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Where to start seems to be more important than where to go. Maybe Iím just getting the itch to write this thing out and see where it goes. I think Iím being too jumpy. Anxious. There needs to be more. I need a foundation for my foundation. A backbone with which I can prop this plot up and build on it as I go. Unfortunately, I donít think itís quite there yet. I want this to be bigger than it can be. I need to absolutely drain my imagination. Rip out every little idea and put them all to use.
Tomorrow Iím going to see Radiohead. They are in a constant battle with Soundgarden to become the greatest band that has ever graced my mind. So, I guess you can tell that Iím a little excited. Anyway, uh, after that I must go find a job. So, itís like a little end of freedom celebration. Or a funeral for my as of yet uncrushed soul. God knows I need the money. Isnít that what life is all about? Money. Damned if you do poor if you donít. Iíll try to keep my spirits up. Shit. Wish me the greatest luck.
What can I say? Radiohead did not disappoint. It was a great day. At Lollapalooza one of my friends broke her foot. Hairline. During the Rage show, of course. All of that walking probably upset her. It happens. Iím at a loss for words. This isnít coming out easily. A lot of things happened and I donít know what to think of a few of them. Itís always like this. I need a distance to understand it better. Try to get my mind right before jumping to conclusions. In the end it all works itself out. Iíll see you tomorrow.
Splittiní smokes, splittiní atoms. Being a footstool. Playing skittles. Drinkiní screwdrivers with old ass orange juice. Guero, Dr. Dog. RADIOHEAD! Still smiling long after it ended. Cinnected at the shoulder and reading too much into it. Scuffed shoes. Broken voice box. Going a day without food. Going years without love. Youíll survive, but what are you living for? Talk without thinking. Turning my quarter over and over. Feeling two faced. Nuclear horizon. Verbs and nouns agreeing. Talk shop. Talk about the past. Think about the future. He who worries about the future suffers it twice. One day at a time.
Pushed a cop and his car off the roof. Shot a hobo. Blew up a garage. Ran over so many people. Killed a woman with a knife in a dark junkyard. Shot a hotdog vendor. Shot some immigrants. Killed a hooker. A small arms dealer called for friends that never showed. He lost his head. Shot some more random people. Helped a guy buy some crack. Cheap hits. Driving too fast. Spinning out of control. Killed the boss. His boss. Bad jokes. Bones broke. Fat fucks. Bruised old men. White knuckles. Sweating palms. I fucking hate yellow light. Wild dog.
The fiendís mind. The lowest of the low. Seeking any means possible to attain that which has taken place of all other important objects. The fix. The need. Theyíll do anything to get it. Anything it takes. Degrade themselves. Sell their dignity. Destroy everything in their way. Turn away help. Rat on their friends. Burn all the bridges. They donít matter. Nothing matters. Gimme what I need. Begging. Lie cheat steal kill. Itís all worth it. I just need one more. Just to get me through the day. I swear Iíll stop after that. Honest. Donít get in my way.
To change the meaning of change and break the chains that hold your hands. To be the light to all those brighter than you and feed the hearts inside their chests. In life, we just sit around and place each otherís bet. I try to do the best I can but Iíd do better if I just gave a shit. I sink myself with heavy weights and add fuel to the fire. You sit around in empty rooms and speak of your empire. If I could change the world today, Iíd just try to build it higher. Funerals for liars.
I started a blog the other day. I donít think I care to link you to it, but I might if it starts being worthy of outside eyes. Really itís sort of like this. Just a place to write and make sure I keep writing. Almost everyday if I can. I hate blogs. Theyíre so concentrated on a single niche like a fucking laser. Rarely my niche if I have one. So theyíre all boring and mostly unbearable. So mine will be contrary to those million others. It will have no target market. No audience at all. Completely fucking useless.
I got a fancy new little notepad today. I must say I was way too excited when I got it. I imagine all the potential it has. I could fill it cover to cover with anything and everything. And nobody would be able to read it. I have terrible handwriting. Being lefthanded might be a cause, but there are many lefties with perfectly legible handwriting. Maybe not then. Perhaps the only truly useful material good in this world is a notepad filled with secret thoughts and ideas. Only useful if you put it to use. Iím going to use it.
The rainís falling on this town again. This storm is a freak. I can tell. Nothing serious, but weird all the same. It made sense to me even though I couldnít see it coming. Things were building up incognito. I couldnít put my finger on it. Parental issues, family trouble, arguments brewing. It all culminates with a shower washing the bad voodoo away. Come to cleanse the house and out the spirits to rest. There will be no rainbow at the end, but the sun will shine tomorrow. I welcome it with open arms tonight. Let it rain down. Wash.
In darkened rooms lit by lighters and roaches, I see the finest of my generation slowly dying. With cigarettes and filled cups, they drag themselves down to escape the crying. Itís a calm suicide in the face of lost hope. The light on the horizon is that of an explosion and everyone sees it. They donít know what the future holds. They can only pray and hope. Theyíve been betrayed when their fathers struck them down. He left them bloodied choking and wet on the outskirts of this town. My generation will rule one day, but wish to die before.
The cut, the empty, the surrounded alone. They strut contently to hear the breaking bone. The down and dirty ceaseless screams split the night looking for home. The almost thirty dreamless dreams spit curses on their phones. The techno-useless, silent abuses, creak loudly through the sewer. The old excuses, blown out fuses, speak proudly of the cure. Weíre not pirates, weíre not saints we just want the best of both. Fingers crossed behind their backs, they wail the holy oath. In grungy rooms with sweet perfumes, they film their own disgrace. The sight alone of broken bone and empty space.
Thereís a strange light hovering in the sky. This yellow light in the shape of a pear on its side astounds me. I saw it earlier while I was walking the dogs. Since then, itís changed shape several times. I looked it up to find out what it was, but nothing came up. One clue, a weather balloon, doesnít seem realistic. Itís too bright. Bright as the moon on the horizon. The strangest thing. I wonder what it is. Unexplained, but still explainable. I canít help but think the worst. This light is a sign of the end. Of what?
I see my ghost lying under the shade talking pure nonsense with my dreams and my pain. I feel the dirt coursing deep in my veins. It smells like cheap incense, but my sense is betrayed. I hear the birds crying out in their cage. They got the final thought that the choice has been made. The taste is bitter and the contents are fake, but the last time I ate I nearly tried to escape. Now Iím gone like the smoke through a fan. You know Iím lurking around but I refuse to be changed. Afterlife of a thought.
The light in the sky was a blimp. So, itís obvious now that I am a paranoid psychopath. What it is there for I have no idea, but itís nice to see them once in a while. Itís funny how I thought it changed shape. I think I must be at least a little insane. Maybe my imagination shapes my reality until I see the truth and Iím pulled back to Earth. My head is in the clouds far too often these days. I think I should see a doctor. Who knows what will happen next? Space armadillos abducting me?
She moves as a widow bringing flowers to the dead. A crown of broken promises rests above her head. In her dreams, he comes to her and lies with her in bed. The ghost of all her memories of things he never said. I kneel beside the path they made and leave off where it led. To pick up what he dropped and to make sure sheís well fed. I never made this to be real, but hope that Iíll be next. The colors beaming from my eyes yellow and red. Thoughts that sheíd accept me replaced by the dread.
Weird poetry vibe going this month. I'm not much for critiquing my own work when it all looks like shit from my side. Someone else can say if it's good or bad. Style, timing, rhymes, and correct word usage donít mean a thing if it just donít sing. You canít tell me if you like it or not, so Iíll just go with it if it hits me and Iíll change when itís gone. I donít know. Iím bored. That makes you bored. Fuck it. Weíre allowed to be bored once in a while. Letís just sit and do nothing.
Things are not always as they seem. The blimp/zeppelin fiasco. Still funny to me. Iím so wacky. Guffaw guffaw guffaw. Christ! Iím not really in the mood for writing. Sometimes you just donít want to do it. Even when itís all you ever want to do. Gotta reach the quota. Must get down one hundred words even if theyíre empty and useless. When it becomes a chore, I think itís time to give up. Weíll see how I feel at the end of the month. For now, Iíll just pump out a few meaningless entries. Can this really be over?
An experiment. Will the website accept an entry over 100 words in length? Hypothesis: Maybe. I think itís not that complicated. Iíll just type over one hundred words. Not too far. Maybe just one or two over the limit and weíll see if it letís me post it. I do believe theyíll take it, if not then youíll never see this post because it would be pointless and retarded. If it succeeds, then you should count the words yourself to see if Iím lying. I wonder if theyíll just delete the extra words and only use the first hundred. And here we goÖ
I believe I have found the executor of my bad karma. Itís funny because I never even considered there to be a single entity that would be responsible for that task. Maybe there isnít just one. Bad deeds lead to bad things. However, I donít think good deeds will change the responsibilities of said executor from bad events to good. I think itís there solely for punishment. Perhaps another is meant for rewards. Unfortunately I have not found the executor for good karma. Well, I havenít figured them out yet. Balance is there even if it is hidden. Karma sucks.
I donít even want to believe in karma it just makes so much sense that itís hard to argue with it. Itís like a supernatural idea and I have no wants or needs to carry faith for such things. I believe ďhellĒ is a state of mind as well as ďheavenĒ. So, when other things of that nature come around I canít help but try to apply them to that system. Still, karma finds itís way in unaltered. I struggle to understand what exactly Iím dealing with and I end up empty handed. Blind acceptance would be a foolís choice.
Dearest and most fortunate reader, you may be disappointed when you discover that the treasures you seek are not contained within. Rest assured that if you continue to seek them out you will find what it is you are after. However, you have stumbled upon something far greater. This is a priceless device with unlimited powers. You hold now in your hands the ability to change the world. Congratulations, I am certain that you will be contented with the changes in your life brought on by this machine. I trust you will know what to do with it. Good luck.
Beware! This device can change the world, but that does not mean for the better. You must choose whether to use it for good or for evil. Whatever divine power has led you here, I am sure that they meant for you to hold its fate in your hands. For better or for worse the choice is yours. Know that there will be great consequences for your actions. You can achieve anything you wish and for all of the worldís sake I hope that you hold no hatred in your heart. Choose the right path into the future. Good luck.
Why is it that when they say that ďeverything happens for a reasonĒ the reason is rarely revealed? Iím sure there are reasons behind the scenes forming the events and general goings on, but itís difficult to understand what the hell you are supposed to be learning. Whenever you think you understand and think you know the reasons there is nothing to tell you if youíre right or wrong. Thatís life. You will never know. Itís lame, but maybe weíre not supposed to know. Whatís the reasoning behind that? Where can I get some damn answers around here? Tech support?
Dear white people, I disapprove. I know that ďwhite peopleĒ is a huge generalization, but I donít think that the ones I disapprove of can be broken down into a smaller group. And I know there are more to blame and it might be offensive to just call out a single race, but what else is there to do? White people, in general, have done atrocious things and I think someone needs to say that. Clean up your act, assholes. You donít have to be the rulers of the world. Weíre all humans. From one white person to a billion.
So, Iím dust now. As I was destined to be. Read all the way back through the archives and you still might not know what that means. I refuse to explain. Itís just how it is. Nothing more to say about the subject. Dust to dust. Optimism is very important. Iíve been feeling down. Forcing myself to smile through it. Trying to mean it. Itís not easy. Life can never be easy. Donít count on it getting easier. Just let it be. Maybe youíll become a better person for it. Maybe Iíll become a better writer. Weíll find out sometime.
I just thought about how if I could see in my head a visual representation of the reader then I might be able to be more direct with you. Maybe put a face to the idea of you reading my entries. Then Iíd be more likely to talk as I do and Iíd be able to sort of converse, albeit one sided, and try to speak to you instead of at you. I donít know. Iíll work on that. Iíd like to see if it works or if it just sinks. I need something better than a blank face. Dunno.
Itís the process through time of making things easier, more convenient, and sustainable. Pull yourself back into history a few hundred years. Envision a gentleman in a comfortable chair lighting a hickory pipe filled with exotic tobacco from a strange land he canít even pronounce. Now jump forward and see a man rolling a similar tobacco in a fine piece of paper. Now come back to the present. Youíre in a factory filled with whirring machines stamping and rolling cigarettes, hundreds per minute, perfectly cylindrical, each the same length and girth. Youíve just witnessed the evolution of killing yourself slowly.
I write mission statements pretty often, but theyíre never perfect. I want one that will define exactly what Iím trying to do forever. Iíve thought about it a lot. I think you need to know what you want before you can achieve it. So I obviously need to know whatís up first. I donít want to waste my life trying to make THE mission statement though. Itíll be simple and achievable, revolutionary and world changing all at once. I donít know. Mission statement version 1.1: Write a worthy mission statement once and for all. Thatíll have to do for now.
I see that some people describe their days and significant goings on in their entries. My days are filled with an overwhelming emptiness. Thatís why I donít do that unless something happens thatís worth documenting. Whatever it is that I deem worthy. My standards are obviously low. By the way, I made some noodles, but I used too much water and itís not the best bowl of noodles ever. Good still, but too watery. I donít know. Why donít you figure it all out? Iím just here to ask questions and pretend to know the answers. Does that make sense?
Yet again, weíve reached the end of the month. Whatís happened? I saw Radiohead, some new music came into my life, gta4, prophecies came true, and a general nothing happened. Nothing life altering, nothing to better or worsen the quality of my life. I hope something happened to you. Itís such a waste to have nothing, good or bad, something is better no matter the nature of that something. Maybe I just donít hold events in too high a regard. I think itís a personal problem. All I know is that I have smokes and itís all good. Enjoy yourself.
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