Post Script of the Unimaginative

Oh, god. Here comes that fucking cat again. Charcoal, they call the cat Charcoal. His is gray and actually a female, but she looks like one of those cats on the bags of cat food we sell. She looks so much like these cats that I have now included her in my theory that I am the sole living being on this earth.  That in some way I have created everything around me. By happenstance, everything in the back of my mind subliminally or directly is being created by me.

“I have these thoughts off and on. I have this crazy thought so often that it almost seems normal at this point. This thought that I am god and the “real world” is nothing more than the way I want it to be. As if I create war and famine on the other side of the world just to have shit to talk about. I could rationalize the same about rules. It is interesting to note that  I have never been pulled over, arrested, or even had jury duty for that matter. I have also never won any major prize, event, or contest either. I have only been seriously ill once and beyond that have had no real brushes with death. All of these facts shouldn’t lead me to believe that I am so special, but they have. They drive me to a point to believe that I am a god like being.

I’m not saying I am God, but maybe the son of such a being or perhaps I am only in a deep coma. One long dream where by happenstance I have become a god like being. Of course, I have tested my so-called theory to no avail. I have wished to win the lottery, dreamed about it, and even thought maybe it would suck to take on such a burden. Nothing, of course, came about this. Sadly though no pay off to my wishes and prayers doesn’t disprove my theory about the world around me. The only true way to disprove my theory is to die which now begins the true crazy.

If I was to die if I could die it would prove that I am not what I believe to be. It would also end this journey. A place I’m not ready to visit just yet. In the meantime, I shall keep on going with my every day boring life and keep formulating my hypothesis until the time I see fit to test it. But honestly, if you were a God what would you end up doing day to day?” Charcoal lets out a large yawn as she works her way to my lap. Taking a long drag from my cigarette, “Yeah, I would want to do the same thing.”

 

This is what happens when you don’t sleep… show up two hours early to work every day to get some writing done… and a stray cat becomes your only friend… I did this for about a year… Things change but always feel the same… I never actually talked to Charcoal… I’d feed her the cat food with her face on it and when she was done she would sit on my lap from time to time… it bothered me so much… I allowed it out of kindness… while cringing at every moment… was she covered in fleas or disease?… shivering at the thought even now… then one day it rained and it rained hard… one of those good old-fashioned Texas rains… I didn’t see her for a couple of days after that… I pretended not to care… pretended it was for the best that this dirty cat was no longer coming around to join in my sadness… my pain… my loneliness… time went on and as it did this horrible smell came from nowhere over by where I used to sit and write… over by the water runoff… a pipe just big enough for a cat to seek shelter in the rain… through the storm… took so long for that smell to go away…  I stopped feeding strays after that…

 

 

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Merch

Broken Thoughts

The signs were there all along
Lighting the way for the climax
Illuminating the inevitable fall
Who does this to them to themselves
Statistically speaking one and the same
Reality couldn’t be any further apart
Looked so good on paper
It had to work at least once
What could all this really mean
To someone who doesn’t care
I gave up but we took turns
Statistically speaking one or both should be dead by now
Still fucking breathing in all the pain
Still thinking about all the shit never said
If we can’t be honest then why worry about the truth
Inhuman to think this all began with a lie

 

65 pages on the same thought
Six albums and I’ve already forgot
Therapy couldn’t be any simpler
If only it had worked the first time
Revisiting the same sad thoughts
That makes me so fucked up
Dancing with the devil couldn’t release these demons
Gods warm embrace hasn’t done much to subside the pain
Out of options and ways to say
I hate you
So I’ll see you there
Pretend to not care but I always will
No matter how much I stab at the thoughts
Burn them down and piss on the ashes
They will still be there, we will still be here

 

Skin
The skin bleeds as the knife digs deeper
My skin spreads open revealing bone
The skin peels back as I pull
My skin lies in a pile on the floor

The skin is a metaphor for something I don’t know
My skin is missing but I am whole

Can you see everything you’ve become
Every little thing you have done
Like memories burning in the sun
I feel every ray and question why
Reflecting on nothing at all
In some way became something
Each and everything
Apart of something bigger
Picture unclear, vision blurry
Think one day I’ll know
By then it will be too late
Time has a way of reflecting on things
Now is not the time or place
But at the end does it all make sense

 

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…

Postscript of the Unimaginative

03/18/13

I don’t drink coffee tastes like shit. I drink a soda infused with the right blend of chemicals, vitamins, and some other shit instead. I go back outside and sit on the balcony. I don’t work for a couple of hours so I’ll smoke a couple of more. I’ll stare off my balcony and wonder how far down it really is. The sun bleeds through the clouds blinding me and only me. I hate the sun and the heat yet I still live here. It is killing me little by little with the taste that never goes away. My teeth are, must be rotting out. I can taste them decaying from the inside out. Like the emotions in my head. My dog threw up on the floor the other day. I took her bed and covered it up. Wasn’t there anymore so somebody must have cleaned it up or she ate it.

It wasn’t chunky or on the carpet otherwise, I might have taken care of it right then and there. It was yellow and green with hair in it from when I brushed her. She likes to eat the hair that I brush off of her. Ever since she was a puppy. I don’t know why and I don’t understand it. I try to not let her eat the hair, but sometimes she grabs the chunks off the floor around her before I can. It makes no sense to me. It is not as if I see hair on the bathroom wall and peel it off to consume it. It is strange, my dog is strange like my life it doesn’t make sense. It is far too early to make sense of all these things. All these things from a dream. A dream that will fester in my mind and ruin my whole day.

I need more sleep, but I won’t get any. Not until the last minute, not until I can’t. It is the way things work. It is the way things are. I have all day to do something but I’ll sit here and think of all these things, and do nothing. My day was already planned even if I didn’t know it. Fate is something you can not avoid. Even if you don’t believe in it or your path. It keeps working against or for you, but either way, it is with you. Slowly killing you with every thought and every action. I make my own choices so they say, but no one chooses this willingly every day.

Broken Thoughts

The chambers of the heart
Keep pumping blood
Even if there is no will to go on
Patience but for what
A long waiting game for nothing at all
I carved one out
Only to give one up
Nothing feels natural anymore
A made up act
I call love
Doesn’t matter anymore where it comes from
If only my thoughts could match my actions

 

The image it haunts me. An image from my past but how could it exist in the present unless time is bleeding into itself once again. I thought I escaped this. I thought I fixed but it seems I have only distorted the truth. Turned a blind eye to the facts. I pick up the walking stick from my past and realize it is in fact real. Am I losing my mind? How can I erase something that has already been erased? Stuck between times there is no outlet for my crimes. No sense of right and wrong anymore. What else if any is out of place in this timeline? I search the horizon. Need more time to know for sure? I take the walking stick from the past and trek on into the unknown.

 

Sat around today
Doesn’t mean anything
Thought I would share
My inner thoughts
Going through hell
Marching past the gates
Lakes of fire burning bodies made of shit
They are heard but with no real thought
Doesn’t rhyme at the an end I don’t care
The Jesus freaks sing their hymns to me
As though it might help
The blood cascades down the wall
You know you are home
When everything is comfortable
Bones line the edges of the room
You know you are home
When everything is fine
Skin drapes the furniture
You know you are home
When everything is normal

 

If someone gave me a million dollars. Anyone at this point the reason doesn’t have to make sense. If anyone gave me a million dollars. I’d watch it burn. Dollar by dollar. One bill at a time. That’s how I feel right now. I don’t know how to make it go away. It all seems so useless to struggle for. Who are we when the money is all gone? Who are we when we have more than we will ever need? Who are we at all? If not for our needs.

The theme for this week is greed… truly broken thoughts… always wanting more… more of something… more food… more money.. more sex… more pain… greed doesn’t go away with more… too much of a good thing is never enough…  considered one of the seven deadly sins… Greed is hard to escape on a day to day basis… who doesn’t want more?… what defines more?… at what point should we cut ourselves off from more?… I know I could always use more… more sleep usually… more of anything at this point… turns out I am human after all… was holding out for different… but I’ll settle for human… 

Broken Thoughts (Vulgar)

My hands are callus and soaked in blood
Quitting isn’t what it used to be
Walking away isn’t a train of thought
It’s an action that weighs more than weight itself
The words so heavy
They don’t come out right
Nothing comes out right anymore
Each thought is loaded with regret
Forced out by a will to keep going
God I fucking hate every God damn thing
If I could I would
But I have too much responsibility now

Corporate America doesn’t give a shit. They pretend that they do with a smile on their face. Heads bobbling as though yes, very much so. While their hands are wrapped around their dicks stroking faster and faster. Getting off on your displeasure as you purchase the items you didn’t want in the first place. Go ahead and tell me how you feel. Tell me what you want. Smile and act natural. I’ve been trained for this. This is what we do.

“The one with the Indian on it.”

“I think they prefer Native American.”

“I think they’d prefer if we gave them their land back. But in the meantime, the one with the cartoon Indian will do just fine.”

Day in, day out, 9 to 5, 9 to whenever however you want to put getting fucked. I am lost within myself. Lost in the dark. The theme is something I carry with me every second of every day. The lights all burned out. No longer even a flicker of a flame. Absolute dark. If only I could get beyond this. Step into the figurative illusion of this so called light I’m missing in my life. Maybe then. Maybe somehow I could be who it is I always dreamed I could be. Then again maybe it will all one day come together for us all. I doubt it, but that could very well be who I am. In the end, we all have something to say. In the end, we all have our place in obscurity. We all have our own personal wall to climb.

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

Kind of basic Broken Thoughts… a fractured reality of what I have to deal with every day… stretched out over years… you think that I’m not listening… you believe me when I say that I am not… but really I’m taking it all in… absorbing every useless thought… stabbing myself with the idea that I am better than you… I’m more you than you will ever be me…  I’m nothing more than what time forgot… lurking in the shadows… standing next to you at every turn… don’t look because I’m staring… smile because I know I will… “Is there anything I can help you find?”… 

Postscript of the Unimaginative

Pointlessness…. 01/16/13

My life up to this point has been filled with nothing. It is an everyday journey of watching shit go downhill at a steady rate of speed. Might as well have never been born at this point. I haven’t contributed anything to society. Unless you count work, obviously I don’t but you might. At work, they act as if I am irreplaceable though I know that I am. The duality of this statement makes my life even shittier. I work hour after hour at the fifth go nowhere job of my life trying to make something out of nothing. I don’t really know what I would rather be doing but I’m ninety-five percent sure this is not it. Currently, I am sitting at a Dog Park with my dog who knows not what to do here but sniff every inch of this picnic table I am sitting at.

Luckily no other dogs are here because God only knows my dog has no social skills what so ever. Must be a trait she gets from me. It’s cold for the third time in nine months here in Texas. Not so much of a complaint as an observation. I miss the cold. The bitter harshness of it all. The need to survive outweighing the need to exist. The cold brings a point to a life that stabs every exposed inch. The daily sunshine here depresses me more than the daily rain in Washington. Everyone is so cheerful and fake here as if they have nothing to be sad about.

So optimistic it seems like everyone has either a server case of heat stroke or the state is tainting the water supply with antidepressants. I refuse to drink from the tap. Because of an irrational fear put into to me by my mother at a young age. I refuse to do a lot of things now that I think about it out of fear. Fear Is a constant that we control I just choose not to. The point of all of this is lost on me by now. I started because I was bored at a dog park and I still am.

Postscript of the Unimaginative

After a while life just starts to feel like a prison. You work your ass off in hopes to get back time lost with good behavior, but it is useless. Things will never be like how they were. Things will never be how it was when we were young. Life drags on as one long prison sentence that never ends and the only thing we are guilty of is being born. Try and fight at the restraints. Try as hard as you want and that is all you are doing is fighting. The advantage of the simple minded is that they aren’t fighting. They don’t need to fight. Can’t see the restraints, can’t feel them, they have no idea that they are there. They live in another world built into this one. The one we always wanted to be part of but somehow knew better. The chains aren’t real, but they are heavy as hell. A crippling burden we care as we walk among them. Breathe the air that they breathe. We talk as if though we don’t know. We know more than we should.

I wash my hands so I can eat. I wash the grime and filth of the world from the hairline cracks of my broken hands. No matter how much I scrub, I bleach, I strip away I know that it is still there with me. Buried in my pours the toxins never leave. I’m smarter and better than this, but I was born into this, the American dream. Swallow all the lies like pills and you begin to see that those pills to make you better are nothing more than lies. Anti-depressants pressed against the roof of our mouths, feel better? I know that I don’t. I try to forget, but I know that I already know.

I’m told that I need them. Told without them I am crazy. They say it nicer. They say it like it fucking matters. Damaged is what they mean to say. That’s not PC. That’s not okay. They don’t fucking work and I punch another hole in the wall. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It only feels like me. I’m having an episode as they say. This is normal. Is it? Is this endless feeling normal? I was unaware of how normal I am. Tell me how all of this is okay while giving me another pill to make me better. I’m broken not stupid. Too many years of feeling like this tells me it doesn’t work. The balance, the chemicals, the whatever the fuck is who I am. The taste of it all is making me sick. I don’t feel sorry for myself. Some of us have it worse. But what is worse inside your head?