sdfg

Soft on crime pigs on shame. Shoo baby shoo. Go away!! No more of you, no more to be perturbed by, the indescribable feeling of loss goes down the tube. Down and down and down, until the low formless shapes awake, it's already too late.

In the dozen or so years that flounder and patter like a chimney swept from violent storm, there is black sand covering the avarice in my smile. Should I be there? The waking dead?

Recording 30 tracks in 2 years

Death.... Death ,,,, deadth.... No telling what. No knowing what was to come.... If I had known, prolly wouldna dun it. But as fate would have it, I did, and well, terrible terrible nightmares. No knowing.

When you're a kid, you have an idea. the idea to write music so you can play wit yo friends. And that's what you do. You write silly songs that are instantly enjoyable, the story writes itself out. What you don't know, is the process is catastrophic. What you don't know is work work work is the name of the game.

I am a bitter nightmare of ahuman. Inner strife. Terrible inner strife. Alienation. Madness. For what? I don't know, that's why it sucks. That is the biggest reason it sucks. I'll admit it, I envy people in bands. The comraderie, the parties, the fans, the shows, the whole thing. What I don't admire, is the shrunken heads. The fucking music. The lyrics, the melodramatics. The silly cliches, the childishness. The trivialness of it. The talking up. The talk. SO MUCH TALK.

I hated it that about musician's before, and probably always will. Because when your not playing, or your not having a good time, you've got time to cook up crap. Talk the propel the whole appartus. Look, I do see the positivity, I also see musician's as the children of musician's, proudly following in the footsteps. I also see a bunch of slacker, ignorant mother fuckers. A whole lot of it. And if I have to hear another half baked story about how they got cheated, or how they are gonna be huge, are how amazing so and so is, I will shoot the moon, AND HIT IT!!!

Granted, I have thrown myself into the abyss, and my opinions are just that. But there are some fundmental necessities to life. And we'll carry through til' the end, those who do it more can stake their claim.

What I'm trying to say is Indie rock sucks!!

The derision that be the festival hoax.

I understand that as a young man, an opinion that is beyond my age, is simply that. It is unfortunate, I understand. But I'll lay one out anywayz.

It is fun to indulge in youth. I do see the allure, celebrate it, abuse it. I want to say that a lot of popular culture is bullshit because it's made up of a bunch of compulsive megalomaniacs who couldn't hold it together. At such youth, people will not take you seriously until you prove yourself. And in all the haste to do so, you grow up and realize how stupid the pursuit to proving yourself is. Granted, work is important. But when I think of work, I don't think of delusion. I don't think of the pursuit of glory. I see people working to make the world a better place. When you work, you're chiseling away at a little something. Generally, the world is probably better off without your delusional invention. Whatever it is that will greatly profit you. True, whatever you worked towards night and day may consequently provide you with unanticipated riches. But, from my perspective, a thief or a cheat, or a swindler wears it accordingly. I'm afraid that your gig is up, and in matters of survival, it would suit you best to put on your game face, and purge.

the enemy within...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Bubbles letting go of bubbles

A lethargic feeling entered my vein, and out burst the cloud of dust mites withered from PCP. The bolted throttle just blew away my hard core heavy brine. And contusions have given off power.

Oh me oh my oh mini skirts, why dost have thee given thine such empty promise?

The burns are slender and bitter and bright, and grabbing me hard and twisting my fate, and breaking me apart, and shoaling my frame, and impaling my soul, and beating my boots, and staggering my swagger, and churning my leather, and forever boasting on my deeds.

The trivial half suited fluoridated magenta spring suits you perfectly.

Wisked away wisked away, the stain under thine breaches is powder keg. I begged my mother to give me away, but alas it is of no avail.

The one for you, I said, dreadful pressure forming the crevices of my brain disfunctions the manner of my accumulated salient brow, and over and over again do the failings of my lesser contact give me an aligned sense of forboding.

Pursed and forbiden to venture further from this bravado, and a groin sunken to my breast plate, belated turnstile manufactured respresentations sworn off pleasures.

Instead, I am no longer this massive instinct and volumic threading cocked to expunge enlightened gentry, no matter the to sensuous blobs unforgiving prices maligned judgement and boat swain.

Thorough postures and voted stages sacrificed baleful wretched epoxy circular overdrawn spectacle.

Plight therefore seasick sailors lurched in the crest and gale strength turns the terrible into your sexist lisp.

Let it all go, let the beams of light and sworn off genitals and bright lights and the banter and the wait, and the surface, and the proud gesture, and the scheming, and the waking scorn, and the elbow flex, and the under arm stretch and the jury and the victor and the seacscape over land, the wake, the pale, the meek, the gesculating, the seering, the prize fighting, the further from sight, the licked prince, the venerable lass, a horses ass, a samwich, a ditch, a bought, a bout, a fraut, a lime, a jeer, a cinch, a wretch, a grab, a horn, a fan, a frame, a forlorn, a blot, a jet, a hammer, a fin, a sword, a shrine, a sin, a scab, a stone, a sheath, a swan, a slice, a cern.

I bought a cryogenic patch to wear with my officer's jockstrap

What does it take? The twenty something nightmare is coming to it's disgusting close. The thirty something nightmare will now take over. I am prepared and that is why I have boughten plenty of water and accoutrements that will allow for the overall takeover. Sure, I haven't yet been through, or around the block yet, but I am unafraid that the tsunami rain would take us overboard. Who's coming along?

Our wrought pilgrimage lambasted through the latest 10 years left us in the vaulted swell, I am hammered, I am yet to be yoked, or egged or leathered. TRembling....

Can I blame everything on everyone else, can I? I want to. I do to. When push comes to shove, I give in to the impact. Wear the misery I always thought. I never had that drama ridden all over my face. Ok I take it back. There a nurse to turn over your wounds. I don't get overly excited anymore. I'm wondering whether the sensible part of my rationale will give way to light with that slow steady pace. Whether the exposure and the doubt and the confusion has it's place. Whether I can be the hero. Whether the life runs red.

Rest... rest... rest....

I wonder, with religion comes a strength I don't believe in. Faith in the unknown pours. Does that same offering show itself when the Earth shakes? Does the Earth shake from our movements from God? The atheists crackle when the flame runs hot. The blood soaks the clothes and makes us human. An ode to God delivers us from the flame. I am still unconvinced.

I blot out the sun with my eyes. I peel away the sulking babies. Is it too much to ask to be frozen into a grown blade. Does it make sense?

It's never too late to run.