Friday, October 31, 2008


Oh, it's Fall, alright. In between the downpours, thunderstorms, and heavy winds, I've found warmth to grasp to. October showers and Amaretto Sours. Beneath my feet, is cracked and soaked concrete etched with initals dated 1993. My words just linger on the tip of my tounge so much, I can only illustrate my frustration through a grin, as I exhale my soul. My earlobes are a tomato red and my nose lost it's color before i walked out the door. My feet struggle in these Bo-Bo's meant for surfboarders and Sailors. Sometimes, this weather makes me wish i lived in seattle.


The feedback covers my thoughts spread out through this small, over crowded house show. I tried to kiss her but she turned away saying "it doesn't feel right". I can't remember the things I said. The drinks blur out everything, and I've got the headache to prove it. She lingers around trolley stops, and the taste of this Chesterfield (the beer, not the cigarette) that leaves a smile on my face. I was always bad at first impressions.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008


A swagger layered in cheap liquor. My lifesavings is in debt to bar tabs, and Marlboro Miles. Painted by the neon, and burdend by apathy. My only vice is breathing. This self-destruction is a necessity. I'm known to smile as often as groundhogs see their shadows. Six more weeks of winter...

What I Wish I Could Hear Pt. I

"Can you hear the ringing of the church bells? I remember when faith was found in the hands we shook. Now, I find it in the bottom of a bottle, and the slow burn of cowboy killers...

Listen, kid. The world is a horrible place. This is the way God intended it. We scrutinize each other, while the murderers, theives, rapists, and purists run free. If bliss is what you want, then remember this...

Ignorance is bliss. The martyr is a damn fool. Take it from me. Wake up everyday. Smile, and remain aware. Nothing can scare them more, kid. Nothing WILL scare them more."

Smokey Orange

I stretched my legs to touch the floor. The blinds, half opened, help to form a weak shadow along these smokey orange walls. My finger tips smell of pot resin and whiskey. I guess those thoughts finally took their toll on me. Laying back in bed, I trace the cracks along the walls. I find it gives me a sense of direction at a time that makes no sense at all. But where do i begin? I am a friend I was meant to forget.

Nauseated head, sick to my stomach, and filled with the chirps of birds perched on powerlines. Singing psalms to the sneakers hanging beside them. I'm alive.

Heroin Sheik, My Arm!

It's been dull around here these past few years. Same old shows, same old jokes. That seems to be the way it goes. Maybe it's just me, but what ever happened to this community? If I broke out and left this city, would you remember me? A license is useless when I'm made of excuses. I've got nothing stopping me, but my own conformity.

Grow up, work my job. Save my money, fall in love. Have some kids, and build my fence. Take no chance on how to live. Get a mortgage, pay the bills. Work overtime just to feel fulfilled. Repeat the history my parents taught me. Take no chance. Just live comfortably.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Dictated Puff Piece

Lets paint our cars up with flames and decal them with honor student stickers and religious concerns, while our highways and crime rates plow through our very own back yards. The patron ratio of graveyards and bars is starting to landslide but the real estate's still killing. Lofts for 600,000 meanwhile the inner city's schools are losing heat. New subjects this year: Surviving The Homeland, and StreetMmarketing. hat if words ended wars? What if the paths we crossed were just that and nothing more?

Us Lions Love Jokes

Have you heard the news? The clientele's been dismal, but we're still bringing in revenue. Auditors, accountants, they cease to exist anymore. They've deducted the wealthy to kill off the poor. The IRS is one big IOU in the wallets and pockets of me and you. We need to rewrite our wills, add in gravesite rent and water bills. No lie, prepare to pay when you die. The security deposit alone will make you roll over in your grave.

this was more of a song i was writing that was and probably never will be written.

Bad Dream, or Busy Morning?

Nervously waiting for this train to leave. The smell of piss and fast orange linger from every corner. Commuters against communes, ears against volume. The woman next to me is kniting a sweater. Was it for her daughter? Window seats often occupied with the disheartend, and synthetic. Curious eyes never seen so much out these here windows. The walls that coincide with the rails are cluttered, at best. Graffitti owns them as we own the rain. Deep, I sink back hoping I could catch a glimpse of the womans creation, my wandering eyes express a moment of distress, as she stood up at the exit and left.


These earthtones radiate a neon glow, and at the right angle, you can see the sun collide with skyscrapers and bridges in an attempt to reconcile with the way we breath. The bend breaks the way we walk in and out of this place, but not the way we stand. A vivid vision of life blends in with the cemetary scenery. Painted along the fence are the marks of past generations saying "make your move".

My feet are keeping a beat that my hands can't keep. The sounds of flickering streetlights and car alarms decide which streets to burn. And all at once, air becomes weightless, and my eyes wait on the green light to pass me by the motorcade of cars on the graveyard shift. Regardless of the time, we still feel early to our own demise.

My First Post

This is going to be a blog for random incomplete thoughts that I have written down over the past months. They are completely unedited, and are 100% original ideas. They will be posted by each individual thought, and the title will be the title of the thought/tick.

Thanks, I hope you enjoy.