Purgatory

I Come in here and see all the reasons I don’t want to be here. Unfriendly faces that are supposed to be friendly. Walking around town and seeing people I thought were supposed to be a lot more friendly, these Jesus people they love one another, but no one else. If they don’t know you, forget it, you don’t get anything. I hope they all burn in hell for eternity. I don’t want to be in this shitty place anymore. If it means doing shitty things to make money to get out of here I’ll do it, what do you got? I don’t feel any sort of connection here any more. I don’t feel like I am “turning my back on my home”, this place sucks, every single thing about it. Let me tell you how I really feel though.

At this point it doesn’t matter who will let you down, it’s just a matter of when they will.



I hate that they can’t stop it. Can’t stop the attempts to impress everyone and me with witty remarks and knowledge about shit nobody cares about. I can’t read or hear anymore of it as it makes me disappear for a day or five at a time from all of this. Asking for advice and opinions about things that are happening to nine people away from me, that I haven’t seen in however many years, who knows really. Whatever it is I am talking about here, I have no idea. Oh yeah, I’m not like you and don’t ever agree with anything you say. It never means anything and never will. You’d be better off leaving me alone. Sure I can lie for eternity and keep entertaining your ego a tiny bit every other week, but for the most part if you disappeared from my life completely I wouldn’t care even a little bit.

Whatever and whenever all of this crap washes over me, which is almost every other day I never know how I am going to react. Like someone with anger issues, most likely not. I know when to shut it off, I know what lines I am not supposed to cross over. Sometimes though, I imagine a life without knowing how and when to turn shit off. I imagine how many fights I would have gotten into. How much more shit I would have broken. How many friendships and relationships ruined. At one point though, I learned how to be a pussy about shit I guess? Or just be more of a behind the scenes shithead. At this point though, ignored and left to my own thinking and time wasting I spend way much more time figuring out how all these fucks do things. I sit around and think about who and what I despise and am left with a small handful of people and places and things to do. What a cliche that is though, eh?



"Paintings"
So I wake up because I’m tossing and turning in the bed because you know I have some issues with some issues I have how funny is that I keep myself up late at night like this so I have been reading this book it’s just a non fiction book about ummmm people I guess don’t really need to go into detail but it says a good thing to do is to wake yourself up in the middle of sleep and then write you have the most creativity and your thoughts are actually the most crystal clear they can be so you know I toss and turn in bed keeping myself awake because I have some issues with some issues I have and I wake up and hey here I am again shit what did I write in here earlier hahaha I make myself laugh so not to mention the fact that there was a guy standing at the foot of my bed while sleeping you see when this guy gets in those mean Ihateeverybody moods he needs to throw satchmo on the stereo to sing me to sleep because I have some issues with some issues I have and he helps me out he makes it all better see

Okay, look at me now cool as a cucumber I stay up late and then get up early and turn into the doctor so not to mention that I wake up and there are snakes all over the floor of my room probably from the guy that was standing there watching me sleep it’s cool though satchmo is so much more powerful than the evil doctor that comes into my room and puts snakes on the floor and makes me itch like I do I have itches all over my body all weekend he put fleas in my bed that cocksucker put fleas in my bed bedbugs is the more polite thing to call them I guess flea is a mean thing to say it’s like saying bitch or cocksucker or motherfucker or communist so yeah it’s funny because I don’t fucking dream anymore how fucked up is that that’s not fair perhaps because I watch so many movies that I don’t need to dream who cares anyway dreams mean nothing but a bunch of random images that are useless in the long run like the issues I have with some of these issues I have right now

Imagine me as fireman coming out of the building like superman or yeah forget that imagine me as superhero here to save the world from mean evil people like myself when I have those issues that I have imagine me like totally top ten style with gold rings on my fingers and a handful of cash they pick me up in jaguars and drive me far and take me to exotic places where we can forget about how to make a good cup of coffee and forget about the issues I have with some of the issues I have imagine me like the big time and shit ya know like the big time no guys coming to visit me in the middle of the night that are part of that network of people who fuck with me I talked about them and people just laugh and point and make fun like the little boy who cried wolf or fire in a crowded theatre it’s a bit funny that anyone would think that I’m this big meany who hates and spits venom in real life never takes himself too seriously I mean takes himself too seriously I mean fuck I can spell I can’t form good sentences but fuck I can spell gosh darn it but fuck if anyone ever says that I am a big jerk and I shouldn’t say this and I shouldn’t say that about this person and that person than they don’t know me and they can go sit in a theatre with little boys who yell fire and throw wolves with rabies at girls with pony tails

I once threw a jellyfish at a boy on the beach he cried and threw sand at me and my mother slapped me across the face and told me to apologize I never ended up becoming friends with him or even having a homosexual encounter I think the one thing they teach you is to never have a homosexual encounter with a boy who throws a jellyfish at your face I did all sorts of bad mean things like that when I was a little boy I threw a brick at my brothers friend because he said I sucked at football I showed him how it really was with my dallas cowboy cheerleader looking self and then a kid attacked me at age ten and I stabbed his hand with a rusty pipe

Let me tell you about it and make fun stories out of the absurdity of it all as it stands now though I can’t take people chasing me into the house because they watch me from the woods I can’t take myself too seriously I have a good amount of time left when I think ahead of a living clean lifestyle you watch me I can live like the bathroom sink with bright white and shiny like a new bathroom sink you know I can live like that like a guy that is clean like the bathtub in the convenience store outside of Knoxville Tennessee that I hid from a homeless man with an erect thumb for twenty-three minutes I can make things out of words that don’t need to hurt people or confuse people if I need to watch hello my name is christian I live in Massachusetts I enjoy good film fine food and louis armstrong once a week.

I have a plug sticking out of my head that tells me to keep going and yeah I want to say one more thing, picture me like on fire and shit like the king of the world of whatever I need it to be ya know like picture me big time.

Imagine if Your Favorite Band of All Time Was The Fixx?

When it is warm too warm to sleep and any idea I ever had about forever is hiding in an unmarked box in it’s fifteenth basement, fire builds in my brain. I feel and see every bad thing coming now two days before it happens. I have several ideas and places I want to be. I have several ideas of what I know will be the reality. Things don’t work out because you wish them to work. Things don’t happen because you will them or want them to happen. They don’t happen when you pray. When your loved one is filled with cancer or whatever else is going to kill them, go ahead and pray and see what happens. Your god sends them to nowheresville, to a void. Enjoy your photographs and memories. All of this shit happening, it’s all my fault. Has nothing to do with fate or because I wanted it to happen. All of the other things though, yeah you know. Those all happen because people are basically shitty. You can’t count on anyone. Everyone lies or is just never there when you really need them or want them.


Today is an amazing day here. The sun is so bright, and I don’t know if it’s these sunglasses I have on but the sky is so blue it looks like the Pacific Ocean. I have a nice cup of coffee here and I can’t imagine a better time to be alive than right now. Things are looking up. I have been getting a ton of writing done, creative writing. I’ve had some great weekends with friends lately, taken some great pictures. I applied for a job that may put me back in California which would be great!

I can’t really deal with the

I actually have to go to the bathroom so I’m not going to finish this one.

The Pussy Whisperer

I hear this high pitch outside, and then it turns into a lower pitch like there are two of “them”. I hear it loud and clear like this guttural scream, calling me late at night. Everywhere around this house is foggy and lonely out there. You don’t know and can’t see anything. I could stay in here with all the lights on until dawn. I know what is happening out there though. I hear their noise and see their shadows rising up to the top of the trees. I see it all and always will, they will just keep following me forever. One of these nights I will be the one who steps out of the shadows. One of these nights I will take this knife and plunge it deep. I don’t want them out there anymore. With the lights on though, I can let them see everything I do.

This existence here and there is tired and ready to explode any second. Motherfuckers, every last fucking one of them.



7/31/00
I just got in from a day of pinball and coffee. I love the old video games and the pinball machines. I sneak around there and spend a quarter here, spend a quarter there. I don't win no gifts for girls. I ain't carryin' around no stinking big stuffed animals. I'm playing, it's just me. Ice cream soda and little kids yellin' and screamin'. This television is spitting out all sorts of things that hurt to look at. The volume is down, but looking over at it from time to time hurts the brain a little. 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 get's me to where I think I need to be. It's worlds better than that fucking train to nowhere. 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. Poetry is not needed anymore. Poetry and flowers and jackets across puddles. Karaoke on Friday night get's canceled for a random trip to the moon. Dinner and a movie ain't helping anyone on this route. John Holmes and Mike Simondiski driving a techno colored station wagon to the ocean for conversation about ecstacy 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 reality and one part whatever you need to think you would sort of feel this like this.

They Don't Get The Rare One

I see them coming in and out of here all day

Together, alone, together, alone

I see them twenty years ago and ten years ago and fifteen minutes ago

Images of drives up and down different coasts on the United States

Memories of freezing cold mornings

Hot dry and dusty afternoons

Early evenings with the fading sun turning their hair to gold

I hurt every single one of them and they have no idea

I keep secrets they will never know

I throw an obvious scent down on the left and go right

I hurt every single one of them before they can even consider hurting me

These disgusting situations

These intense conversations and cries for help

All of them a facade as I turn to the right and make decisions for other people

I pull them one direction so they can’t see what is happening the other direction

They come in and out of my head all day

I imagine what I can do

I imagine ways to destroy them all

I remember every single instance

I have notebooks filled with the most horrible ideas

Worse poetry and prose than this

A bunch of sentences and short ideas with no flow at all like this one right here it just looks cooler and is easier to read

They are all out of my head now, all of them

I have to push them

Please leave my head please leave my head please leave my head be gone be gone be somewhere else please I beg of you

I see them all day in pictures and in memories of a thousand meals

Sitting across from each other laughing at my jokes

Watching the room

Watching your hands and how they lie

Watching your eyes and how they lie

Watching myself

Making sure all my stories are dotted and crossed

Making sure I cleaned up all of my messes

Laughing to myself about nothing

There is space between all of them

There are stories that accompany every single one of them

There is bullshit that will accompany every single one in the future

There are lies that are happening now that will be told to me five years from now

Right this very minute thousands of miles from me is not me

Right this very minute the sweetest man I thought I could be is not me

Right this very minute in another place every song and word I wrote never existed

Right now this very minute way over there I feel like I have been torn in half

Right now, and probably for the next day or two my head will operate

My head will create quite possibly the worst possible things I could ever imagine

All of these nightmares will ruin my weekend

All of these dreams I had

All of these dreams I wrote down

All of these ideas and plans I had

They were incorrectly written

All those nights when nightmares were my reality

I dreamed of her and I by the water

The moon over the bay is half full

I fell asleep to this every night for months in Massachusetts

My only escape route was this dream

My only good dream, every night

If I create a new dream, will it remain just that?

God I hope.

Back From There

...? I have these visions when I fall in and out of sleep of me falling to my knees on a beach and someone without a face saying “Oh God, there is light pouring out of your pockets” and then I see it and black out. The person is terrified. I see the light though and it's intense. A big gray rocky beach with menacing cliffs and waves.

Sometimes, I sleepwalk and sometimes sleepwrite.

------------------



“The Minute We Hit Kentucky”

Whatever it is I ever see in them

Whatever it is that ever takes control of me and my head when I am with them

It’s invisible and hopefully gone by the time I am five minutes out of town

I have never wanted to run away from a place and idea more than I do right now

I lie to myself and tell myself I enjoy this and enjoy that

I can yes myself to death when I know every single thing that goes on

I read and spy on these weak ass men and their fat scorned wives home alone every other night weeping into their coffee mug with the horse on it

Broken boned and broken willed

Relying on friends to pick them up and tell them how much he sucks

These poor dumb women have no idea

I sit on roofs and watch them all, sinners and people I should never rub shoulders with

I tempt myself to write songs and letters

I realize I never need any of that

I have eyes, ears, and a nose

I have a steady history of just being too nice for my own good

Getting shit on and whatever else the next morning

I can sit and lie about how I feel

That’s the only thing I can lie about really

I can’t put these elaborate stories together like women do

Well I can, I just don’t

I can tell them all that I am doing well and there’s nothing to worry about but really

I’ll never fully get to sleep tonight

I’m beyond any point of caring if I burn a trillion bridges from here to the next galaxy

I want to go home

Never come back to this fucking place my head is at again

When I truly wish bad luck upon my true enemies

The ones who got in my way

The ones who fucked me up from the other side of the world

When I wish pain with the power of a trillion suns upon them and their loved ones

I hope it comes quick and with a fury so intense they never smile again

One Million Shitty Husbands and the Women Who Love Them

A million miles to go now, geographically and otherwise. Every other day a new situation comes up just in time to join us for breakfast. I feel like a zombie, no more or less than I have here almost the whole time I’ve been here. Regardless though I will destroy all of it as much as I can and as hard as I can otherwise I will go off somewhere else. I feel like a liar sitting around telling stories all day. I never want to explain anything to anyone so any of these randoms I see, they don’t need to know how anything is going. The rest, I don’t take serious, or believe anything that comes out of their mouths and never fully can or will. Kind of sucks to be this now. At least I'm not xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxxxx and never will be, fuck that noise.

Remember when people would do some shit? I have like six days left here. This new shitty event is making this less of a reality, but we'll see. If I have to delay this any longer I will definitely be in a bad area of life. Anyway, for those six days it should be time to do some shit. Wait, I am just realizing this right now. I should probably go worry about that somewhere else. I really need to not do this typing anymore, or looking at shit I don't need to be looking at. I do make things easier on myself though.

Oh tonight we went to this thing in a theater and fuck do I hate when people talk or whisper in the theater. It does that thing where it you know, bugs you. This gentleman in front of me shushed the shithead next to me who was with what I assume was his woman, and just acting like a total nerd, and then blatantly checking out this really gross fake tits woman that kept walking by. Anyway, this shit would not shut up and thanks to this other guy who also CAN'T FUCKING TAKE YOUR SHIT did something about it. This event was Seth Family Guy dude and some others from the show, hosted by Bill Maher. It was pretty funny and interesting, and I'll miss doing this kind of thing when I go back to Boston, but anyway, good times.

====================================

(2004)

Eddie W. Peachtickets would come to my house in the summer months and bring homemade lemonade; we would sit on the porch and talk about different women we dated, how the Braves were doing, and the railroad. Eddie W. Peachtickets was the kind of guy you could count on. I don’t think he had any enemies, that Eddie W. Peachtickets. I bet Eddie W. Peachtickets is somewhere right now helping someone out with something. A very unselfish man, Eddie W. Peachtickets. The first time I met Eddie W. Peachtickets was in the shop with Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings. Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings and I were discussing a recent fight out in front of the firehouse involving Chet Chickarini and Ned Slapadino. Evidently Ned Slapadino called Chet Chickarini’s wife a two-timing piece of trash to Larry Lasagna. Chet Chickarini caught wind of this from a friend and went down to confront Ned Slapadino. Anyway, Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings and I were discussing this fight in the body shop when Eddie W. Peachtickets walked in and asked if we could help him move a chair into his van that had fallen out when he stepped on the accelerator at a red light on the corner; we happily obliged, and then invited Eddie W. Peachtickets to join us for a cup of coffee and some conversation. Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings ended up leaving around midnight, and Eddie W. Peachtickets and I sat around talking about boats and Bob Hope movies for a few more hours. Thus began a long friendship with Eddie W. Peachtickets that continues to this day. Albeit it’s via phone, as I’ve since left town, I still consider Eddie W. Peachtickets to be one of best friends in the world.

Sabbra Cadabbra

dream I had one night about eight years ago:

For some reason I like the low energy feeling a xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx feels each day. this is the best way to get yourself dug into the deepest hole you can get yourself dug into. this is the best way to just avoid having to deal with the voices that invade me every night around 2AM. if I could fall asleep before they start talking to me it would be great. having mere music on when you go to sleep is not only soothing, but it blocks out these voices more than anything. I try and keep myself awake until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I try to fall asleep standing up each night. I try to get myself back into shape, and it doesn’t work. I’m scarred for life with memories I guess. disgusting fucked up memories that nobody would even want to see in a movie. disgusting haunting images of people and events that have no value except to haunt me. why does this happen to me? I can’t sleep at night for fear I may dream about shitty memories and images. I can’t sleep at night because it’s fucking boring. I drift and drift but I try to pull myself away, as sleeping is going to hinder my following day. sleep is not going to help me out. sleep is not going to do anything for me that I notice. I like feeling like shit every day. I enjoy feeling like I’m going to nod off at 2pm. I like the fact that everyone else is safely in bed, and me and the few others around the world are plotting. I don’t like that I have to explain things to anyone. I will never feel comfortable with that. I won’t ever rely on lies to explain myself like everyone I know seems to do. I won’t make things up like “I care” or “I’ll call you later”. I know you’re not going to call, don’t tell me you are. I don’t need closure. I don’t ever need closure. I have lot’s of open books. I have books I started 5 years ago that I just sort of lost interest in. I have closure issues with people at the end of the night. I can’t stand to have to shake hands and hug and exchange promises of phone calls and e-mails. just go on your way, I’ll go on mine, perhaps we’ll meet again someday on the avenue. (don’t touch that dial!). I wonder what goes through the heads of others around me sometimes. I try as hard as possible to never let anyone know what I’m thinking. I try to not try at all to not let anyone know what I’m thinking at any time. when I want to, I read the introduction to a small class, but most days I want to let people do their own studying. not that there are any people out there that really, really care. I just don’t feel up to anything right now in line with normal everyday actions. I’m trying to talk to more people when I go out. not try to meet them and hang out with them, but talking more to others helps things out. sitting here spouting that I don’t care what people think, and how I hate everyone is stupid in general. I don’t hate anyone, especially people I don’t know. I do have some sort of maturity as far as I know. I just don’t ever meet the right people. I can’t imagine meeting people at a gig, or a bar hanging out. it’s loud, you can’t talk, and it’s a general rule that if you’re talking to a stranger at a bar or club, you most likely have a rock hard cock in your pants, or a soaking wet pussy in your pants. I’m not going to start discussing why I think Hour of the Wolf by Bergman is a scarier movie than anything you and your sweater has ever watched. I’m going to discuss how fucking big my dick is, I’m going to discuss how I am sensitive to the rights of animals, and how I have a sister who I am very close with, or that my cock once fucked some chick for 7 ½ hours straight. that’s not the conversation I want to have, nor do I ever want to have. I want to just talk about something. did you know that you can get an okay mandolin for about 200 bucks? do you even know what the fuck a mandolin is? speaking of mandolins...

Otherwise though, things are going pretty good out here. The weather has been pretty good this week for the most part. I haven't really been upset about a single thing in weeks. I feel this renewed energy I haven't felt in a long time. Looking forward to this trip back to Boston next week for a week, and then the drive across country the week after that. I love road trips and the fun times they bring to your soul. If I didn't have this whole thing planned out I would probably
*********************************************************

I Am Not the Owl
Pt 1 of 6:

When I finally would get around to falling asleep I would see them. A lot of times I would fall asleep on the roof with my head slumped over like a boring husband in front of a TV set. Dreams would show up of the conspiracy and everything I suspected happening. When I would awake in the morning I would reset the machine I carried with me and check it over before finishing the day out. Somedays the machine would have information inside of it that was useless to me but I would look it over anyway. I still have this machine and it works like a charm. Sometimes it does things it is not supposed to do.

My friends all said I was crazy, paranoid. I had too much time on my hands so of course I would invent these stories. I saw these “stories” being written in front of my eyes though! The machine I carried with me everywhere I went, it proved all of this. I could never show anyone this machine though. It was mine and nobody would know how to even read it or tell what the information I was looking at a meant. I had enough information collected now that I could present it to everyone but again, like last time, I didn’t want to look crazy so I held on to it. I always hold on. This kind of information. I will write it down on paper. I will type it out. I will think it out in my head. I will sit there and not move on a chair for hours and meditate on this information. Why I collect it to drive myself insane I have no idea but I do and will continue to do so until I confront them.

We had a party. Man, everyone was there that night. People I knew from high school, college, old jobs around town, ex-girlfriends, members of circles of friends long since broken apart family, everyone. I set up the machine to “peripheral” so I could keep my eyes open and make sure there was nothing suspicious happening. By the end of the night I had a splitting headache from trying to watch them all. Even with the machine running it was impossible to do it all. I decided to turn it off and try to just use the most basic method, my eyes. I even had a routine I set up. I would read lips on certain people if they were closer than ten inches from each other when talking. I would keep a mental note of who was talking to who so I could eventually put the pieces together. I had a piece of paper with all of their names on it and arrows connecting them. I could see who was talking to who and try and figure out why they were talking to that person. Some of these relationships didn’t add up to me. Some of these things I lip read people talking about didn’t make sense. At one point someone would tell me one thing and then I would later find out from my map that it was a lie. The conspiracy was getting a little heavier it seemed.

I set myself up in my car and sat there one night for over six hours. I followed them for a few hours and then sat back in the car for six hours with binoculars, a scalpel and a head full of ideas I knew would have to make sense at some point. My car would start quiet like a Belle and Sebastian a few minutes before the sun turned the sky from black to grey. She was there, he was there. I knew what was up here for the most part. The machine and everything it recorded all made sense. It was raining that night so as clear as it all was, things were kind of blurry as well.

I Crawl Like a Viper

They pry things open. This is what I do as well. I apparently have good eyesight as I see things. All of it is stuff I wish I never saw in the first place. I go out late at night looking for it until I find what I need, add it to my collection of paranoid delusions. My steady diet of conspiracy theories and award winning documentaries about lying. Where I once held everyone in some sort of dim light, I now hold bright lights over them, unable to break them. I never want to put people on the spot but it's the only way to break them.

(gliding through unfamiliar cities at night. Crystal clean windshield so everything sparkles. This deafening quietness outside that surrounds the car like this orange tinted ghost that has no shape. It envelopes the car in a soothing way and if you go too fast you miss everything good. Bright white moon colored strips of light on the river. A man you’ll never meet walking alone. A park bench with an orange light next to it. Then buildings taller than you are, they swallow you whole. Tunnels and overpasses bring you to another area of the city or to a place outside you will never see again. Traveling like this, quick fast and in a hurry. A good way to see everything in orange and white.)


I imagine just being the eyes and ears here and not a mouth will work out better for me. I feel like I hit some sort of epitome that will only help me out in the long run. At least as far as giving me a head start when it comes time to run far away from all of the plastic and piss out here. Listening to their conversations, you can form a million ideas about every one of these weak mother fucks. You can see who they are from over here. Hey man, over here, yeah okay where were we? Oh yeah lets talk about the money now.

(I had traveled from massachusetts to parts of pennsylvania only blind people would dare to go. nothing there will make you laugh or cry in a good way the way say...utah will. I had ideas that must have left the same night I arrived. The room filled with smoke when I arrived, it was so hot that night even...)

I imagine these scenarios in my head for a split second. They will come into my head from now until I cleanse my head with something, I don’t know what. They show up in my head and I shiver. I won’t sleep. There is no way I can go to sleep with these in my head. There is no reason I get myself into this patterns and scenarios. From now until forever they will ruin anything I try to feel good about.

-Fifteen-

These fucks with all their protein drinks and energy bars and crystals and fruit flavored hamburgers and the like, do they ever get tired of paying that much attention to themselves? Do they ever just want to give up? Their designer glasses and haircuts. Anytime I can think of a scenario in my head with which they are burned to death in a barn or something, I stop and let that play out in my head for a minute or so and come back to reality.

Sometimes, I just want to be left alone, for long periods of time. Lately I never feel like being interviewed. I never feel like asking questions. For weeks here I was thinking my problem was I needed to meet more people. Now that I am, I don’t have any kind of interest in what people are all about. At 40 years old, I am all set now. I don’t care about things people think I may be interested in. Where they get some of their impressions is beyond me.