Tunes “Re-boot”? If you answered ‘yes’ then congratulations, you’ve one some of the rare and elusive me points, which are redeemable for pretty much nothing. If your answer was ‘no’ then fear not, there’s a gift for you too, it’s called The Looney Toons Show and you’re welcome. 

Basically you take the original Looney Toons cast, (Bugs, Yosemite Sam, Daffy, and co.) through in a few new cast members, (Lola Rabbit of Space Jams fame and Daffy’s girlfriend Tina being the only two on second thought) and make them neighbors/roommates/what-have-you then you’ll get the basis that is this show. Maybe I enjoy it so much because it reeks of nostalgia. Simpler times. Times when Cartoon Network only aired old Looney Tumes episodes before noon. Episodes that you’d already worn out in your youth. Oh yes, good times. To say I’m versed in the ways of Wile E. Coyote and Gossamer would be a truth, if not possible understatement, and seeing these guys in different scenarios brings a little warmth.


I could go more into this, but my ambition is quickly sapped. It’s tough, or some shit.


as empty as the back we never had.

I’m incredibly sick, to start this off. I’m impressed I can even function on the keyboard. Ha. THat makes no sense, but I’m going to leave it there anyway. 

Moving on. 

That’s the tricky part, isn’t it? Your words are so beautiful, so touching, and I want them to be true. But you can’t want something into existence. I can’t get around the fact that when push comes to shove, I’m there for you, but you’re nowhere for me. Everything you hate being done to you, you force onto me. You disappear for days on end, knowing. You fucking hypocrite. The words I want to scream at you, the feelings of hurt and loss I want you to understand, the questions.I know you’re hurting. That’s no excuse. I hurt for you. And I promise, no matter what you think, you’re pain as immense as it is, doesn’t compare. The second I couldn’t help you, you left. You’re there, somewhere, making plans with people, making a future for yourself. And I’m happy for you. I’m glad for you. I’m not even mad. I know a part of me is, but it’s at myself, for being so fucking stupid. For trusting you with myself again and again. You are the single most wonderful, caring, and all around solid individual when you want to be. But, it was never me that brought that out. I was there when you needed me. But that’s all I became, something for when nothing else would work. Maybe that’s why you’ve left me with no explanation, just words stating how rough everything is and pictures of smiling faces. I deleted my facebook today, simply because I was sick of that being the only way to know what was going on. Sick of you talking to everyone but your “best friend” and making plans to move on. It’s a joke, because I’m a joke. 


and there’s no joke worth living. 


come home soon, Rasta’s going to need you.


and the worst part?

All I want is..well, it doesn’t matter. Carry on.

no one’s home

and that’s okay, for now.

furious beating…

furious beating of the eggs, a batter of frenzy. 

One that none wish to accompany, but he’s here, locust among the rye. The wheat. The bread. 

No one cares for this being, but who am I to compare? How am I any different? Does the validation of other persons who are just as low set me apart? No. 

We are all one. All the same. 

Fuck the mind. Fuck the hive. I’ll lay it out, moaning, groaning, screaming into the pillow. Sheets clenched in the balls of the hand, ass squirming in ecstasy, mouth wide. Drool pools beneath and in it the sharks lurk, they wait for their turn, the bait is adequate. 

Now we say to ourselves, what is this? This feeling of being adequate? Is it anything substantial? No. It is for the bee’s, for the birds, for the moaning whore with the synthetic cock shoved between her legs. How she wishes to be free of these burdens, of the expectations, of the world. Comma, comma, comma. et cetera. et cetera. the world turns and we stand still, stuck in time, wooden figurines. 

I once saw a figurine of prcelian. So beautiful was it, the reds with the blues with the whites, beautiful on the outside yet empty and hollow below. Shattered easily if pushed of the edge. Such a terrible noise, it. 

How did we get here? To this sentence, I mean. Is it of importance or absolution? No. Nein, as the duetsch say, it is nothing. WHat does it matter anyhow? 

It doesn’t. 


Today a person passed. Someone I knew. Someone that was beside myself in times of unnatural brilliance and perversion. 


I am away. 


I am distance. 


I am nothing.