the room maintains life.

yet the room continues to maintain life.
even though it looks and feels vacant inside.
all the windows are cracked and broken,
serving as visual representations of what we would rather not remember.
never shall we part.
mounds of fur and regurgitated food sit silently on the windowsill.
yet the room continues to maintain life.
it's what has been swept under the rug that pollutes the void now.
laying slightly dormant under the skin,
itching just enough for attention.
never shall we part.
now there's a lifetime that echos inside my mind.
the room wasn't always this color,
and the life that is maintained, isn't from us.
the blackest of hills forever loom within that distance.
always are we apart.
time regulated and money calculated.
the emptiness seems so deliberate,
as the abandonment is so apparent.
bound to me for an eternity,
i've tried this room on before.
slipping out of it like dresses that i don't ever wear.

individualism just becomes immune.

immune to emotions. immune to the constant let down that is the daily grind of life, that eventually, you have to succumb to, due to numerous reasons that defy everything you call 'principle'.

that huge abyss of a void, you hopelessly search to fill, that also served as some kind of a driving, mystery force, in your romanticized youth, just turns out later in life to be a progress seizing, stagnant, permanent canyon of defeat, once you come to the realization of, 'oh fuk, there's nothing that's ever gunna fill it, no matter how i change it up'...., yep. immune.

numb to the two split paths of, 'be the individual who refuses to succumb, stuck on principle, isolating yourself from the comforts the robots get, thus making you jaded,' or 'be the cookie cutter slave robot, suspended in a shallow state of common, numb happiness, that sprouts from some notion of getting it together and making payments on things you don't need, lacking almost all capacity to be empathetic and selfless'...

it's a tough call. oh well, at least i can always rely on my sunny disposition.

a lil place i like to call "stagnation land"

yeah. so let me tell you about 'stagnation land' aka emotional purgatory, but without the emotions? eh, that makes no literal sense. it's the place that i've been stuck on for.. who fuking knows, because it's stagnation. you see, it's worse than depression. depression serves a bit more purpose. like, i may write a shitty song or two out of 'tragic depression'. make some kool art. do some 'life reevaluating" self-loathing. fuk'n some bullshit like that, right. but, noooo, no, my friends, stagnation land is that hellish place that one lingers in, where 'you're not reallllly depressed, but not quite happy', where you think shit like, 'maybe i should move, but if i move than blah blah, maybe it's not the location, it's me? but blah blah'. it's the fuk'n desert/ arctic, bipolar tundra bar, that you can endlessly, without point, walk into and have 30 lifetime drinks with your good pal, 'complete lack of inspiration'.. and talk about shit that's neither 'here nor there', and about 'how nobody does anything, how so and so's changed, and remember the good old days..' .. that kind of excellent, endless, pointless conversation, that changes nothing and YET goes on cyclically for a boring eternity. it's a place of, 'there's no such thing as too much', drug consuming, followed by rants about 'principle' and 'should've, could've, would've'...

now, i refuse to believe that this is a 'coming to terms with..', 'welcome to life', this is what happens next, kinda bullshit..., but god damn it, if this phase hasn't been hanging out long enough to meet my fuk'n parents, or have it's own history book, or some shit. it's like a stupid past relationship that you still fixate on.. simply.. because.. you can.

in stagnation land, even hope will step in and fuk with you, whispering bullshit into your subconscious, 'believe there's some sort of character building, cleverly woven into this nothing, that you're gunna get out of all this', which makes you go 'okay, okay', until defeat comes charging in with AK's sling'n from every limb, screaming "not today muther fukahhhhh!" bringing in some confusing, self negating shit like "hahaha, yeah, people really do suck, friendships fade, love doesn't exist, so go write another sappy song about it retard, alcohol makes a good friend, oh yeah, things forever cost mad money, you forgot to pay your fuk'n phone bill asshole, again. your room is messy as fuk and ain't gunna clean itself [damn], you gotta do laundryyyyy forever suka cauz u out of clean underwear and no, u got no more money to buy new ones. pay up biatch. what?"
now, it is within the eye of this flurry of chaos, life tug-a-war, hurricane, that i believe stagnation land lies. yes. a boring, little, but safe, island, in which one sits on, muttering aloud 'i don't know.' over and over again, while with glossed over, glazed eyes, you blankly stare at this massive shit storm that circles the horizon. how do you get off the island? i don't know. ahaha. yeah. i'm still there. maybe i'll construct a raft that'll get me through the shit storm.. that is if i ever get inspired to.

middle skool mix

i like to do very important tings throughout the day. like make intricate mixed tapes that are obviously musical gems. today's special is a lil something i like to call "da middle skool mix". chock-full of early 90's hip hop awesomeness that filled my middle skool yearz. fuk, i'm so pumped on this, i've already listened to it like 80 times and decided to make it available fer the world to download-

click this to download middle skool mix

trak list-

my new jewelry line: print factor plumage

Etsy: Your place to buy & sell all things handmade theprintfactor.etsy.com

here's what i really want to write about.

you know, i was sitting here thinking at 6am, on a lovely.. sat? yes, sat morning, after another memorable night of, wash. rinse. repeat., and this is the thought that tinkled through my evaporating brain cells.
how i'd really like to have a blog or whatever, called "yes. yes, i was just being nice to you for you drugz"..
and in this blog thing, i'd just clearly state the obvious, over and over again. free-base shit talking, serving the only obvious divine purpose of making me laugh, like i already do in my head.. because, i am a fuk'n asshole. and in my jedi pickled mind, this makes sssoooo much awesome sense.

what separates ME from YOU: part 1

-fact: everything looks way better spray painted gold. in fact, i think at 5 am, i am gunna spray paint this here cup gold. cauz i can.

-god damn, i can party.. harder than 99% of people i know.., and wow, i love it. still, at 28, luv it. i even love it in some sort of ironic way, when i hear things like, "well, you don't have to work tomorrow blah blah.."// YEAH. that's the fuk'n point and also, not true. i set my life up to work in perfect harmony with getting wasted. yeah, i didn't just like, slip and fall into being a scum-bag. however, doing so is absolutely a job as well.. a job that most couldn't, or wouldn't want to handle.
all that hard work'n at a crap job stuff.., won't do it, can't do it, can find other ways to be in hell, thank you. people.. do what you love and i swear you'll stop being so obtuse.
so, love getting drunk. wasted in general. i really thought, probably like my parents, that it would be a phase.., oops.., looks like "wasted" is here to stay. high five. sadly, i'd have to say that wasted has been a better friend to me than 95% of people i've encountered. shame on you society.

-i will not settle. oh, i know you know what i'm talking about. [for those who apply, which is most] that person you have been going out with forever, the one you have all that "history" with, or find all that "comfort" in, yet aren't quite as attracted to as you used to be, but you make excuses for the truth.. yeah, that would be settling. oh come now, it's no secret. if you ain't getting turned on like the old days, and without being too graphic, i mean.. like that fresh, new kind of turned on.., whelp. you are merely one of the many individuals who cannot handle being alone and settle for a best friend. sorry, i don't want to fuk a best friend. not fun. blah blah. oh, and don't like that whole crap spiel about things "evolving" into a more comfortable place, save those golden words to tell yourself. anyone who tries to sell me on any other idea.., i'll just beat you to the punch by saying.., i hardly envy anyone's relationship. ugh. really. in fact, most, i despise so much, it blankets most of my loneliness and makes me happy to have only porn by my side. oh.. this also includes those who take on someone because they have diluted their mind into thinking it'll add an illusion of stability to their life.. ugh. get fuk'n real. try living some true life.. instead of taking on a "safe, stable" lil number.. just wearing a relationship, like it's a fucking court suit.. look'n good for the judge. fuk'n gross. i lump those right into the "settle, i will not" bracket as well.
what's leftover are those who semi-agree with me, but do that whole "i cannot commit, so i just fuck" thing.., well.. i remember my early 20's too. it gets harder to just bang people as time goes by. yeah. i know! f'n tripped me out to find out that it gets weirder with age too..., but with that shit, people usually get all dumb-weird, or they start spouting stoopid half lies about cryptic crap, as if i cared, or spoke cryptonics anyway.. all of that is just so predictably annoying, that most of the time, i'd rather not sleep with anyone, just to spare myself the headache.

-well boyz and gurls.., i just smoked a lot of weed and can no longer process anything deeper than eating a bean and cheese burrito and passing the fuk out...
-end jew rant transmission.

cubed... solutionized.

so, recently i solved the rubik's cube. [[ yes, yes, i'm proud too ]] obviously i just fuk'n googled 'how to solve a rubik's cube', applied the boredom that only i can harness, and walked myself right through those algorithms. solving the cube, is not a terribly difficult thing to do, but can be a lengthy process, unless you memorize all the algorithms. which is.. ummm.. boring as shit, thus obviously explaining why asians, nerds and will smith, have dominated this market. for the moment...

oh rubik's cube, what you need is a person of 'awesomeness', who is absolutely insane and bored enough to take on your algorithmic challenge and my friend, that retard is me.
now, why would i do such a boring and pointless challenge? even i need a purpose.. a 'higher' goal, so to speak.
yeah.. check it though, i have sense to my flawless logic..

so, like imagine if we were like hanging out at a party or whatever.. people sitting around, talking about shit that nobody cares about. if you are anything like me, you're sitting there thinking "jesus, why do i even bother.., i don't even like people".. you know, a party. all of the sudden i cruise up to you, the amazing species that i am, and i pull out a rubik's cube. fuk'n BOOM! solve that shit in like fuk'n 2 minutes, or something crazy like that? fuk'n hands down, it'd blow your god damn obtuse mind. you know it. i know it. thus, i'd be getting laid.
and that's my bat shit wack job rubik's cube theory.

done. cubed..., solutionized.

golden updates.

oh poor blog. poor society, how I've neglected thee.
fuk. i'm sorry, i have been busy. doing important things.. like, wasting brain cells.
solving the rubik's cube. things that need to be done.
nevertheless, i have some golden updates:

1. the other night i was driving home.. and it was like that time when the sun is about to come up.., so you can't tell whether it's 6pm or 6am.., looks wise. anyway, so i was driving home and i thought i saw a donkey in the middle of the street..., but this was no ordinary donkey. this was like a columbian coffee type donkey, ya know, being lead by valdez in the poncho. it was a beautiful one second, until i realized it was just a tree. bullshit.

2. i found a drunken/ high note that i scribbled down, titled "war pasta".. and all it said was: "don't eat pasta when you are at war. don't eat war pasta." i have no idea when this fuken golden poetry came about, or who spawned the war pasta theory, but i love it and absolutely agree.

3. this is possibly one of the best things i've seen in awhile and i'm actually kind of pissed i didn't think of this myself.
----------> http://whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com/

4. here is why my life is gold, why my friends are gold and why it's the little fuked up out of your mind moments that make life worth living.

okay my five blog followers, [myself included], there's your update. go prosper.

the world's best date rape song

yeah, that's what it's about.
you don't fool me color me bad.
let's do this. bring on the rape.
color me date rape.
dig.


- Color Me Badd Lyrics

long live the holy trinity

grab a slice of this///

a holy trinity. three points. a triangle with a mission. a purpose.
+++ trio trinity philosophy

1. fuck gnomes// not like, have sex with gnomes. that's fucking gross. fuck gnomes as in FUCK 'em. kill em on sight.
yeah. that's right. you're go'n down.

2. fuck babies// babies suck. stop making them. snort a baby. slap chop a baby. babies are just gnomes in disguise.

3. fuck a cactus// cactus. i'm calling you out fucker. you're a perpetrator. claiming your ridiculous notion of survival in the harshest conditions. bullshit. i've killed you once. you didn't even fight. you were supposed to bring a plant-ish vibe to my living quarters, requiring little to no care, the only care i can provide for a plant, but no. bullshit. i tried to even hook you up, cactus. yeah, your death was an accidental result of your weak ass interior. i thought we were a team, but you're a faker. yeah. that's right. we know of things that are more resilient than you. requiring even less attention and are way hotter than you. i'm not gunna tell you. you wrap your weak mind around that, cactus.


+who is our ENEMY?
there is one being that stands in our way, but won't be standing for long. we are onto you. your name is on the list. we have sent messengers and it's only a matter of time. who is this being of ill character you ask? none other than.., the kernel himself.




yeah. that's right. FUCK YOU kernel. uh-huh. you have been stripped of your proper military spelled name, and downgraded to the ranking of corn. a piece of corn rather. not even a cob. we will teach you not to laugh at us. scoffing us with that ridiculous laughter. let me just tell you fucker, you think the bell is your friend? pssh. you best not think at all. you have no team. no friends. certainly no fucking bell.

3.

three word blog.

when there is no after party// ever.

tetris vs the flashback.

i knew that cleverly manipulating those little bright cubes, or for the tetris savvy, tetrominoes, did more than just suffice my boredom and create digital lines. oh yes, i've always had your back tetris and i knew you had a few more tricks up your cubish sleeve.  i remember when you came onto the scene, a newbie, fresh out of innovated mid 80's technology, and it wasn't long till you paled up with game boy in '89, soaring your way into the hearts of all kinds. 

yet all the fame and fortune you've found, never changed you too much, tetris.. did it?  you always remained modest, and consistent. while some of your other buddies from the same era, went on to the more complicated gaming genres, you humbly remained the same arrangement of cubes, eagerly awaiting always, to pass those boring moments in life.  just to abstain from being too consistent, you'd spice things up, by maybe throwing in a 'polished look', or changing up your sweet colors from time to time. some may say you've been around a lil too much, tetris, but i say don't hate the game, hate the players, for all i know is countless times you've been there for me,  in waiting rooms, on the bus, in the classroom, on the phone, in the car, or just helping me ignore people in general.  

yes, yes, i'd say when it comes to mindless video puzzle gaming, you're number one in my book baby.., so i have to say that i wasn't too surprised to learn you had a little jedi lurking in you. i always knew there was something more to you, hiding behind those falling tetrominoes. and i say, go for it buddy! don't hold yourself back. let your true potential as a healer shine! perhaps in the not so distant future, scientists will release information that hidden in those lil cubes, lies the cure for cancer. i don't wanna get ahead of myself here, for we're not quite there yet.  however, where we are at, is face to face with tetris's potential, to sooth those damn traumatic 'flashbacks'. yes, according to researchers, playing tetris can reduce the effects of PTSD.. that's post traumatic stress disorder, for those who ain't so keen with the acronyms. 

 

DR emily holmes (no relation to the infamous john holmes, although how very rad that would be), says that manipulating those lil falling tetrominoes, dukes it out with the same brain shit that causes one to have 'flash backs' from PTSD. [full story]

is tetris the new xanax? when i go to move my car and see that the DPT has issued me a $150 in tickets, can i just play some tetris to sooth my angry flashbacks? i am one of those lucky few, who happen to exist in a constant state of post traumatic stress, but i've always relied upon my own 'flashback' regressing methods, such as a concoction of booze and benzo's. perhaps even a soothing smoke to top it all off. is DR holmes suggesting that flashback nirvana lays hidden in bright little cubes? 

i believe in you tetris. 

'third-hand smoke'?

even as a pretty careless smoker, i'm a kind enough soul to take pity on the non-smokerz of this world, by not cramming my secondhand smoke up their asses, by going to smoke in my 'designated' area..// giving up my right to display my addiction in pretty much every fucking public place on earth// oh how my mind ponders what it must've been like back in the 50's, when cigarette ad's were pictures of smoking doctors, holding a baby, and housewife's chose amphetamine diet pills over a daily multi vitamin. america? what happened to you? if you can't do the time, don't do the crime. don't do the crime and punish the innocent bystanders. 

us hip to the chemical love of smoking, known as 'smokers', started our downward decent into the non-smoking world, when we started dishing out our freedom by giving up the airplane // although old enough to remember when i could smoke in the mall, i was too young to live in that luxurious period of non-smoke free travel. forfeiting any hope of look'n like a suave jet setter out of some fucking hip 70's euro-trash movie..// sooo many moments i've had, flying in a airplane, wishing that when that baby behind me starts screaming, i could pull out a smoke to sooth my already fragile nerves. well.., those dreams, smashed, and in return, non-smokers thank me by bringing crying fucking babies on the plane. here's a good deal.., no smoke in trade for no babies on planes.

then we gave you the restaurant. apparently, having a whole section to yourselves, just wasn't good enough. oh well, there is always vegas or most of europe.. oh wait, you took those too. thus leading to the worst.., the bars. the bar was a place that in all fairness, should be ours. it once was a place of beauty. being able to display dual addictions, that go hand in hand, harmoniously with one another.

and it's okay, non-smokers, you don't believe in give and take. we get it. so we'll keep our secondhand smoke and give you... everything. for at least, i have the privacy of my own home to destroy my life.... or do i?

Warning over 'third-hand smoke' 

(* click to read the full BBC news article)

basically, some douche professor dude, who obviously does not partake in the good ol' self-sabotaging joy of smoking, has done some sort of survey of 1,500 american homes, which i'm betting wasn't in any major city, but in some fucking bible banging, backwoods, midwestern state [just a hunch], came to the conclusion that there is a high risk of health problems associated with 'third-hand smoke'. wtf is this 'third-hand smoke', you say? well, apparently, it's the smoke that remains on our clothes when we return from our designated areas..  etc. etc.

sssssoooo what? it's not even good enough to get the fuck away from non-smokers, to enjoy my tobacco medley? i have to just not smoke at all cause some midwest inbred child may suckle on my clothes and die or some shit? will i have to febreze my clothes if i leave the house? i can't be asked not to even have the 'smell of smoke' on me. i consider that smell an important accessory, that goes hand in hand with my alcoholic breath. defining 'me' as an individual, god damn it.  oh 2008, you were already such a gnarly year..., what will be the fate for smokers in '09?

it's all just another example of people getting an inch and demanding a mile...

'08 bummerz

i really wanted to be watching 'intervention' on A&E, really stoned, and realize it's someone i know. so somebody pleaz fuck up ur life enough in '09, so i can have this notch under my belt? thanks

another year that has slipped through my fingers, without taking some dudes virginity. i believe '09 will be my last year to accomplish this feat, because after that, it's just gonna be creepier than it already is.

i feel like i should've done more psychedelics..// although, i did add a new drug to my list in '08, the mutha fuck'n weed.., so not a total waste.

ice blocking. i should've gone ice blocking. it's a good time.

wow. people were a huge bummer this year. i gotta make sure that my highly addictive personality doesn't attract too many psychopaths in '09. for some reason, psychos always make me go a big rubbery one, thus always slipping past my acute radar and wind up making my life lamer than it needs to be. i'm gonna be on top of the red flags in '09 fuckers.

///that's all i can think of for the moment// time to shower. get ready, so i can capture people's worst drunken NYE moments/

quick self-assurance ///

when you wake up feeling like a scumbag and yearn for some good ol' self-assurance, but can do without the introspective soul searching......

clean your fucking microwave. i shit you not, you'll feel like a new person.///

// shroom liner notes:

// post, post, x-mas fucked up notes//

god be damned if i don't love psychadelics. love 'em to death. especially now that i'm not 14 years old and can actually appreciate the situation"s", so, so much better.

status: been shrooming allll night. started at 1:30 am? try to bring the shroom bubble back to my house. realizing again..., that is impossible. drama drama drama.. there is always that "fucker" who finds their way into an obvious 'we are all on shrooms' environment.. however, many fun moments were gained.

cops came. to my house. noise complaint. sober, was not the look i carried. just wrote "cops came" with a sharpie, on my arm.

status: 6 AM. people have all gone home. sun is coming up. listening to blues.. really really wanted to listen to elmore james. great great old blues. i luv the blues.
jesus people are so fucking peculiar.
i love to laugh. i wish i laughed, like truly laughed a lot more.

//fuck. i love flannel. //
death to pearlzz-- pearlzz had to be ripped from my neck earlier while dancing, for they were strangling me.. had to rip 'em right the fuck off.

i love chewable vitamin C. shit is my crack// more people should know... //

satus: 9 AM safeway run. by myself. drove. was great. bought $90 worth of food?? not sure why.
i love popsicles. i bought a huge box of popsicles. wow! there is actually and website// www.popsicle.com//
and it's amazing.. you can find out what kind of popsicle to eat next by choosing an answer from a limited, abstract, drop-down list, to 3 very sophisticated questions//

1. if you were an animal, what animal would u be? //armadillo
2. what do u do for fun? // play music
3. what's your head most shaped like? // light bulb (uh-huh)

/// what odd questions.. but, i'll tell you something hilarious.. the kind of popsicles that were chosen for me, where the exact fucking ones i just bought at safeway. the firecracker.. so fuck, it ain't all bullshit. they know things. //


end transmission//

fuck the DPT

i want a rap song for my generation that’s called “fuck the DPT”. that’s the 'Department of Parking and Traffic', for those of you who aren’t acronym savvy.
it can be like NWA's song “fuck the police”, little bastard child or something, yeah know? don’t get me wrong, “fuck the police" is a great lil ditty that i myself have had many a drunken 4am, wannabe gangster, rock outs to.

however, i kind of wish that my hatred for the DPT, would be represented properly through the joy of music.. that way, when i have to leave the warm womb of my room at 5:00am,.., to move it, to avoid a stupid, yet always pricey, parking ticket, i can at least know the joy, of my hatred being validated through singing about how much the fucking the DPT can suck a dick. maybe that can be the name of the song? ‘the DPT can suck a dick’ -- perhaps a lil change up? i mean, the options are endless here.

now, you might be saying “whoa, it's just “a” ticket”, or some shiat, but tickets are the weed of the parking world, the gateway drug. they just start building and building, then all of the sudden it just becomes too much, and you ponder to yourself "but.., how did it get this bad?" ... at which point you say "fuck it!", cause it's all about self sabotage, when you're on the crazy train to the tenderloin--- the 'hard shit' aka 'the tow'. and then you’re fucked.
fuck the DPT.

leave the goods instead.

seriously. why? why can't it EVER be a bag of drugs, a bottle of whiskey..., perhaps some treasure of sorts.. (treasure is pretty sweet), that gets left behind, in my room, the day after?

obviously there are multitudes of reasons behind this, that i can't possibly discuss for other multitudes of reasons. mainly, that it's 7:39 am, and i should go to bed. considering that 'tonight', is 'the day after'...
try and keep up here..
*
*
*

however, to splice this bitch up real quick, i'd say it's 50% due to.., anything awesome like drugs etc., people usually A. do or B. manage, even in a retarded stupor, not to leave behind.
and the other 50%? easy. weird chick shit. weird chick 'accessories', that some chicks leave behind. why? fuck, who knows? sometimes i wonder why these things were worn in the first place to even be taken off later..
makes me curious to what dudes think when they find some alien chick shit laying around, while cleaning up from whatever skank they banged the night before? like, "wtf is this and what does it do?"

EXHIBIT A:
*found in my room after a lil party the night before*


now, what am i suppose to do with that? i don't even know what it is. although, i'm no scientist, i can however, say with confidence, that shit isn't treasure of any sorts. nope. no wealth. no jewels. not even a baggy to scrape.. not like i'd do that or anything, i've just heard whispers about people doing things like that..., pssh.

digital friendship request spam.

it doesn't matter what i do. what i write.... if my myspace is private or not, there will always, always be that one fucker who will randomly write me on myspace with some shit like "i dig art too, let's be friends <-----insert more digital diarrhea here** "... i'm pretty certain that the 5% of the population, that makes up these fantastic individuals, is really just one fucking person..., that is merely a shape shifting morph of what i would define as literally, my polar opposite, possessing every quality of what i would deem as very, very, unattractive.
i mean, i can say with a fair amount of confidence, that there is not a damn thing about my myspace that remotely suggests that if your profile picture holds the alluring charm of no shirt, tribal tattoos and dreadlocks, to please, please, write me with a shitty one line opener, followed by some uncreative way of asking for my digital friendship.
with that in mind, i'm wondering, what exactly is the method, if any at all, to this morphing madness? like, what's the process of selection, in which i wind up the lucky winner? i think these fuckers have some sort of, default, crap message, that just fucking spams inboxes around the nation, with the hopes of getting "a" response...., and that's what's really going here, i'm a victim, man, a victim. well, that's just not gonna stand. solution? i'm gonna create a counteraction, default, rejection message. yep. something that simply states:
"no need for the creation of uncreative spam email titled "yo". digital friendship shall never be obtained. please move on and morph into someone else's worse nightmare."
yeah, something along those lines.., simple, and to the point. however, unlike "random joe" with his spam crapshoot response tactic, i will have a more refined method of madness. oh yes sir.., see, i'm not gonna wait around till victimized again, i'm gonna find these shitty, shirtless dudes and spam them first. boom. rejection before action.
aaaand fuck it, i don't care if i take down some innocent bystanders in the spam rejection process, because i don't think there are any in this situation.. no innocents in the view i'm looking at.. for if you end up on my spam list, which shall be carefully and precisely narrowed down, by being cross referenced with all sorts of super shit like; long dreadlocks held in a high ponytail, tribal tattoos, an urge to show off those crap tattoos by not wearing a shirt, a strong like for noise pollution like, limp bizkit..., and anything else that would make me and most people, not want to even digitally converse with you.. you're fucked anyway. and if you haven't entertained the ridiculous notion that somehow we will be joined in digital friendship by stating that you "dig art too", i'm sure someday you will, therefore, you must be taken down.

interesting, yet pointless fact: it is 6:50 am right now, and no, i didn't just wake up. and yesss, of course i'm still drinking.

super ego video

The Print Factor©

a video that i made for club super ego.

ordinary.

here is what you need to know.
how i accept what you hold, whatever you call your own.
no. no, i can't leave it alone.
it's inside of me and intoxicates me with the sickest kind of pleasure a person could only hope to know.
and jesus christ, no, i won't let it go.
not even a million years of suffering could make me do so, fuck no.
i don't give a shit what you do or don't know.
it's my scheme.
that one twisted plot hidden in the seams of everything.
so, what in the fuck do you bring?
samples and abundance of something not at all revolutionary?
in fact, i'd have to say...., it's quite ordinary.
being that what i crave is hidden controversy,
knotting my voids, yet filling my dreams.
doing nothing, but everything, not to make it about me.

ugh. my dad reads my blog.

ya know.., i doubt many people ever get to this blog..., and i don't mind it, cause.., fuck shameless self promotion. i don't know, that shit always seems retarded to me. besides, this blog is totally easy to find, if you bother looking..
jesus.., what was my intended point? it really did seem well planned out when i starting thinking about this shit.. fuck. i should've wrote it on my arm or something.

no, seriously, wake up in the morning and see some shit written with a sharpie on your arm, unless you are "special", you're gonna read that shit. hands down. that's just a little side note for all the blazing alcoholic's, like myself, who find it hard to remember every tedious little detail.

seriously, seriously, backing up here for a second my friends, my dad reads my fucking blogs. that's kind of weird to me. not bad weird, or good weird.. inbetween. i am an adult, so who fucking gives a shit, but still.. knowing that kind of feels similar to that awkward feeling one gets when they go to the movies with their parent's and the explicit sexual scene comes on.. yeah. you know. it's never discussed in the open, like, "so son, what did you think about that sexual intercourse?" or whatever, but there is that awkward feeling that goes down.. yeah, well.. pop's reading my blog, undiscussably similar. did i mention that i am pretty stoned right now and still have not regained my original intent for this, but is gonna roll with it anyway?

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