Thursday, September 30, 2010

100 Best White People I've Ever Met

A mans best friend is not a man or a dog.

Telling me that you care is just one of a million things.

She tells me stories that Mother Goose would kill for.

We speed down the highway, and I still can’t get a commitment.

Wish I was taking a vacation in a month. Don’t ask don’t tell.

We spent weeks at a time together.

Will it stop being the latest issue of the newspaper?

My favorite night this year was in May.

I expected to forget what I went for, and then I found her.

The reasoning behind all of this is grounded in bad punk records.

She is short.  She just waves at me.

Her favorite song was my favorite song 10 years ago.

I hate to think that I am not clear all the time 24 hours a day.

We smoke heroin because we don’t talk to each other anymore.

She is short as well. Real smart. I can’t believe I was in awe of her at one point. “She’s one of us” we say.

There was a small pile of dirt left at my door, methodically placed there to get to me. I hear them out there.

She made me think back to six years ago and go over all sorts of letters and notes.

I have a series of things I need to always do. Never walk down stairs in front of anyone.

My guitar sits there now rusty and out of tune, waiting to be completely retired at any minute.

She sends me messages I never delete

We talk and talk and when it gets down to waking up in the morning, I still have the book open.

I lose touch with people for a day and I feel like an exhaust pipe.

The best thing I remember was looking over and realizing the mountain would not tell me I had a call.

She looked best in the morning. Once a girl can look that good, that early, an inch away, she has me.

We make out and never talk about anything. Nobody knows, and nobody ever will.

She is on my mind more than she’s in my mind.

The other thing I need to do is always flush the toilet when I leave a bathroom, no matter what I did.

Long letters from her are rare but truthful.

It always feels like this when I get around to talking about it. Clear and concise.

I watch them smoke many attractive cigarettes in fifteen minutes.

I acted like I was one of them. I acted like I meant it. I asked for paper.

They complain and complain, wonder if they’ve ever smiled

Once they break in though, they have me. I never let them break in.

I swear I never want anyone to get hurt. I’m always good hearted in the long run.

She wears this shirt that makes me just want to watch television with her.

We had a good time, and then I went on my way. Two more tornadoes, and a brush with the police.

Every morning I need to look out the window for two minutes before shower.

The key is to flip it when you can see that it’s not stuck to the pan.

They are out there, arranging more piles of sand to fuck with me. I hear them.

Disgusting dudes with no cocks.

I take these days in stride now, you can tell me if I am “too much for your mirror”.

I was almost attacked by Stevie Nicks riding a Unicorn last night.

Blues music is my only outlet now. It sucks when you’re not allowed to spit in private.

The night he died.

I wonder how many have tried to forget they even met me

She was scared as a bunny rabbit on crystal meth.

Phil Collins.

Right now, I feel like I could jump out this window and fly.

She, the song by Kiss.

I wish I could run on back to Virginia Beach right now. The only place I’ve ever felt so shitty and so good.

I’m perplexed at how they operate. It’s almost like trying to teach a duck to write poetry.

I never got to cook tons of meals like I wanted to.

There are more than one ways over the moat.

I would piss people off at work, and then ignore them until I face them at the copy machine. Three nails at a time.

I opened up my eyes today. More than they’ve ever been open before.

She made her way in, and looked around, and realized she couldn’t redecorate.

I only lied seventeen times today

The last time I was at an amusement park I fell of the merry-go-round. Now I see stars over everyone.

I knew it was wrong.

We talk about what it will be like to walk around Heaven on Quaaludes.

She has a funny way about her. Even when she is angry with me.

Some day I will stop looking at the hand obsessively.

We walk and argue about who fucked less people.

I knew she was bad news when she asked me if I liked “The Fucking Doors”

Massachusetts has a funny way about making you feel like a goddamn loser.

We play phone tag, and I play connect the dots.

Wait, I think we just killed each other.

I hate them, and when they look at you like they do.

I need to open doors at the bottom of staircases after they have been properly closed.

Wait until I show them all

He comes home, checks his messages, and checks his arms. Everything is there, he sleeps.

That faggot Mark

We drink and I make pretend I’m interested. This is how we get along.

She takes her pretty time while I look at old scratch marks on my left arm.

Finally I find her, and she ignores my eye contact.

Once you have them down, you need to start again. It’s so tedious now.

In your spare time, you should not do what you do in your spare time. You are losing.

Married and never happier, yeah okay.

It’s funny how many times I doubted what was happening to me. Now I write instructions.

The way it goes is this: you work for me, I work for you, and the money goes to the house.

I should probably be worried about this.

Gifts I never gave or received, how sad it that?

He tells me I should go for it. I ask him what he has invested in this. “----- -- ----- --- --------“.

Rain came and I shit my pants.

Not sure if I want to die on cement, or a bed.

I met her and immediately made phone calls the next morning.

My one and only way to catch on is to just move on. Look, I know what you’re doing.

We spent time on the rocks, frozen.

We pretend we don’t see each other, and then I fuck it up.

So exhausted I have to be awake when I sleep.

My one last hope for survival, hmm

We walk on red bricks.

Taking time off from time.

She looked at me once.

It’s lonely out here.







Tuesday, September 28, 2010

New York

Fucked up skills on the microphone. Words coming out twisted like licorice. This big head full of ideas and words to pass around and share. It's none of anyones business really. I guess I make it theirs by typing it here. Nobody should know a fucking thing though really. Hence the occasional fabrication. Hence the backspace key being used more than the space bar. Sometimes though,  I want to say what I need to say, and get the fuck out of Dodge for a couple of days. Nobody seems to understand me. Ha. What a fucking joke of a thing to say. What a cliche' “oh poor me and my loneliness”, “Poor me and my...whatever.”I guess that's why I started doing this in the first place. I meet and greet and walk down the street and smile and frown and get turned upside down. I wanted to come here and make this a place to showcase events and memories posing as photographs and words. This is all I really have. This is all I always have. Not just this place. But words. I have plenty of them too. The same ones I write here, or anywhere else would come out of my mouth no problem. I just never get the five seconds to. I think about them here and then just write them down. I tell others the same things. I tell everyone in the world. Bragger. I tell myself I won't completely cover myself with these words. I can't help feelings and emotions though. I just can't wear a halloween mask. I can't think of other options right now. The telephone doesn't really ring much. I'd love to have 8 messages on the phone when I come home. I'd love to talk to her before I go to sleep at night and tell her about the ridiculous whatevers that happened on a given day. I have ancient history that I want to talk about and words full of sugar and spice and everything nice. I have words and all of that, fuck yeah. Nobody has it like I do for her. As far as I know. I can't get into it all here though. It's not like it's swallowed completely. Maybe it is, and I just don't know it. Maybe it's all too clear. Maybe everything in here from the last few weeks makes sense to somebody. Maybe it scares. Maybe it helps things out. Either way, they're just words that I want to put across. I did it again. I do it every time. I wrap up in this and that is all. Go with the flow. I sure go with the flow. I go the way I'm supposed to go. I make sure I dot the i's and cross the t's. It’s the end of the summer and I'm in a different place then I was at the beginning of the summer...I just have no idea how to drive or walk or read or listen or anything anymore.

I think the state I’ve spent the most time in besides Massachusetts and California is New York. I fucking hate New York though. I hate New York City. I’d go there and do it proper some time and like it as a back drop in books and film, but I can’t imagine ever spending more than say...two days there. All those buildings and people with sneers on their faces and worse accents than the dreaded Massachusetts accent. Upstate New York though, it’s different there. Like a bigger Massachusetts with less shitty people everywhere. If there’s one thing that sucks about New England in general it’s the awful people everywhere you go. Way up north though, upstate way west of Albany things get dark and grey like it is here. Sprawled for miles and miles small towns along Interstate 90 that you’ll never go to ever. Prisons what seems like every fifty yards. Farms and orange cities at night telling you you’re really tired and should probably stop. Anytime you wake up in the morning in upstate New York your main objective is pretty much “Leave upstate New York”. What a glorious big sky it is in the morning though! It’s kind of flat there I guess. There is nowhere really to go but east or west and it’s the same in both directions. Do you want to go back to the ugly state of Massachusetts or to the gateway to somewhere kind of okay and have to be in Ohio for a day?

Having different people through the years come in and out of your life, or what I call “peripheral friends” is painful for the most part. Learning about the habits and retarded ideas they have that presumably lead to them being just that, peripheral. I have no patience anymore for anything like this at this point. Either you’re here or you’re not. I don’t want to give an update to anyone ever, not one I mean. Just remain in your boring ass life and stay there. Leave me alone and be weird somewhere else. I’m not into anything you think I am into. I am not interested in anything you think I’m interested in. I never lied or lead you to believe this, you are just those people who never listen you just talk and talk. A bad ear with a bigger mouth. What makes anyone think they get to just show up and jump right into anything that is already established? The expression “they mean well” is full of shit. Nobody means well, they all have some motive. I don’t believe anything now. I have to be as rude and mean and removed as possible now so I don’t give anything else away. Fuck them.

Relentlessly plowing through my dreams in the middle of the night. In the backyard of every nightmare house that shows up at the tail end of a bad dream. They stand there and try to scare me with whatever they can. It’s always some big house with lots of windows so you don’t have time to check them all to see who is watching you from behind the yellowed drapes. The whole story though, the whole nightmare though. I seem to dream it every night lately. Death, endings, rain, whatever other cliches my subconscious feels I need to be subjected to.

Monday, September 27, 2010




Trying to fall asleep and I think every night I should be reading because my head spends the whole time staring at the floor, my arm, whatever reading thoughts and images going in and out of my brain. Do I really want to forget green yellow and blue for a life of grey and the sound of a trillion people complaining about anything they can. How miserable can they all be? I need some sort of entertaining distraction, fall TV, a thousand books, a million songs I am supposed to learn on guitar and offers to join bands that don’t ever need to exist. Drugs, film and money I could be spending on better things than just coffee and fuel. Watching everyone around me remain a member of some odd fraternity of who knows what. Invitations to parties I wouldn’t have gone to even when I was a winner. I can’t even muster up the energy to reply to emails and phone calls. Unless you’re offering me money or a way to make money, why?

Clouds of poison air hang over me everywhere I go. They end up raining on me and there I am again, not able to breathe or move. Paralyzed and sick. Done for the evening and that kind of thing.  I wish there was a way to just remain in the sun for more than fifteen minutes but I don’t think there is. I’ll never take any kind of drug for this. I’ll never talk to any kind of professional person for this, this is just how it is now. Great. I’ll someday learn to not complain about it so much though.

In the midst of late night games of tag and hide and seek I like to sit back and watch the kids ring around the rosey. It’s a bit sad how people regress in mobs. Mobs, large groups. They get together and all of a sudden muscles are flexed and cocks are pulled out for size comparison. It bothers me that I know some of these people. It bothers me yes; to a point of wrapping my arms around the cool white toilet and vomiting out any memories I might have of any of these people saying things like “Yeah, I’m sensitive”, or “No I’m not a slut”, or “No, I don’t tease men”, or “I care about you, I want you”. No I haven’t taken anyone serious in years. I’ve no need to. Actions speak louder than words. Doesn’t anyone know this? Doesn’t anyone know tales of debauchery have been told to my deaf ear for a million years now? I don’t think so. I don’t tell people how I feel if it’s something I don’t agree with. First off, it’s none of my business. Secondly, I do what I do, they do what they do. There’s no in between anymore. There’s no overlap. The things I want to do are nothing like what anyone wants. I’m a boring guy. I want to stay in, or go out with a couple of people and joke around here and there. I don’t have the fancy guitar work down yet, and I don’t have the lip history. I don’t have many references around here. There is a family of shared saliva that I would rather not have anyfuckingthing to do with at this point. It has gone so far now that it’s become a ridiculous parody of itself. I like to sit back and watch people spiral downwards though. Sometimes it’s the only way to get through to people who are “friends”. You don’t get a word in edgewise, why not just watch them smash into the wall? Then you can walk over with that big shit-eating grin on your face and a glass of iced water with your hand out “I told you so” When they go to grab you hand you pull it away. “I’m off to see the wizard” Girls do their hair up in blue and green and guys do their best Billy Idol impressions, I laugh my head off at them. Sounds like fun honey. Thirdly, No one wants to hear me talk. I have too many opinions. I’d rather leave them in my head or on here where a small number of people I know and don’t know read them. I don’t want to get into telling people what to do more than I want to tell people what not to do. I am no ones father here. Hugs just don’t feel the same when the same arms are wrapped around every warrior around the corner. There’s no personal feeling there. That feels good because it’s strong I guess. What’s happening upstairs though? Air and oxygen. Or lack of oxygen maybe? I don’t feel like falling down anymore. I haven’t fallen down in years, since this past few months. I feel wasted. I feel untouchable. I feel stronger. I feel weaker. Everyday is a new emotion. I like the cool iced water going down my throat. I like being myself. I like to always be myself. I don’t want to act anymore. I’m going to be the guy who plays a bad guitar. I’m going to stay in front of this mirror and beg and plead and pray, but I’m not going to go to the movie shoot this week. I’m not going to go to the scene where the guy walks in and wraps his arms around the girl and says “honey I’m home”. I have no home with anyone. I have no place to rest my head except right behind me with the pillow and the blanket and the dinosaur. I light candles for me, and I fill the room with Nag Champa, but I go at it alone. Sure the door is open for visitors, I just don’t know if the visitors are coming any time soon. I always chase them away with my eyes.

Despite all of this though, I feel like I see the end of the tunnel down there. I mean I think I do, if not. Hrm.

Thursday, September 23, 2010


I feel like I am on fire.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


Kansas. I was remembering it here and well, it’s flat and yeah I guess pretty boring in the traditional sense. Flat. Truck stop. Flat. Truck stop. Cool looking dead barn. Flat. Truck stop. Repeat forever and eventually reach Colorado which coincidentally is also pretty flat for a long period of time. I assumed I would cross the border into Colorado and all of a sudden be surrounded by snow capped mountains and ski lodges and just wall to wall white people everywhere you look. No, it’s flat for the first two and half to three hours traveling west on Interstate 70. Eventually they start showing up miles away and the next thing you know you’re in Denver which is kind of a boring place to be. Well, I’m sure it’s perfectly fine but I ignored it and flew through it for the most part.

I was in Kansas three or four times in my life. This last time driving through it and I drove through just about 50% of it moving west. After that, the whole state of Colorado. All of this in one day. 720 miles or so. Good times.

A truck stop in Kansas is the kind of place where all the men look like big lesbians and all the women look like big lesbians as well. This last trip through Kansas, a well needed stop that included a Starbucks, a couple of different disgusting fast food choices and lots of travelers as usual, most from the area though. American flag stickers and football fans and whatever else you assume these salt of the earth folk are all about. It is clearly on display in things as simple as how they talk. Not the accents per se, but the way they talk to you, like they don’t trust you with your plates from the North East part of the country. Sometimes this presumed ignorance of people out there is kind of endearing but most of the time it’s sad and you just leave the area not worrying that people in different parts of the country and world have different ideas and opinions than you.

This past weekend ended up being good for the most part. Spent most of Saturday outside with friends enjoying the last remnants of summer in a bright and crispy day outside in a “New Englandy” setting right near where I live. It was a “beer festival”, but didn’t feel like one. I’d have to say if I made a list of things I care about beer would be like # 780. Going back to reality after having good days though, no fun. Sunday played some music which was also refreshing even if it wasn’t music I wrote. I’m kind of rusty on the guitar as I quickly found out. I kind of want to start playing original music again but really, there are at least eleven things I need to do first before I can even think about it. 

The last time I really kind of embraced New England was this past May. Giving a tour of different areas of the three different states we visited here was great and made me appreciate things more out here. Slowly though, they are getting back to the “ugh this place sucks”. I enjoyed having mountains around me. Surrounded by valleys and hills and a bluer ocean than this one we have here. When I picture the ocean here I think of gray and cold and uninviting smells and rocky shores with some tiny beaches snuggled in between them. And then I think of dudes in Patriots jackets walking around.

A year ago yesterday was nerve wracking and amazing and whatever other thirty five adjectives I can’t think of right now. High above the valley with a longtime dream fulfilled and realized. Adventures I’ll remember forever. I don’t really know what’s happened since then. My head brings me to places I never need to be. People I don’t know and people I do know bring me to even worse places. Every two hours I have reminders I see in my peripheral vision or right in front of me taunting me. Every night going to sleep with nothing. Unfulfilling nights staring at the floor wondering what she is up to thousands of miles away. I don’t tell anyone a thing and I certainly wouldn’t listen to a thing at this point. I feel like I have to do it all myself now. I miss her terribly. I miss the California version of her and the Massachusetts version of me.

I have no idea of what I can do or what I should do now. I’m still emptied of ideas and not completely feeling like I am where I need to be. Should I go or should I stay? Everything is kind of flat right now, how I speak and think. One of these nights or days maybe not so much anymore, right now though, it’s flat. Bored days and nights with entertainment from good friends here and there to fill the valleys and turn them into peaks. I imagine if I tried to sing it would be flat as well. As long as above this flat life there are bright dark blue skies and all that goes along with that.

Friday, September 17, 2010


These creepy salesmen and saleswomen trying sell snake oil and everything else in between
They come in and out of your life like snakes themselves
Slithering around
Why are you here again?
Why were you ever here?
Making me feel normal
Making me feel like I should be the one giving you advice
Gross and unhappy lonely people everywhere I never want to be
Stay there and be in your world

This weekend will suck, I know this already. I can’t come back from anywhere without having to feel like this.  Ready to hide out and push things from way far away instead. Just sitting around waiting for shit to happen, waiting for the other ten axes to fall. Last year at this time I was, well.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Ain't It Just Like The Night

People seen in the waiting room:

She sobs uncontrollably into her can of BBQ Pringles as he yells from upstairs to be quiet. His big hulk of a frame has beat her senseless physically and emotionally enough times now that she has almost had enough. I wish I had married Tommy instead. He looked like Magnum P.I. Too bad he wasn’t the one. Frank knows one day I will kill him in his sleep. His large presence in the house is like the king of all kings. Deep down inside he was too much of a pussy to put the dog to sleep when it suffered. He gets teary eyed when he sees American flags and World War II movies. If he had sons they would have all turned into faggots. She loves him and he won’t fuck her ever again. One day my own Tom Selleck will come.

The only times I feel like I accomplish anything are here. Here with a blank sheet. I never finish things well enough that I can ever experience pride. It’s been a long series of ill advised ideas, failed relationships, and days in the rain hiding from the outside world. Days where I think I have it figured out and have the final idea I needed and then nothing happens, and then nothing again. This will go on and on until the end of time. Change is hard this late in the game. I mean I think it is anyway. For fun and games I can always just continue watch other people prosper and fail.

I haven't been down the road in a long time. I haven't taken this route in so long. I like this route here. I like how this winds around and gets me to where I think I need to be. It's way fucking better than the bus. Dances and hugs and pats on the back are never going to fulfill me for as long as I stay on this route. Karaoke on Friday night gets cancelled for a random trip to the moon. Dinner and a movie ain't helping anyone on this route. John Holmes and Jerry Garcia driving a techno colored station wagon to the ocean for conversation about ecstasy and Mick Jagger lips. Rug burn from sitting on the floor statuesque for far too long through scary movies and rock videos. Park the car by the side of the road, park it across the street so no one sees us. They all start rumors, they all fill themselves with lies about the moon and lies about the way my car runs. The motor runs great, it needs a tune up, it needs to take different drives, silently through beaches and neon lit strips of Elvis Presley videos. Like a man not even with himself anymore. Like a ninja. Like someone in the deep blue sea swimming. I don't know, sort of like if you took one part confusion and one part total shit you would sort of feel this like this.


I hate just having words to say and type and read and hear. I always needed more and now there are no words. I don’t want to ever talk about anything life related now. As if just writing anything like this is not obnoxious enough. Even the job interview yesterday. “It went well” I keep saying. What does that even mean? Now though, pages and pages of empty nothing, feeling like an exhaust pipe spitting out nothing but the same old shit every fifteen minutes. No one will be the same, nobody can replace or substitute. What a shit place to be for probably all winter like this.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

New Hampshire

Thirty seven days in a row and she wakes up feeling like the disgusting person she is. Her children at school and the afternoon is spent with rum and various phone calls to slightly less disgusting people. There you are with a camera and a microphone outside the window to watch it all go down. Spy on whores and weak people like this. Watch them and how they interact with each other. It’s really enough to make you never feel surprised about anything people do. I can’t ever judge these weak, dumb people. I’m one of them too, I don’t have anything to offer. A few jokes here and there. In the afternoons I go down to the bar and complain into whoever wants to listen. I was just lazy enough for enough years to get by like this. I can make pretend hundreds of emotions and ideas and opinions. I can make pretend I live here or there or anywhere really. I always keep the front door, the back door and of course all the windows closed. I can make pretend I have all sorts of things in common with them. I can lie to strangers in the bar, that’s my number one thing I can do. Great.

He is an old guy I can’t relate to at all. His life spent complaining about others and anyone else that never does anything that directly causes any adversity in his life. I’ve never not known him as this person. I wonder if as a child he was ever happy. The nonstop commentary and bitching about everything even slightly negative. Spending long amounts of time around people like this always does something to me deep down, like someone screaming as loud as possible while handcuffed to my ears for all eternity.

Every night for the last however many years sleeping an hour here an hour there. Wondering when I’ll snap out of this weakness. I was never one of these fools. I sit around and have to listen and read the words of morally offensive people trying to give me advice. Trying to take advice from anyone at this point, well I feel stupid. I never ask for help but I do like to talk. The sound of silence though, sometimes it works so much better. Some nights I can just sit there and not look at anything. Not say anything. Not feel anything. Not hear anything. All of it is noise and crap to make me think too much for that late at night. Every night for the last 800 days I’ve gone to bed like that, it’s time to just not do that and shut up and be quiet. I think it works better in the end. Regardless, I’ve hated going to bed the last month or so. It’s been different and too quiet. Sometimes I feel like the shittiest person in the world. Other times I feel like I am right on point, like I can never be a mean person at all.

When you see them wide eyed and ready to take on whatever ends up coming to them it’s sad. These empty conversations about nothing of any interest really. How fucked up so and so got last weekend. A couple of racist jokes here and there and melted into a couch like spilled ice cubes from a strong mixed drink barely touched. The life, yeah it’s great with nothing to worry about. With what amounts to an inexperienced head filled with really bad ideas and even worse opinions.

So there’s a clown in the woods with cuts all over his face that runs around in peoples backyards laughing and making all sorts of creepy noises. He usually will come out when he hears you pulling in to the driveway or parking space. He has these little cuts all over his face from running through the woods, and his white make up is faded and sweaty. He won’t let you see him for too long, but if you look into the trees when you get home at night, he’s there. Cuts on his face and all. I just walk by him and try not to make eye contact with him at all. He’ll leave you alone if you don’t pay him any mind. When you get home at night there is a clown in the woods with cuts on his face watching you secretly.

I have a document, exactly 26,000 words as of yesterday about the good and the bad of the “last year”. Somedays I feel like shit and want to escape from myself. I can’t swallow enough things to do that though. I can’t drink or smoke anything to make things disappear. It is there at all times in the forefront of my head. There aren’t enough places for me to hide that I won’t just sob myself into infinity over this. I could become angry and mean or depressed and quiet. I don’t want any of this though. Whatever I thought existed in the good parts was good and amazing and will be there forever. Every single second of shit though, I need to destroy it with fire and sleep. I am in such a non-mood right now that I can’t even make sense of anything regarding this.I wonder from hour to hour from minute to minute how I get back to where I was in say...1999. I have no idea who that guy was or how he did anything. I have no idea about anything now. A trillion people could say “everything will be alright”, it does nothing. I appreciate the sentiment and the effort. I don’t appreciate how my head reacts to things now. I act out and am a very angry rotten shitty person. Peripheral friends who come and go like the seasons trying to talk to me about “how it is”. Give me a fucking break. Nothing is worse than an amateur architect trying to teach anything let alone the inner workings of strangers.