Wrap It Up

So many thoughts come to me but not a fucking one is worth mentioning at this point. Some days feel like a total waste of life and time before they even begin. Yet I still have the whole day to reflect on how shitty the day is. I’m sure I’ll come up with some epic idea by the end of day. Throw enough shit against the wall and you will have your masterpiece.

Only my mind seems to only want to cooperate right as I fall asleep because fuck you brain for always letting me down. Strike while the iron is hot. Too bad it is only at the worst times. Right before work, before I sleep, or any time I have to do some other shit. Dead ass tired again with no chance of sleep for three more days. How I can’t wait for Mondays. In this crisis for sleep everything feels as though it is coming down on me. Shit raining down on me, fighting me, against me while I’m curled up in a ball on the floor.

Who the fuck thought twitter was a good idea? An asshole with too many friend to care beyond 140 characters. I want to hear from you but keep it short and lose big words jerk off as no one has time to look that shit up. Next generation is so fucked and they are very welcome. Too bad we had to be the ones to bring it all down. Tear down society to leave our mark. At this rate the next generation will be running out of shit to burn down. The smile I have is so wide that it hurts. Fuck’em all.

Scrapping Together A Scrap Book Of Broken Thoughts

The surface is rippled by the stones
we throw at each other
They watch us from their glass homes
watching every movement with cheer
we are nothing more than jesters, a joke
the keys to the kingdom lie far from our hands
as they dangle just over head
we want a revolution, we want change
well good luck, you make a difference
if you just give up.

The people held at different standards
the masses are laughing as we destroy each other
Money moves the world into a tail spin of lost control
They will ride our backs until they can walk again
until they can stand up again and tell us
how proud we should be to be from America

Blood drains from the soul
body goes numb and the brain goes cold
separation between church and state
separation between body and soul
the world is ending and you were all told

At Least I’m dying
So I don’t have to listen
to you

I want to cut my throat
Bathe in my blood
Just to feel how it would be
To be me for once

Drag me through dirt
I drag my cross to my grave
Everywhere I go people throw stones
I am what I can be

I can feel myself as I bleed
I bleed for you and I bleed for me
The weeping angles can’t stop repeating
“God why are you doing this to me?”
It all started, the bleeding that is
When I asked the simple question
“Do you still really believe?”
Lies are truths and truths are lies
What if I told you that nothing was real
That real is only a state of mind

Honesty is the most sincere form of flattery
Honesty is why you’re an asshole

The Devil is an asshole but so are you
The witches were burned because they
Were feared, holy called unholy mistakes
That we teach, no one can tell you how
To live, no one can tell you what to do
But somehow they do

God choose this so you can suffer
A test unlike any other

Lies, lies we tell ourselves to get by
Everyone is standing in their windows
Hoping to get noticed, but every one is too busy
Ignoring the people in their shitty lives
A generation raised on hiding, despising
Falsified documents made to not look like knives
Everyone’s opinion locked away in a data base
What did you do today?
Nothing, the same as always
Who wants to hear the truth, the infliction
What do you mean, the words get twisted
Infections, choose properly or be torn down
Shit upon, drugged around and forgotten
This is the world in which we live our lives
Video graphed disturbances bombarding our every move
Don’t worry someone is always watching
Smile and go about your life

A little bit of everything in this one… Yes… My brain doesn’t stop… Even when I ask it too.. Anxiety much?…. 

Living in a Caste-less System

He walks the street at night searching for half used or discarded cigarettes to smoke. Dirty, unkempt, he smells of a hundred days of sweat, but by what laws of man does it say he is doing it wrong? Those of us lucky enough to be awake right now cast our judgements. Make our off-handed comments as I stand amongst them silent and not caring. I do not fear or respect this man however I do understand. I understand his plight to do as he wishes. I understand why he makes his pilgrimage here every night looking for the things that others don’t want. If only we too could have his conviction, but he serves more as an example to why we can’t than why we should. We can’t all take our shitty useless jobs for granted. I finish my cigarette and leave the part left on the bench next to me among the other unfinished ones. In an act of charity I leave another brand new one with the others. Unlike most in his situation he won’t accept charity though I have tried once or twice. He however will take anything discarded by chance. Silently I walk back into the building. Go back to my shitty job that I could give a fuck about, but need more than I’m fully aware of. Trapped in this box within another, and yet another.

I’m tearing at my stitches and wondering if this is the right thing to do. Examples displayed to me by fate or God or what the fuck ever would tell me it’s not. Yet each stitch of my very existence begs to be popped. Dwelling on such thoughts and such actions is not healthy to the system in which I am confined too. I often wonder who it that is imprisoned in this world is it the free or the damned? I’m hanging on by very little these days. Becoming unhinged I would say. With death metal drums beats bouncing around in my skull I want to get violent. But why? What for? What I have to say is so far from violence and more to do with depression. On point with torture than violence. The feelings dig deep, stitched together by the reality that none of this really matters. How I feel has nothing to do with living life only a byproduct of how I choose to feel about all of this. Life is ever-changing. Constantly evolving and it is how we adapt to it that dictates the outcome of it all.

A Lie Preview

Part 2. Missed Part 1? It can be found somewhere within the bowels of this website.

The pharmacy is in the back and is the only real reason we exist. There are sixteen aisles in the store, only two of them matter. Aisles thirteen and fourteen, this is where we keep the over the counter medication. They are also the two numbers I have grown to hate because if the customers aren’t telling me their life story then they are asking me where something is. I say these two numbers so much that when thrown a curve ball of a question that has nothing to do with what is on those aisles I still say thirteen or fourteen and have to quickly change my answer. It is the little things that make you go insane.

The store has everything anyone could need in a live or die situation. Of course some things cost a lot more here than some other places, but the deals are fair and we get a lot of the locals coming in regularly. Every day is nearly the same as the day before it, but every now and then something changes. Like cigarette prices that have risen since New York State decided they needed more money to redecorate their offices or spend on hookers. In case you were wondering hookers are getting quite expensive it seems especially since the cost of their cigarettes went up. It’s a vicious cycle that every one of us has to pay. Because someone has to be making money off of something.

My break is almost up and I really don’t want to walk back in there and put on a fake smile, like I give a shit. I don’t know how I got myself into this situation, but yet in some twisted way I do. If it wasn’t for the drugs I don’t know what I would do with myself. I am rather confused about how everything really is and I often wonder if it is my brain that is lying to me. I throw my cigarette down on the ground, it makes a hissing noise as it penetrates the snow. I twist the cap off my shitty energy drink and swallow another pill that I most certainly need to get through the rest of my shift. It is another long day in hell and I welcome it with a smile.

The thing about it is. That it is really hard to chop up this book or burn it. I mean I guess you could, but who has that kind of money? If you do then you are in luck because…

 

Look I’m not very good at selling my soul which is why I have to do it and not someone I pay is doing it. Jesus that’s a bad sentence. I’m not sure what about it is bad. I just don’t like it.  

Everyone Is A Character

11/29/09

The devil may have his due, but I will have my day. I will have my reign and oh how it will rain. My vengeance and justice will pour down on all the men and woman who disobeyed me. Those of you who would not follow my orders when I told you to lead. The whole world will be mine and only mine, and every man, woman, and child shall be my slave and I their master. I will pave the way with the bodies of those who dare to disobey me ever again. The weak will be hung from poles lighting my destruction across the world. This wave of violence will be my repayment for all that was done to me. This and only this could ever be seen as forgiveness in my eyes. Mark my words I will make you bleed. I will make you pay for every little thing that has been done. Now keep your fucking dog off my god damn lawn asshole.

Sincerely,

Your Neighbor.

 

This is a fun one because it is based on fact. Well kind of… It wasn’t all too bad though… Since the dog couldn’t read so she wasn’t offended by any of this… Though secretly I think she knew… She Knew What She Was Doing… 

Diary of a Broken Soul

I’m a miserable self-loathing piece of shit. I’m hidden, in hiding among the insects, between the cracks all around us, waiting it out, and then again I am nothing at all. Everyone always wants to know what I am doing. I lie and say nothing. When really I’m writing down every stupid thing they say, every unfortunate thing they do in my mind or right onto the paper. Profit off of their in securities and their secrets. Each one forming a character inside my head. An excuse to make sure in some way they are dead. I don’t know it’s a process of letting go.

A lady, a bitch, a person with a vagina and tits told me today. She told me the corn tortillas are too hard. Too hard compared to what? Flour, I’m unhappy. I’m not sure at all. Have something to say. It’s on the tip of my tongue. My mind clicks, gears churning trying to not get stuck, trying to not destroy myself from within, and no words come out. A simple smile and nod as visions of beating her to death with corn tortillas dance in my head. No one speaks to me here anymore so, I thought I’d share some words with myself. Madness, I live in a world of madness. It clogs up my brain. Full of nothings and repetitive bull shit. She was white in case that matters, but here in Texas we are all Mexican at heart. Denounce our true existence as if we could hide our bronzed over skin or retarded fucking accents if we get the chance. Ingrained and in breed the sun seeps through the cracks on the walls. It finds its way in for no reason at all. Taunting us to come outside and see the big ass Texas blue sky.

I fail to heed the call preferring to stay inside the majority of the year. Winter, spring, summer, fall doesn’t matter the season I hate every second here. Every moment that I have to deal with these people. These outsiders that come from all over the United States bringing with them their problems they thought they had left back home. Instead they only tow them right to our door step, right in our face, and all they do is complain about how this isn’t like this or that or who gives a fuck. Why does it always seem like the hardest thing is to let go even if you wanted it to go all along? Why move to a place only to change it to where you came from? Transplant city is confused. Segregated by not only directions but by the people themselves. Each with their own set of problems, concerns, and morality. Falling apart at the seams, it seems the stitching has come lose after so much wear and tear. Inspiration is lost on me as of late. With so much mediocrity shoved in my face day in and day out I’ve lost track of who I am. So lost in a sea of lost souls. Doesn’t matter anymore how I feel or what I have to say. As long as I shut up, do as I’m told, and get this fucking lady some soft corn tortillas.

So much of this is beyond my control. So much of this is beyond anything I could know. I can’t control how I feel. I like to think that I can or that I could, but how much can I really control? We don’t choose who we are born to or when we are born. Though they factor into our existence every day, but not by choice. The way we think is ingrained before we even have a chance to think about how we process information. Some say we are born this way. If that is the case then all of my outside influences don’t even matter. I would think this way and feel this way no matter who or what I have come across in my life time. A bunch of shit if you ask me. Born this way? Genetic hatred for everyday life? I don’t see it even if I feel it. A slow progression built up over time. The distance I’ve traveled. The assholes I’ve met in between made me who I am. Each and every knife dug in and drug out of me has molded me and shaped me into what I’ve become.

Yet I like myself. The perfectly cut scars, the misshapen features of a monster, and the overall decomposition of my soul. What’s not to like? It’s the people around me that I hate. With their Caesar like actions waiting to cut out what is left of me. But if I wasn’t in the shadows where is it that they lie? In the light or in the darkness with me? Do I ever really shed them off or are their knives and their influence truly part of me? I think about this as I pick the scabs. The never healing wounds of my past. If I hadn’t been beaten as a child would I be who I am? If my father had stayed by my side would it have made a difference? These questions have no answers. These questions therefore are not real questions at all. They are only lingering thoughts that haunt me in times of sadness and despair. Try to not focus on them, to dwell on them, but I always know they are still there.

My daughter has become a constant reminder of these topics. I look at her sometimes as she sleeps, as she plays, and all I can think is how could anyone walk away from her? Walk away from their child? Hurt their child or another person’s child? Yet I am proof that it can happen. Not only a witness but a victim and still I don’t understand. A real thought turns into so many real questions. Maybe it was meant to be this way. To feel this way. Maybe I just so happen to be a better person because of the knives. Again no real way of ever knowing. Eighteen years from now my daughter could be a drug addict, a murderer, or worst of all conservative because I stayed. Life proposes too many what if’s for one day of reflection.

Even More Broken Thoughts Over Time

I really like playing the asshole, the liar, the thief it’s so much easier than it is to be me.  I just can’t take the loneliness. I’m lonelier now than I was before I gave it all up. The voices in my head have taken over and there is no telling what they have or haven’t said at this point. The long conversations I once had have given into a world that I have created. My life has been a long spiral down to this point. I’m at the bottom and I really don’t feel any worse than when I was at the top. Gone are the days where anything makes sense, the days of innocence, and the days plagued by truth. Here and now is hell. No longer am I waiting to grow up. Now I’m just waiting to die. I’ve never felt any more at home than I do now.

 

The best known secrets are the ones everyone already knows, but are too afraid to admit. We all give up on our dreams or on ourselves at some point. Natural progression of life I assume. Best example crotch fat. Fucking kill me at that point. Why would we even store fat there? How the fuck is that even an option? Did the ass run out of room and the belly declare it is too full? I’d cut it off with a rusty knife. What exercise is there to even fight this? I guess at that point you are just fucked.

 

A customer just told me that the artificial sugars in gum are basically poison. So she buys a thirty pack and heads on home.

 

I got the best house on the block, the fear of admiration by my peers, and the whole world waiting at my feet. What more could I possibly want from this world? I’m no longer hungry and that scares me. Frightens me to the core of my very existence and yet I will do nothing about it. I can’t anymore. The times have come and gone. A new era of my life has begun. One where I am no longer poor. One where I have everything I could ever want. All I have to do is maintain and I’ll be fine. Throwing more cash in the fire I leave for France tomorrow. I don’t even like going there anymore. I’m going to go. My life is so sad it depresses me.

 

My mother got remarried. I don’t like to talk about it much, but it makes me feel like an outsider in a distant land. Family events have become horrible because of this. I feel out-of-place and disconnected from everyone else. So much so that I spend most of the evening hiding as if I’m not even there. My mother’s new family are all nice people, but they are strangers none the less. I think it is so hard for me to connect with them because there are so many. For most of my life it has been me and my mom. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and any other family gathering event. It was always just the two of us and now there is only a room full of people I don’t know. I’m not at a family event now but I am supposed to stop by after work. I won’t be going tonight though I lie and say I will. It is easier this way. Maybe too easy for me. I’m sure my mother will be heartbroken and she will wait patiently for me to walk through the door at any moment. This is probably an over dramatic realization. Too many movies have rotted my brain. I’m sure a room full of people will not miss one more. As I said the easy way out. Push everything a side and move on. The times have changed from what they used to be and I need to get used to the way things are.