Eyes

 (picture of Theodore Roosevelt diary after his wife died)

 stiff dripping with neurosis
my mental imagery projected into a physical being
won’t you come with me?
come with me?

lethargy teases my drain as neurosis rack s and splits at my soul, my cognitive being is summed up into one thing. i sitting incorrect human being. i am constantly correcting myself without doing anything wrong, negative things. it is not a good way to raise yourself. i’m feeling more here on earth every second and i don’t know about it. i’m alive and i’ve been alive for so long, but is this lonely thing being lonely just because i’m in nyc alone or does everyone get this lonely?? why can’t i help myself get any better , it just seems like one implosive decision after another alternating between compulsive. i hate the way other people look at me, i feel them looking into me, and there being nothing real there looking back at them. i have nothing to show them. so i get tense in defense mode i don’t know how to hold myself. i carry no ambition just a loose wandering soul influenced by the first left hand turn, and the string of smoke coming out the end of my face. it blows in the wind, not regurgitated enough to stay in my lungs with the rest of the clots of garbage and breast lumps found in there. inhaling the city i breath  this timid air that is sharp and heavy not so sharp as it is heavy, it just pushes on you for so long that it digs in deeper than a thin bald man would because its smashing you from all directions. i feel afraid in my eyes eye can see it, and i become more afraid that if i can see it in my eyes then other people will be able to see right through them,. i haven’t any pride to show i just have a sad deep tear shame block where my heart used to be. and ill eat a whole new york pizza washed down with water and smoke. i’ll never shit it out. it will stay in me as an emotional block , that mindless eating and lack of thought i shoved down my throat just sits there growing and rotting, fermenting itself into the folds of my stomach where the acid has burned holes away. it will leak into my liver and i will never be drunk again, i will see the light of the moment we all are running from on the wave time brings, we cannot resist, to resist. we just go with time an have no choice, but it feels deeper than that, if i/. is there a therapy that will cure human again, i’m getting older and i’m feeling sadder. more sad then i ever remember before. i’ve lost the love for all the things that used to get me through. i guess this didnt work so well, hollow body parts that just don’t hold up to the weight of that ever crushing blade called on my own.  so i sit up hear listening to the city i have plans, but don’t know if ill make them. i am cured for moments but then something throws me off track. everything is okay, there is a school band shouting out my window right now and i remember how it used to feel to give a shit to be around people your age and to try and understand them, befriend them. show them how you learned things. but quickly you learn that no ones listening, and no one really cares, but to show you their things. so there is a war of humans that has been created from lack of nature. we became out of touch with our inner senses, and one with our invisible internet networks.  i know i don't feel my face when i see it in the mirror. it is something to not see, but to be the cause is the worst feeling ever. holding back myself for what reason what does this useless shit accomplish? i figured out the things that make me sad, yet i continue abuse and throw myself down the stairs trying to miscarry this ugly baby inside of me.  but it just grows with each fall and i end up hurting myself. the baby lives on and uses me for padding dragging me back up the stairs for another trip down memory lane, played over and over like a tape, the frequencies start to fade, the oxide scratches away and were left with a dirty tape that wont play even a nightmare anymore. so now you have to remember it for yourself. cause that reminder is no longer there. hollow, just a staring glare nothing behind the eyes if you see six lines you don’t know itching at my body all over i can’t hold still or get comfortable, i’m not fully here, and i’m aware and i wont come down, i just want to live on the ground its the solution to being, my feet wont reach the floor. i remember the good old days at the water park 7 peaks in provo utah we used to go there as a class every year and it was so fun to see all the girls in your class in a bathing suit, more jerk off material than you could handle at that age. i used to love going to vegas to see the women with their topless suntan attitudes, i used to be amazed by the female body, now i’m just amused. technology or self control has taken that away from me, i tease myself with these thoughts that are really out there i can go do whatever i want, but i don;t feel like theres an i in me. i have stepped down the wrong spiral staircase, and ended up in the bookmasters hall, where he has learned to shut up, be alone. and learn to suffer with it all. i’m not an old man why do i treat myself like one constantly? someone should just come talk to me, but i wouldn’t enjoy it i can’t stand the things, the people the potatoes their food and how it affects me. i’m in a dark place now, and its summer. each year i get more sad for a higher percentage of the year. i guess this is aging. my 1st grade teacher never did make that clear. why were we told all the shit that we were? it seems like it just confused me and didn’t help, having someone else teach you about their god. it will hurt the deepest part inside that now don’t even crawl i don’t feel my feet touching the ground i’m in another world, i’m connected here with the negativity of fear that makes me fearless if i just jump would you with me? no because i’m here  and i just jumped and no one caught me i’m at the bottom, the fall nearly killed me but i’m down here now, so i can catch you i can help you adjust. i can give you tips on living, but they aren’t worth a fuck. making things new. but when you have conquer and forget attitude you wont remember anything. and so i don't i just continue on the away.

coney island/ bukowski drunk

today is not preparations for tomorrow. we live one time and that is now, we just do what we have been wanting. stop holding back in deep turning resistance forever we must look up and walk straight into the burning fire of life. its a great one and its burning brighter or darker everyday-you chose. we get older and understand less of it. cause its alway eating always feeding on the listless thoughts of expression one needs to keep himself in check before he becomes overflown. one time this is okay, two times this is neglect to help yourself on a daily basis. i’ve forgotten how to care fore myself and dislike everything i once enjoyed sitting on and fucking up. now i like to sit with a group of friends and be the center of attention while my head is shaved and i cop up to what i’m supposed to be. you got to sit back and perk up because when it hits you its going to hit hard, the weight of 6 thousand empty bottles and some with little sips still left. you can spend you time trying to gather up all the sips in one glass and drink them all when you feel comfortable. or you can stumble around picking up bottles and pouring the remains down into your stomach where they will wait, and they will rot. someone once told me that it is ok to be yourself.  its hard to just do, but it really isn’t cause we are always ourselves even if we don’t realize it. one thing i’ve learned is to not be that dick that i don’t like. cause everyone thinks they are better of him and secretly wants to tell him to go fuck himself. girls in another fashion are different. nobody sits across from a woman and piles up a fat list of things they are doing wrong. i don't even necessarily thing they do this to men, i just do and that isn't so nice. because i’m constantly comparing myself to them, when this isnt a competition this is survival. this is a shower in the pits of the dirty weak mind. this is a light house at the long stretch out over coney island, the light wheel that takes people up and they become amused. if i could speak english into what i’m saying you might believe it. but i cant’ so i’ll just sit here stirring my feelings up every night into something different until i come alive, so far this isn't working but what has? i could be a square yuppie sober person in love with himself. or someone real some who cant put down a beer, or his thought and they dangle in front of his head and he walks forward trying to teeth them he wants to feel the steak inside. if we eat antler flesh we become stronger its a hard misunderstood dread that tumbles over our head, then get cut off in a freak accident nothing is safe when its around you just have to hold up the computer and stature down. you can let the thoughts flow from your ind and live in the real constant now, because the people are looking for something to sell. they want to find something that isn't worth it to sell, cause they make a profit if you buy something that is worthless, or doesn't do what it said it was. i found out the hard way. many things give false advertisements about what they do, who they are. i found out today i do not want to be one of those people, i want a hard ass and a soft angry liver, a strong face and a soft somber living experience. i don’t what to be the best at anything that is simply too much work. all i want is to be me, i want to get locked in a ritual that i cant stop, and i feel good about it. bukowski did this, he came to terms that he wanted to drink, and thats what was up, he couldn’t be a political freak and change the world all he could do was be him and live and feel no one ever told him that it would be hard, he knew this from day one and wasn’t scarred. he just knew his place and kept up doing what made him feel good. and he lived a life because of this, it may have involved the racetrack, and nasty women, but this was his life. whiskey shots and hot lard. a conscious person would probably think they were better. not me though. i feel like something is in the air. i’ve been waiting for the apocalypse of my old self. a beautiful redhead led by my favorite man in the worlds is going through some sort of medical program, i think its really good for her, she doesn’t do anything but live in this house, it must get exhausting after a while, day after day putting up with these kids, doing dishes and opening bottles of wine for them, sure its a great night and the air is thin. but my head is thick , i’m sick and need a place to let loose. i liked having my head shaved on the air. the loss of my hair on the air for everyone to here fall and hit the ground thats it.  i have one new goal in my life, to win robyn back, to be the man i set out to be. to be the man i really am inside. and i love her, i know she loves me. no other can give her the strange displeasure she loves to crave like me. like me and her on the beach of coney island sitting on the rocks talking about something with god, and smoking weed. she only eats weed though, this one is classy. baked goods are great and will last a lot longer, be stronger highs in the end and something forged will never become sadness lifted from your eye lids you can now walk taller. you are in love buddy boy. that time you were waiting for has finally come. when you are done being young and you want to settle down with a young little love. a beautiful rose who will make things better. she can do it she can make things better. if it all works out and i have my way, she’ll live in my room and wont have good days, cause i think thats what i am, what i want. i will be sad until i get here near, then i’ll get sadder and just hate being with her i guess i just wan tot affect the life of some beautiful girls and not understate the letters and word. fucking ridiculous rambling no that i can’t say out loud. i wonder who else doesn’t this when they’re alone. some people like to show what they can do, i however hate the beating eyes on my, you can feel their different pulse and how it beats different then yours. you lose all of yourself. i love you robyn bird. come back fly back don’t be afraid i wont hurt you down don’t underestimate my faith in you in us. i promise ill be everything you want just tell me and ill kill him if thats what you want. but i doubt that another dead boyfriend is what you need, and i bet just you reading this will bring you to tears. well this is what i am, not bland but free.


well i’m nearing the end of my 21st year. things have been wild, moving around a little, finishing school in arizona. now i’m in the big apple and everyday is crazy. aside from my lonely craze, i’ve been doing a lot of self change, or more trying to find out what were here for. also the quantity versus quality of a city with a million broken people, compared to a smaller town with healthier more confidents people of quality. is that what all the crazies do? pick up and move to nyc to be someone they arent? i’m getting adjusted and my anxiety is starting to suffice, i am being more like myself and not caring. i need to just find joy in existing and survival. because all that stress is comforting sometimes, but it is negative and pushing in on myself. but its okay now, sitting here at the magic shop listening to a British girl singing.  i have almost finished :women by Bukowski. i love it. i can’t put it down. i can’t remember an author since brett eaton ellis that entangled me so much in his words. and the good part is Bukowski has a lot of good stuff to read.  he’s not the best idol to have but i think he is helping me, and thats all that matters.  the other day i couldn’t feel right sitting around all lonely, so i bought a bottle of cutty sark and went to coney island.  it was nice, i just walked around smoking cigarettes and taking a good pull from the bottle in my backpack every so often.  i sat with the negroes that drummed and smoked blunts. the fisherman with a crazy pony tail made of frizz and bush. one caught me up on the dock pulling desperately from my cigarette, and he just smiled and threw his fishing pole like a viking, a long deep cast that soared through the air, and small dive into the rippling water. i sat and watched the people pay 5$ for a photograph with a parrot,and a very large iguana on a leash. the iguana made me sad, i could see it trying to keep going past its given space on teh leach, i had an urge to set it free. the man wore a button up thin nylon shirt with the american flag and a bald eagle. he was trying to take a picture of his badly behaved giant bird, and kept stopping to yell at people that were taking pictures with their phones, that its a 5$ donation. i don't get how the mandatory donation thing works, but it sums contradictory to the max.  tonight i’m going to go over to gabes after i get out of here and were going to record a band called strange shapes.

80's Night

despite my sickness i decided to go to 80's night.  its usually the highlight of my week, but this time i just wasnt feeling it for some reason.  the place was thinned out and hardly nobody was there.  i danced even shittier than normal because of the nyquil. bro's were all up in my face trying to fight me... one fuck was pushing everyone and pushed me, so i spit a sick persons spit on the back of his neck, and for some reason that hairy bastard wanted to fight me.  i told him i would stab him and when he said 'do it' i was running out of ideas where i would get my knife...then this badass muh-fucking lesbian came and danced with me.  she probably saved me from getting kicked out/asskicked. then outside that same kid almost fought like 3 other kidsNasiema is fucking wierd yo. oh and some bitch wrote her number on my hand.

the lights made my dizzy knees

fall assleep

i wanted to lie ...lay down

pale, a ghost boy

smoking the cum off my socks.

after all that we went to denny's. it was a drunken blur

i think ill wait for a better time to tell you

its one last sip, just one just fucking one

you look me directly in the eye.
the green part i cant even look at in the mirror. how is this happening 
how how? why is overused, so how. how baby? i want to be so deep inside of you , a forklift couldnt pull me out ill spread, youll spred and the disease will take control, take over cran bury me 
umph ts umph tsss wet and feeling i hold me inside you just a second longer honey just one little spurt
ill feel you up then fill you up.

This Old House

cranvodka, its only 5:45
i love being in this big house alone
there's room for one more
but i'll be leaving 
ill be leaving 
thats it.

A pirates life for me

i doubt they would let me drink, because of what happened last time i drank here. so i'm sneaking it. funnel to cup, pour. just sitting here with the fat man knocking clear labeled pins down.  i hope i get a strike, im keeping up right now with just spairs. but ill hit them all down.i bought a bike, its badass fucking shit. its too cold to ride yet. my hands freeze to death. now im typing with two grey damped rags. i want to be heard. but im incapable of holding a phone right side up. sell vacuums?  leave me leave me leave me leave me leave me, alone.