Estimated Prophet pt II

At the same time my ears ring, my eyes burn and my sixth sense is heightened to where an alarm will probably go off fifteen minutes from now. There has to be an alarm going off somewhere fifteen minutes from right now anyway, I’m sure of it. I can’t imagine why, but then I realized as much as I am into letting you know how much I like you or don’t like you via secretly recorded conversations about my third cousin I’ve never met anyway, I still notice this shit. I notice it all though and it’s why I can’t even relate to here anymore.



Sometimes you can have a memory of a scent from when you were a child ,someone’s house, a food you used to eat, whatever. The other night I randomly remembered the scent, and then the lighting and whole atmosphere of where I went to what we called “CCD”. I have no idea what this even stood for, but it had to do with preparing kids for confirmation in the Catholic church. The only thing I really remember about these classes is, they were maybe in the early evening once or twice a week, they were boring as hell and you basically just spent your time memorizing these stupid prayers....Our Father, The Lord’s Prayer and maybe Hail Mary. I couldn’t recite a single word from any of these at this point in my life as I guess because of the timing of it was during a formative time in my life when it was kind of hard to trick me. I was being taught to talk to someone I never met, someone I couldn’t see and someone who lived in “the sky”.

I never received my Communion or Confirmation as a Catholic as at one point or another I complained so much to my parents that I hated it they took me out of it...I went to Penance once to tell a priest of my recent sins which in retrospect seems just wrong to do to a ten year old kid. How many of the Ten Commandments can you even break that young? My parents weren’t church people, and with my dad in the music industry in the 70’s and the nature of what I was involved in during the early and mid-eighties, worshipping someone I could never see or touch seemed more absurd by the second.

With my dad in the industry, we were able to go to quite a few big concerts, often going backstage to meet these rockstars like Styx, Supertramp and later on in life New Order, Robert Plant, and then countless musicians in the punk rock scene. With the ability to meet and see these people as real humans my idea of idol worship and that kind of think was more dull than most people I know. The fact that I spent so many hours with records by bands and musicians that I could someday meet made the notion of worshipping anybody or any entity a ridiculous thing. This isn’t to say I still don’t do this to this day though.

I can have my mood and attitude completely changed within minutes if I hear certain musicians. If I need advice on something I can consult a musician or an author for advice or inspiration. Where I live right now, there are quite a few “Jesus people” as I like to call them. They are some of the most unfriendly, close minded people I have had the pleasure of being surrounded by. Sitting in this coffee shop playing music loud into my ears and watching them is like watching a movie. Starring all white people, they’ve all stepped out of a white picket fenced world of backstabbing and weird ideas of how things should be and well “leave us alone anyway”. Every one of them probably own a Golden Retriever and a minivan, watch Everybody Loves Raymond on a nightly basis and have about two orgasms a presidency.



I have this plan of slipping out the back door without anyone seeing. Without leaving a note, without slamming the door shut. A quiet sneak out the back door with one knapsack full of ironic t-shirts, sneakers and books about dead people with hard to pronounce names. I have the ability to drive a whole day without feeling guilt. I can leave blank pages on the ground, a trail of crumbs that leads nowhere but to me sitting in a hotel room waiting for the sun to come up so I can bore myself to death for nine hours again with deserts and forests and hills and white people with ridiculous accents. Not a single drop of poison needed, not a single piece of anything. If they need to wonder where I am they can, but at the end of the day I don’t owe anyone anything. It’s sunny enough here that people can figure everything out on their own. I don’t think anyone would even want my advice. I hate giving advice, nobody takes it, I never take it either so. Mostly though, if I can never hear another person complain for as long as I live, if I can never read another person complain again as long as I live, and I can slip away to some small place on the Pacific Ocean I’ll be done. Nothing here but noise and noise and that kind of thing, well it’s easy to slip away without anyone even noticing. I hate cakes anyway.

The History of Drugs Pt IV

This one time I got too high and came home. I guess I was like seventeen years old. Actually, that story is boring.

So I guess I was about thirteen years old when I became a full on denim clad member of the burnout army in my little seaside town north of Boston. When we first moved to the town I would go out at night and ride around on my skateboard looking for something to do. I noticed some similar looking kids hanging around the train station and quickly made friends. That summer I...actually, another story.

The first time I pulled into the driveway of Harry’s ranch house in

Sheila had urine yellow teeth that showed every time I told her a homophobic joke...

eh - can’t keep my head in one area right now, bear with this



Here is kind of a creepy story, or “thing”. So I mentioned recently in here how my grandfather hanged himself in the woods near my house. This neighborhood we live in, a small dead end. The neighbors all know each other. There are two particular houses with people who give my mom shit about the yard, and how we should paint the house, do this with the hedges, etc. I have not seen any of these people face to face since I came here but suffice to say if anyone ever asks me to do anything to the house or says anything even remotely annoying to me I will get upset and get the sword out. We live in the last house on the left (Oh!). At the beginning of the street, last Christmas a father hanged himself in the house and the family never found out why. No note or anything. This is similar to what happened with my grandfather as we never found out what that was about.


I’ve mentioned before I don’t believe in any kind of ghosts or monsters or higher powers, etc. After hearing this story about this guy though I thought about how maybe there is some secret demon power on or street that makes people hang themselves! Who will be the victim of this entity next?! I have decided to try and get to the bottom of it so I am going to start interviewing people on the street asking them questions like “have you ever seen any weird shape shifting beings in your yard like I have?” “do you hear voices in your head like I do?”, “do you sleep with a sword next to you ‘just in case’ like I do?”, etc. I will report back here what I find out.



This guy in here right now, always in here. It appears he has frosted his hair and judging by the looks of him and the fact that he once had a 311 shirt on it’s probably not the first time his hair has been frosted if you catch my drift.



Every morning when I wake up

A head full of two week old caffeine stains

Pain in every other muscle but the good ones

Exhaustion in my brain

Whenever it all ends and becomes bright green grass

Sunny afternoons

Rolling hills

Bright blue oceans I would never step foot in anyway

I’ll take it all in at once

Pull over to the side of the road and thank myself

Putting up with myself like this for so long is hard to take

Well traveled is only good when the stories you tell make someone laugh

Jim Morrison

Thinking back now, way back it all becomes clear and I should have known better. Sometimes I make decisions that are questionable. Sometimes I think people are different than what they are supposed to be. I need to start feeling bigger than all of them at this point as I can no longer look up to anyone for anything. They'll all let you down, the wise ones, yeah you know.

I know where they all hide back there.

August 20th, 1976

“More Than a Feeling”

Sometimes I have this thing where I will be talking to a person, like a real nice person. Well, you know, like one of those people that you can’t imagine a single person in the world doesn’t like. I will be talking to them and then just be overcome with this urge to just punch them in the face really hard. When they fall to the ground I will get on top of them and just punch them over and over until their face barely exists. I have a similar thing happening right now, sitting in this Starbucks. Everyone in here seems to know each other, there is a school nearby where a number of Jesus people are and I am wearing a shirt with an upside down cross on it. Everyone here is talking, laughing, typing away on their laptops. I keep imagining standing up and just mowing everyone down with a machine gun, every last fucking person in here. Even the ones pretending to be dead. I’ll get them too.

“Peace of Mind”

I do enjoy the trees and the winding roads out here. Everything is packed together nicely, convenient to a point, but not too stuffy. One thing I could not stand in Los Angeles was just the lack of things to see. Anything you saw was some sort of man made creation. Even the “Los Angeles River” was a joke compared to the Merrimack or Charles. Spending a week on the road by myself I made sure to take everything in and keep it inside my head. Maybe someday I will share it with someone else, that drive. There are only so many pictures of that shit you can take before you start telling yourself it isn’t going to be the same.

“Foreplay/Long Time”

This grey sky here feels familiar. I remember it from years and years of long winters here. It feels familiar and how it should feel. Days on end of sun and blue and dry air, yeah it’s great, but this grey sky. All of these people still smile and move right through it. They don’t know how to handle clouds out there on that coast. They don’t know how to handle weather under sixty degrees. At some point I forgot my visits there were always just enough.

“Rock and Roll Band”

So I want to start playing music again soon, however I have no desire to do everything else that comes with playing music that isn’t composing and performing it. I don’t want to go about calling and e-mailing and making friends in other bands and seeing bands I have no desire to see, etc. How do I go about this? I know everyone and everything I need to know now. I guess once I get something happening I will be better about this, but fuck the thought of all that other shit is horrifying. Creating music though, I am dying to do it.

“Smokin”

I can’t move backwards. It seems like they all look to the past for comfort. Things that excited you when you were a kid, they excite you now still. None of this is inside of me. I don’t really know when or how it left me, but holidays and birthdays and cartoons and shitty movies and yeah doing things that remind you of your childhood. Why? Do people want to just not grow old? Does chocolate milk appeal to me still? Sure, but does having to have some sort of security blanket to hold on to doesn’t. Watch them and how they act. Watch some children now and spot the differences.

“Hitch a Ride”

Please never tell me what you think I might be into. Please don’t try and suggest something you think I may like. The only people ever even remotely close with this kind of thing are “girlfriends”. As awful as it sounds, your opinion on anything, I don’t care about it and never will. I’m sorry, actually not really, that you thought this was some sort of jerk off party where we throw ideas back and forth about awesome stuff but it isn’t.

“Something About You”

She is so beautiful that I have “no idea what the hell to do” half the time. I can stumble around and cause problems and try to fix problems and compare her to others from my past. I can look in her eyes and try to figure out where she is. Since things have changed and we’ve become even closer recently, I can’t look into her eyes and see where she is coming from. How horrible and wonderful of a fate is this?

“Let Me Take You Home Tonight”

I can’t really be where I am without wanting to just fly away for good. Moral bankruptcy every fifteen minutes and every time I turn around. I can’t figure out if I am just stunned, surprised or let down. I want to become what they fear. I don’t want to be anything like them at all. I have to be vague when I talk about things because of the shitty nature of it all. For years and years now I have done things to try and not be anything like them. When it comes to where I want and need to be I have to walk alone.

Jaw Broken at Dawn Again?

They come on in the daytime and night time and try to get to me with ideas I have no desire to hear about. I always want to be selfish. I thought this would be glaringly obvious twelve thousand years ago. The only reason I am going to be like this forever is because I have no ability to believe anything they ever say. All of them, there is something behind the smiles and handshakes and figures and numbers and compliments and plans they want to make. There is always something behind the curtain that is a tall tale or another motive. I need to never hear voices like this again.


They want to be open for everyone to see. Why do they do this? Expose themselves to everyone, let everyone know what is happening, exact details of anything good or bad happening in their life. Have no idea where to buy a good mask or how many layers of clothes to put on to hide themselves a little. To make things even slightly vague. Open and closed mouths with exactly what you never want to hear ever. Unsolicited deep problems you now know every detail about. Great, thanks I needed that. Is there a on off switch on you? Nobody, not a single person in the world cares about your tired ass fucking conversations about where you're going drinking tonight or what you drank last night. Get two clues and call me in the morning. Me? There is nothing wrong here. I don’t think I’ve been happier.

They they they they. At one point I never cared about “they” ever, I should try to go back there.

It’s so quiet and serene in the winter. Nobody goes out. They’re all scared of the cold weather. Sure it gets cold as hell there in New England, but it feels very good. You feel alive. The cold weather brings out something in people. Misery mostly, but I like it. I like walking around and seeing the other miserable people walking around. It’s a bit funny. I always complained that it was too cold. The guy walking by me complains that it’s too cold. I think the best things that have happened to me have always happened in the cold weather. I don’t have many good memories of anything important happening to me in the hot weather. Nothing. Lots of fights and arguments in the past. Lots of me getting fed up with everything and everyone around me. I have more energy in the summer though. It’s hot as piss, but it feels almost good to sweat.



I can't think of a worse thing than just losing touch i can't think of a worse thing than not using touch i can't think of a worse thing than how i am right now it comes every day it happens late at night in the afternoon it flows out of me now i feel like i'm most likely wrong now and not that i've ever had pride issues but i feel like that right now i am in love well i love i haven't been in love in years now have i? i have no clue what the hell that's like i know what love is though love trust and respect love trust and respect the basis of every good friendship i probably fucked this one up i push i push i push i probably pushed the refrigerator over and knocked down everything on top of it the keys the basket of coupons the fruit etc i probably am wrong yeah i'm wrong i go about things different than everyone what's the big deal a big fucking baby i thought people thought babies were cute and lovable i thought that babies were tickled and held up in the air the only time i've been up in the air lately is when i looked at a picture of her the other day that feeling that feelin of being slayed by eyes that feeling of bliss because of how someones lips wrap around their teeth how you can see a second of someone and know immediately if they are real or fake this happens to me in the book store in the town square in the coffee shop it happens once a week your passion for one thing goes in a complete opposite direction when you're here this place is pretty cool actually it feels white and crazy it feels loud white and crazy crazy things speeding across a chalkboard it feels like they put you in here to teach you a lesson don't fuck with the wongs great line from a great movie i wonder if anyone has even seen that movie i'm the type of guy that likes to roam around etc this place is getting old though it seems like i got on the bus to this place on my way to north carolina no wait a couple days before that my mind has been taking so many photographs lately i wish my camera could do this much i remember the time i did this what i said what i was wearing what they were wearing what direction we were standing i take these pictures and i look at them in the white crazy room the white crazy room is where i look at those pictures i develop the film there and then i throw out the bad ones and keep the good ones well not the bad ones the ones that don't matter the guy in the toyota today the woman with the green pocketbook buying a large eXXXpresso in front of me i remember the persons eyes in the rear view mirror at the drive in though there was a pink panther sticker on your car as well as some other ones i couldn't understand you smoked and wore a wedding band as the girl handed you your iced beverage it was hot today i can't say i blame you why the pink panther though what is that all about does anyone care about the pink panther i think i may check those films out again i saw them when i was a boy peter sellers i throw out the ones that don't matter the ones that matter are the ones that stay in the photo album that i look at in the white crazy room so how pissed was i that i had to listen to 10 minutes of bad acoustic guitar at the coffee house waiting around not that pissed you did well kid you get a metal you never end up cracking under pressure you go across the tightrope wire you pitch a no hitter but you never end up cracking under the pressure it's before the pressure that you crack it's when you are inventing the drama that you crack it's when you start telling yourself you're right every time you never pitch a bad game you never fuck up when you go out on that wire you always do good it's no fault of yours that something fucked up up there in the air the air like in the record store or in the drive through behind peter sellers's sister in law you like the air up there great kevin bacon movie btw you like to retire back to that white crazy room you like when you have to shut the door because there's so much silent noise you have to always drown out the sounds of outside the voices of reason shouting at you and whispering to you you hide behind get up kids records and miles davis ballads who does all of the work not you you sit around and wait for the guy with the basket full of answers to ring your bell like the brown ups man you wait until you feel like an asshole and then you give up you always give up you think you're walking across a tightrope when your actually walking across an 8 lane bridge 8 lanes that just lead to the same old place hey weren't you there 10 years ago oh wait that was 3 years ago oh you were here more than once you come here all the time hey do you come here often what's your sign actually you’d hate me if you really got to know me i mean look at all of this crap all these words vague words about vague people who may or may not exist it doesn’t matter but at the end of the day i may just go silent i would never lie to you ever sweetheart i swear to all of Heaven I would never lie to you but i may go silent i apologize in advance.