| don't steal my writing unless you intend to give me a case of beer |
[Nov. 16th, 2006|01:18 pm] |
I'm home now. It seems to be dimly lit. Browned walls lead up into a black shadow were the light is shaded by the crude canvas lampshade. Even though i can't see it at all, something makes me believe the ceiling comes to a point like a steeple. It wasn't like a church, though. It was more sacreligious and dark. Old paintings in old frames hang next to an old splitered table that appears to have been gnawed at. A vampire lives here for certain.
Where am i again?
I got done doing what I was told needed to be done. Whatever it was that I was doing, I'm not really sure. It's all the same, though, when it comes down to anything that slaughters eight hours of your day. Relieved that my legs didnt crumble from under me somewhere in the course of the day, I managed to walk to the bus stop. I took the boring bus out of nowhere back home. Surely a mansion filled with exotic women and fine wines awaits me.
The bus was like an ashtray. These weren't people. There was no way these grayed dead vessels, keeled over handrails and bags of diapers, were living. I decided to make my way up to the bus driver and ask him where we're headed. On my way through the aisle I heard one of the carcasses' cellphone ring. It was a Chingy ringtone. I had to practically hurdle over another ex-poor-bastard who someone obviously played some kind of cruel prank on by putting him on some kind of mobile chair. What the hell happened to respect for the deceased?
Finally, I made it to the bus driver. He appeared to be lifeless as well, but after he talked, I could tell he was at least a zombie. Now we're getting somewhere. "I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where i am?" I asked. I think I heard it say, "We're on Fourth Plain."
"Is that the road to the mortuary?"
"No."
I was still confused as to what was going on. I decided to sit back down and wait for the bus to reach a hub. Disoriented still, I decided to chew on the butt of a cigarette. I find my box of Camels in my coat pocket, pull out a smoke and chomp in. I felt a small piece of paper in my pocket when i put my Camel box back. I took it out and it read:
"DON'T FORGET TO REMIND YOURSELF
THAT THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING."
On the bottom right corner there was a curved arrow pointing outwardly. I flipped the paper around.
"1885 45th St."
It was an address that sounded familiar. Impulsively, I exited the bus moments after and walked along Main until I saw a lamp with a sign that said "45th St." on it. A left sounded good. When i got to 1885 I recognized the place. It was my home. There were no exotic women and it was probably only about 700 square feet. Damn. I walked in anyway.
I'm home now and it seems to be dimly lit. |
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| Admit it. Lagwagon kicks ass. |
[Nov. 13th, 2006|02:41 pm] |
I can't recall the hurting words that I once said
So long ago, still indignation clouds your head
And it's enough to know the pain of losing friends
You perpetuate certain sensless hate
And I can picture you today as you say
"I used to know that guy"
And as you speak they watch your face split in two
And when you see me
It's always, hey Joe,
How is it goin' bro?
Where have you been man?
We used to be such good friends
Two-faced, you don't care
You know what you can do with it
I can't pretend
And there you go again
You ought to bury the hatchet
And leave behind all of the lies
And your disguise
You know that I just want to
Bury the hatchet
How much more will you permit?
Think about it you'll admit
You and I have got to bury the hatchet
Am I really all that bad?
Sometimes I second guess
Often times I wonder why my head is such a mess
But put yourself in my shoes and picture if you can
All these insecuriries create that bitter sad man you see
Hurting
Not me
I forgive, I forget
I won't say the things I'll regret
Not this time
I will stop, but just between you and me
It's a loss
I can't recall the hurting words that I once said
So long ago, still indignation clouds your head
'Cause it's enough to know the pain of losing friends
Fingers point at you
Isn't that what a child would do?
And as you speak they'd watch your face split in two
And when you see me
It's always, hey Joe,
How is it goin' bro?
Where have you been man?
We used to be such good friends
Two faced, you don't care
You know what you can do with it
Hypocrite
Don't give me that shit |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 19th, 2006|12:21 pm] |
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im tired of being the fucking scapegoat and whipping boy all the time |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 12th, 2006|05:36 pm] |
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people that can not handle a guilty conscience and have one will throw anything they can find at you to make you look the bad guy and make them feel better. this is nothing to ever be taken personally. they are not doing it with the intentions of tearing you down. this will only happen if you let it take effect. it is simply a defense mechanism. these types, for reasons that are sadly probably deep seeded, can not truly be interpesonal because of something similar to a superiority complex. they are obsessed with a social justice that's conveniently conditioned to their own insecurity. i sometimes catch myself acting in this matter as well. in understanding this, i can change that and avoid living a pitiful existence. |
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| i apparently have to do this |
[Oct. 11th, 2006|11:34 am] |
[A is for age:] 22
[B is for beer of choice:] heineken
[C is for career:] dont have one
[D is for favorite Drink:] rum and coke
[E is for essential item you use everyday:] my pipe
[F is for favorite song at the moment:] madvillain - fancy clown
[G is for favorite games:] holdem, pl omaha, omaha H8, razz, 7 stud, 7 stud H8
[H is for hometown:] fullerton, ca
[I is for instruments you play:] guitar, drums, sax
[J is for favorite juice?:] pineapple mango
[K is for kids?:] dont have em right now. would like to when im much older.
[L is for last kiss?:] your mom
[M is for marriage:] not married
[N is for name of your best friend:] marky mark minus the bunch aka the cocaroach
[O is for overnight hospital stays:] not for myself. stayed at the hospital a couple days straight when mikey got hit.
[P is for phobias:] heights, mice, rats, drive by shootings.
[Q is for quote:] my baggy dungarees give me room to breathe. in a room full of crackas i might cut the cheese
[R is for biggest regret:] i dont really have one that i know of
[S is for self confidence:] lost it for a minute there.
[T is for time you wake up:] usually around noon
[U is for underwear:] i wear boxers when i dont have my thong on.
[V is for vegetable you love:] artichoke
[W is for worst habit:] i smoke a pack in a second when im drinking
[X is for x-rays you've had:] ankle and wrist (and teeth, but that doesnt count)
[Y is for yummy food you make:] not in any way applicable
[Z is for zodiac sign :] gemini |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 1st, 2006|11:41 pm] |
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it's alright to talk about people as long as it's behind there backs right? lol, this is a fuckin joke. im so over it. |
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| deja vu |
[Oct. 1st, 2006|01:12 pm] |
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once again i feel like my heart was put through a shredder and somehow made out to be the bad guy. i got nothing left to say. i give up man. |
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| the museum of things smelling of testicles |
[Sep. 30th, 2006|02:17 pm] |
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you're supposed to be tolerant, but you're also supposed to have conviction. either way you go with most anything there's an unshakable label or standard. i feel imprisoned by idealism and political correctness. why is it i can't just live and try as hard as i can to be a natural and purely instinctive mammal without the general concesus of being labeled of such a particular cause. it leads the way to being forced into some weird state of prejudice and cripples true communication. i dont mean prejudice in any racial or hateful sense. i just feel like im being forced into convention. i hate convention. |
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| um |
[Jul. 28th, 2006|03:57 pm] |
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I AM SO BORED |
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| Hustle n' Flow |
[Jul. 27th, 2006|12:21 am] |
Two couples were playing poker one evening.
Jim accidentally dropped some cards on the floor.
When he bent down under the table to pick them up, he noticed
Bobs wife Sue wasn't wearing any underwear under her dress!
Shocked by this, Jim upon trying to sit back up again, hit his
Head on the table and emerged red-faced.
Later, Jim went to the kitchen to get some refreshments.
Bob's wife followed and asked, "Did you see anything that you
Liked under there?" Surprised by her boldness, Jim courageously admitted
That, well indeed he did.
She said, " Well, you can have it but it will cost you $500."
After taking a minute or two to assess the financial and moral
Costs of this offer, Jim confirms that he is interested.
She tells him that since her husband Bob works Friday afternoons
And Jim doesn't, Jim should be at her house around 2 p.m. Friday
Afternoon.
When Friday rolled around, Jim showed up at Bob's house at 2 p.m.
Sharp and after paying Sue the agreed sum of $500 they went to the
Bedroom and closed their transaction, as agreed.
Jim quickly dressed and left.
As usual, Bob came home from work at 6 p.m. And upon entering the
House, asked his wife abruptly.
"Did Jim come by the house this afternoon?"
With a lump in her throat Sue answered "Why yes, he did stop by for
A few minutes this afternoon."
Her heart nearly skipped a beat when her husband curtly asked, "And
Did he give you $500?"
In terror she assumed that somehow he had found out and after mustering her best poker face, replied, "Well, yes, in fact he did give me $500."
Bob, with a satisfied look on his face, surprised his wife by saying, "Good, I was hoping he did. Jim came by the office this morning and borrowed $500 from me. He promised me he'd stop by our house this afternoon on his way home and pay me back."
Now THAT, my friends, is a poker player! |
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| Ode To An Alien |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|11:57 am] |
Beast, I've known you
in all love's countries, in a baby's face
knotted like walnut meat,
in the crippled obbligato
of a polio-stricken friend,
in my father's eyes
pouchy as two marsupials,
in the grizzly radiance
of a winter sunset, in my lover's arm
veined like the blue-ridge mountains.
To me, you are beautiful
until proven ugly.
Anyway, I'm no cosmic royalty
either: I'm a bastard of matter
descended from countless rapes
and invasions
of cell upon cell upon cell.
I crawled out of the slime;
I swung through the jungles
of Madagascar;
I drew wildebeest on the caves at Lascaux;
I lived a grim life
hunting peccary and maize
in some godforsaken mudhole in the veldt.
I may squeal
from the pointy terror of a wasp,
or shun the breezy rhetoric
of a fire;
but, whatever your form, gait, or healing
you are no beast to me,
I who am less than a heart-flutter
from the brute,
I who have been beastly so long.
Like me, you are that pool
of quicksilver in the mist,
fluid, shimmery, fleeing, called life.
And life, full of pratfall and poise,
life where a bit of frost
one morning can turn barbed wire
into a string of stars,
life aromatic with red-hot pizzazz
drumming ha-cha-cha
through every blurt, nub, sag
pang, twitch, war, bloom of it,
life as unlikely as a pelican, or a thunderclap,
life's our tour of duty
on our far-flung planets,
our cage, our dole, our reverie.
Have you arts?
Do waves dash over your brain
like tide rip along a rocky coast?
Does your moon slide into the night's back pocket,
just full when it begans to wane,
so that all joy seems interim?
Are you flummoxed by that millpond,
deep within the atom, rippling out to every star?
Even if your blood is quarried,
I pray you well, and hope my prayer your tonic.
I sit at my desk now
like a tiny proprietor,
a cottage industry in every cell.
Diversity is my middle name.
My blood runs laps;
I doubt yours does,
but we share an abstract fever
called thought,
a common swelter of a sun.
So, Beast, pause a moment,
you are welcome here.
I am life, and life loves life. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 24th, 2006|12:42 am] |
So I've been looking at apartments recently and I found a few I really like. The one I want pretty bad is a 1 bedroom and 600 a month which is what I can get a 2 bedroom for, but what do I really need 2 bedrooms for? Anyway, this is what it looks like
This one for 500 a month also looks pretty nice:
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| First time back playing in the league. |
[Jul. 22nd, 2006|03:45 pm] |
So I played in some poker league games today. The first game went really well. I made some great reads and pretty much did everything right or the best I could even though I didn't make top 10. I was kicking ass in the beginning but I started getting cold cards toward the second half.
Then I wait about 45 minutes for the second game... The first hand dealt I got Ace Queen suited. I tripled the blind (which is a lot considering that's like a little over 1/6th of the starting stack. This other guy calls me, and then this other guy was looking me over for a minute and goes all in. I could tell just by looking at the guy that he was a rookie and positive he didnt have a strong pocket pair or even ace king, so after some deliberation because I hate going all in preflop I reluctantly called. The other guy behind me called as well.
So that's three of us all the way in square. The guy who pushed it all in only had ace 7 offsuit, and I happily flip my cards over. BUT, the guy behind me who had just called my raise had ace king. So I'm pretty much thinking in regards to the guy with ace 7 "thanks a lot buddy", "the flop wont bite you dammit", etc.
Ace king ended up winning on high cards alone and I was eliminated along with captain retard on the first damn hand. I cursed a bit under my breath and went and signed out.
It's so annoying when people cant just play a hand out. I mean I could maybe understand if he had wired jacks or better so as to protect the hand, but fuck man, that guy had garbage.
Balls. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 21st, 2006|04:23 pm] |
Longest.... bus ride... ever....
ever....
1pm thursday till 2:30 pm friday (today).
Had some weird experiences which I'll probably write about later, but for now I'm too tired as I had not really slept the whole time.
I will, however, leave you with some roadsign name fun:
"Hooker Creek"
"Weed"
"Black Butte"
"Balls Ferry Rd."
Salut |
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| The Drunk of July: Indedrunknessday |
[Jul. 5th, 2006|11:58 am] |
I am hung over.
Last night was pretty wild. Made my way to The Newgs place round about 6 o'clock. Drank a bit. Nate, Matt............ *here's where i stonededly sit and think "what the fuck Matt's last name?" cuz you can't just call a Matt a Matt because it's too general and common but you gotta abbreviate the last name so nobody feels left out like all the other matts, mikes, and steves out there... it's a problem alright so dont be ig-nant.* Steve was there, as was Brett and Derrick. We eventually ended up at the pool. More beer was to be had by all there. Even Old Man John got sloshed with us. This 70 year old man apparently felt "The Chinese wuz tryin to invade like and we'z gotta git all them spies out of America before they pull Mac Donalds from under our butts and we'z all communists" and the like. Giddy up.
Ditched John, went back to The Newgs, smoked some pot, and decided to go downtown. I thought Nate was bullshitting about all the bars being closed on the Drunk of July, but apparently he was right. Luckily, The Connie was open and as always following the sesession of vodka matinis and Tom Collins'. And of course with Nate around, half full tumblers of Jack D. is being pumped into our mouths. Drunken blur, drunken blur, drunken blur... then i think jason showed up with someone but now that i think of it I dont remember anyone being with him the rest of the night...drunken blur, drunken blur, and more drunken blur.... i remember coming to and being escorted out of the back alley by some bouncers. Still yet to find out what I did.
I remember a little about getting into the Newg's car. It seemed like we dropped off a damned near million people. Then I came to and I was awake. |
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