I started this blog a year ago today.

and as soon as she was here
She was gone,
My heart appeared, made a special
comeback

For a second,

For a moment.

Well, you son of a bitch,
Your grip has loosened.
You used to be so much stronger but
The
Distance has been wearing.

She was here and then she wasn't,
Simple, predictable pattern.

They were there now they aren't, who ever they are.

Truth is,

Friends are rarely friends,

Lovers rarely love.

The best thing to do is become conditioned to the elements.
Don't let that son of a bitch jerk you around in there,
Lock him out
And give those 'friends' and 'lovers' the key

Just to make sure he never gets back in.

Lyrics

I've got problems, man
I need to borrow some cash,
I've got problems, man
I need to get out of here fast

Now I'm hanging on a cross because I thought my brothers were
My brothers,
I never thought for the life of me we would have turned like this on
Eachother
I feel used and betrayed,
Thrown under the train,
We left eachother behind but I'm keeping the stage name
Because
I just need to know a band from here can make it,
While we've been trying so hard just to fake it.

I've been double crossed,
And I wish these walls could talk,
Because I still find it hard to believe
My best friends turned out to be my greatest enemies

We recover like fire
While
The old souls die
Like stalled cars
At yellow lights

They forgot their power

They forgot the fight

...

Drink up

well,

the 'love' was really nothing more than
a
broken trophy.

her heart,
just kind of a bending
branch.
reaching,
screaming for the
ground.

C'mon relax, baby.
roll back those
shoulders
and spread
those wings. (legs.)

while
the day and the dream lingers
like a thin fog
I
notice where the sun hits
and
where it doesn't ,
handing out shadows like gifts
and giving us our
shady figures,

it's beginning to feel like a
holiday. - maybe.
the neon
open signs down richmond
shine,
guiding stars
fighting through
the thin
lingering fog.

your eyes are open
and you know that
stop ignoring it
embrace it.

stop running away,
you runaway.

the fires been started,
now listen to the dogs fight.

i'm being played like a harp
by a group
of thieves,
with
one hand on
my wallet
and the other
pulling the
strings.

i think i want to be in love with you

I confused the bar lights for halos.
They made a bitch look like an angel,
She really knew how to
Play all the angles.

She had a laugh that cracked like a fire.

My arm is broken.

I'm 24.

I'm usually waiting.

Always waiting.

Never committing,

Never deciding,

Telling you and myself not to care.

Change? For suckers. Trying? Suckers.

Suckers.

All of them.
One day she'll send me back to god,
And maybe he can tell me what I want.

But for now I'll wait with the devil and the drinks
And let myself get confussed and blame it
All on the lighting.

Caarver
Digs at your heart like a pick axe.
No afternoons should be spent with red wine and a pick axe.
No,
Not in this state atleast.
Carver you gloomy bastard.
No,
Fante,
John is the way to go.
No nothing fits better
With the sun struggling to fill the pages
Through the slits in the blinds at 2:30
(third glass of..)
Then that son of a bitch
Bandini.
Bukouski just makes you want to
Quit and fight
But
Fante,
Bandini,
Allows the day to swim by
Like a dream.
And when you wake up,
Still broke
Still broken
Still here,
Your heart is still in tact,
And your face isn't busted,
And sure you may have to go out for more wine
But
At least you made it through Tuesday.
For some reason.

Will you get these prayers?
I made them weak for you
So they can
Bend around the clouds.
Like smoke from a cigarette,
Let the smell soak into your clothes
And take them with you.
Take me with you,
Before I start to stain
These walls.
Before the bottle runs out
And
Everything
Starts catching back
Up
To
Me.

Drunk yada yada yada typewriter


hello television
my glowing, one sided friend.
you can talk and talk and tell
me all about your stories
and characters,
but you won't give me a cigarette,
and you won't buy me a drink,
and even though I'm quite
content on listening and not talking,
I really want that drink.

Drunk things from my blah blah blah blah


a breath between sentences
fluttering like a hummingbirds wings
beautiful,
but
in the way I can tell
it's not the real thing.
kind of like that space
between the glass in the
frame and the
painting

Drunk things from my typewriter, from whenever ago

it has nothing to do with her
or my interest with her
or, more importantly my
interest with anyone else
it's just not in me,
my soul
left me for something else years
ago, probably
on a dog walk
or with my first girlfriend
or before my mom met that fat lunatic
or when my own father left me for a
another life beter then this.
innocence is given to you,
and others take it away-
it's never lost, someone steals it
and once it's gone you think you can steal
someones to get it back but you can't,
you just push yours further away
some silly fucked up cycle
that never gets better..

you can only see it in others
when you don't have it yourself

Drunk things from my typewriter

i'm sick of sex
and fucking, and even more
sick of being so sick of it
the only time i can give a good fuck
anymore is when i'm drunk
and that is a very delicate dance
between too many and not enough
now i feel old and creppid and lose
and falling apart like
a side table or a beaten down
family man without the family
and you can call
the beer left in the fridge lucky
runaways,
and you can call me
whatever you want.

just not whenever
you want.

I'm probably not asking
The right
Questions.

Fuck it.
Fuck it they just want attention.
If not from me
Then
From
You.
If not from you then
Your older brother
Or
Your father
Or best friend will
Do just fine.
Commitment is like a
Spider web,
Strong enough to catch
The weak ones
(yum)
But the smart know
Where to look
And the strong
We just
Fly
Right
Through.

big sleep



some girls need to be pointed
in the right direction
some boys are nothing but
crudely drawn maps
and i swear my 20s feel like
nothing more then a broken compass
and something like bad timing mixed with something like not trying
but
i'm lying
when i say i want things to change
(that's why i keep fucking up my own escape)

Did a couple lines,
Had some fun with the steak knives,
Started as a fist fight,
Stared as a good time

And it looks like Jesse just fucked her,
And for a minute I almost feel bad for her
Because he came out laughing
And she came our wearing his
T-shirt,
But then I remembered.
The slut thinks she's a princess,
Shes trying so hard to run shit.
She only ever causes problems at the parties,
She bends at the hips and always
Ends up starring at the ceiling.
No, I don't feel bad for girls like these.
I'm sure secondplace feels pretty comfortable
By now.