December 2011
41 posts
It’s funny how old stoners call pot “dope”, while everyone born after the bicentennial calls heroin “dope”.
The other day Jim emailed me asking if I had any pieces “in the tubes”. I laughed—and still laugh—’cause that’s like writer jargon, right?
I remember feeling that familiar acceptance into an inner circle when I waited tables at a fancy restaurant. If someone were “in the weeds” that meant they were really busy.
Where the fuck do I go after the...
He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. He’s irresponsibly handsome.
Is it possible to break your eardrumbone after doing too much coke and then taking a few Xanax afterwards? It was only a couple grams of coke spread over… 15hrs, maybe? And I think I took two or three Xanax after my last line, but they weren’t the kind I’m prescribed, the ones that look like circles; instead, they were the ones that look like flat four-squared Lego pieces.
Now...
“You wanna know how I know he’s not a REAL gay NAZI?! ‘Cause I know...”
– Me
How can I play a convincing prey when all I do is actively seek out predators? How do I manage not to become one after learning to sympathize, respect and resent them, all at the same time? How am I sure I’m not one already?
I used to judge people on how their intelligence compared to mine. Now my judgement calls are based on whether I think I can kill them with my bare hands or not.
Final Destination 6 should be shot in Chicago and begin with a train derailment on the Green Line in the Loop.
I’m starting to say things in my head, thinking I’m saying ‘em aloud, then getting frustrated when no one knows what I’m talking about. Like, I’ll have thought I had a certain conversation before, but I never did.
I wouldn’t consider this lapse in reality a recent occurrence ‘cause similarly—after several hours or days have passed—I will continue the same...
I felt a warm pressure on the center of my chest. It didn’t hurt, it was rather soothing, actually. It felt like a hot compress pressed upon a sprained muscle. Healing it? Or burning through it?
Do you ever get that feeling where you’re not really sure if you’re awake or not? It’s like you’re walking through a foggy dream and you can’t remember how you got from Point A to Point B. That’s how I’ve been feeling lately.
Sometimes I imagine I died years ago and maybe that’s why it’s so hard for me to relate to the living.
Or maybe...
Holy crap, Shame was freaking awesome. Yes, of course, my intention was to see Michael Fassbender’s naked dick, but I wasn’t expecting to see him pull off such a phenomenal performance. In all seriousness, he’s a brilliant actor and deserves all the accolades he’s bound to receive. His intensity kinda reminds me of Daniel Day Lewis for some reason.
I’m totally...
And I’m still awake…
I should remember to get my certified pill-pushing shrink to write me a prescription for Ambien the next time I see him.
Fuck me, how many Addies did I take? This is horrible. This is why I usually never take more than one a day.
It’s kinda like when you smoke meth and you’re awake, but kinda tired, too, and time just flies by and suddenly you see...
Why the fuck am I still up?
Oh, right, I was doing revisions on three papers that will be due next week.
Why must I always wait ‘til the very last fucking minute to get important shit done? Better yet, why don’t I just stay ahead of the class by actually reading each syllabus I’m given? Oh, right, ‘cause instead of doing that I choose to skim over ‘em once to verify...
Since when has Vince Vaughan been considered a “leading man”? I’ve seen less haggard looking faces in the mirror after three-day-long coke binges.
I’m limping on my last leg. I should be put out to whore pasture.
Watch
I’m successfully cracking under the pressure.
Do I have to become an adult? Can’t I be some sorta living exhibit that greets you upon entrance at one those asylums where they do that ECT shit? I could be a statue of puer aeternus.
Speaking of, I remember seeing a girl go for daily “sessions” and come out catatonic on a gurney, appearing dead behind the eyes. I remember...
I’d be remiss to not address the majesty of friends who always laugh at your rape jokes.
It would be neat if Psychic TV played the extended version of “Good Vibrations” on Sunday.
No, I wouldn’t say I’m much of a Throbbing Gristle fan, but I do, however, dig the dancier shit Genesis P-Orridge used to put out, especially the early acid tracks by Psychic TV. I remember seeing him for the first time in that documentary B3773R Through Circuitry where he talked...
Future robots wars will effectively end racism when we all unite to save humanity.
As soon as we come to the consensus that we’re all equal, the robots will exploded us.
The end.
If sperm is to seed, then cunt is to dirt.
I’m so sure Patrick calls me a faggot when I’m not around. After hearing him say “nigger” this and “nigger” that a few dozen times that one time, I’d figure he’d have no problem saying “faggot”, right?
I oughtta beat the shit outta him based on that assumption alone.
“What’s the quotation? ‘Men at some time are masters of their fates,...”
– George P. Hanley
I’m looking for the sheerest possible black leather gloves that will still allow for enough dexterity to kill someone as if with my bare hands, but also keep my hands warm.
I don’t believe in gods and magic. I believe in concrete and cement, muscle and blood.
The “poor” keep getting poorer because their population keeps growing exponentially. The poorest dumb fucks seem to have no shortage of hardship or children they can’t afford to support.
Oh, then there's this:
http://streetbonersandtvcarnage.com/blog/taking-one-for-the-team-nsfw/
Let's Try This Again
Hello, to the 10 followers I inexplicably have. I bet you must be wondering where I’ve been all this time. To make a long story short, I took the last few steps to the front door of insanity and rang the doorbell to be let in.
It was fun. Didn’t you get my postcards?
I spent many nights binging on coke and booze while Matt was outta town for work. Whenever my body couldn’t...