it’s not just my mean side that says i’m done with all of you, i’m always saying that about me, too, so the last of the last of the last has gotten up and past the first of my known flirts into the life i paid into sinking worth, the breathing of such little breaths taking its toll on everyone making me sick, the sticks and stones flown from the child to the grown, i’ll say it’s a curse and just go to sleep again, fending for me was always old news, and when this much is free i’ll pay it all for the chance to be in your shoes and your shoes and your shoes, the saviours were never on cue and the relief was never spelled out, i staled to the bright sides and i took your words for shallow lies, and i remembered to give myself until thirty-five, the emptiness of heaven when i die, the seven tides of a mind, washed out washed out, smoothing to these flat lines, plateaud on or off and on and off the prozacs and the pills, pressing the windows from the sills, gliding through the past where the haunted hide, the chemicalled logics pawned for love or hate, i got lost in the circles of the equations, i kept dividing, i kept dividing, i am lost on magic and purity, i am lost on emotion and sacrifice, i lost the scent of the chase and only kept up the race, lost with monotony and dirt, the spilling where only the lash would hurt, now, ended up too smart for my own good, thought just enough and brought the null into my head, i paved the land with ugly truth, truth paved the world over such bad dreams, the skin of a breath that was lost on you, blank and blanketed, blank and blanketed, don’t bother being a saviour, don’t bother, don’t bother, my kid is dead, my kid is dead, my kid is dead and paved over with truths, truths and lies, truths and lies, dead from the lack of anything in between, red knives on the ground where this half-truth was last seen, sharp on the stone of the people, sharp on the lack of a way out, sharp on the tactics of childhood, sharp on the memory of those no-goods, balanced between the lawn and the sidewalk, leaking on the path of that lost soul, the last of the lost of the last.

sd’;l;poew”ewrf’pso sad so sad so sad.

I bless you madly, sadly as I tie my shoes
I love you badly, just in time, at times, I guess
Because of you I need to rest
Because it’s you that sets the test

Live
Live
Live

lord don’t let it get bored.

when i was a kid, i would have fits of frustration due to boredom. we lived in the countryside. there’s nothing around. boredom happened a lot. when i was a kid, there was nothing worse than being bored. when i was a kid, i can’t remember really well, but i think sometimes i got so bored that it made me sick to my stomach. i was a pretty neurotic little kid, though.

these days i’m not unhappy. these days there is an even keel, but a hovering lack of passion. i am not unhappy, but i’m not doing much with my days. i’m not feeling fulfilled. i am bored. i am sleepy and have headaches and i am bored and boring.

i can’t even think of anything at all that i could do now, that would feel fulfilling to me. i am dispassionate about every option i bring through my dumb skull. not bikerides or parks, not roadtrips or poems, not making out with hotties or bowling. i relapse with sleep and video games. maybe these are the phases i should drown in narcotics binges. maybe i shouldn’t be afraid to get a last-minute airplane to london or vancouver, to wander for a weekend, somewhere far away.

somebody’s revenge, unmerciful fate, nerds got old. i feel so old.

i feel old and boring and completely collapsible, sometimes.

-

last weekend i went to philadelphia to stay with jeff and marcy for the easter weekend. they were already drunk when i got there. we went out to bars. marcy had a friend she seemed bent on hooking me up with. i was dispassionate.

when drinking alcohols, i am not prolific. i do not seem to have a state of drunkenness. i only get dizzy. i never lose my wits, my persona, my ability to reason with clarity. i just get dizzy when i drink a bit.

if i pass a certain subtle point of alcohol consumption, and i do seem to notice when i get to that point, when i pass that, i am dizzy and thoroughly sick. everything is spinning incessantly, i can still reason and i still have my persona and wits, but they are all mostly bent on getting to a firm, reliable surface where i might lie down, preferably in the fetal position. the sickness phase of my alcohol consumption is something i fear and avoid at all costs, usually. the sickness phase brought me to the emergency room, a few years ago. i had been very good about stopping at my limit, since then. until last weekend, where i was so so dizzy and sick, jeff and marcy and stacy ate their omelettes at 3:30am, and i went to the restroom and knelt at that toilet and stuck my finger way down my throat, i wasn’t going to the fucking e.r. again i said. it always clears you right up, vomiting. but still, it had taken a lot out of me, and i fell asleep in the booth in the diner, and they woke me up when it was time to leave. i’ve been sick in a virus way ever since, battling a cold that doesn’t seem to go.

but yeah, when drinking alcohols, i am not prolific, and i don’t get wild and crazy and fun like everyone else seems to. i’m just me, me dizzy, or me dizzy vomitsickssick.

-

lord wake me up when it’s fun again.

cheers to unicycle boy! whose outlandish, “carrot-top”-style shamelessness has brought back the term “BOTARD” and has once again made it a viable option among the english language’s spiteful vocabularies.

as in “silly mofo, tricks are for botards”,

or something like that.

okay.bye.

too distant to change,
[insert picture of crushed granite hill with snowtops]
and after alllof this time it starts

to

(just wont, dont stop freaking out, you everyones not gone, starts stopping all the time all of the time
dont don’t

the snow is on the hill the victory’s just on t.v., it’s all

scams , flame-resistent leviathans, molotov cokktales

i won’t keep buying like this, i keep sayng to myself it’s not halves and quarters.

whole sickness is all holes is – - – -dials &indicators on the consoles of heaven

god’s fucking doppler radar, oh kneel here by my deadbed

tell me it never rains or pours, it never snows on the hills,

because maybe it’s too busy kidding itself.

sic sic sic itur ad astra sic itur ad astra
;;
let me let me go let me off let me let me
sic itur ad astra;;

this is still the most important album to me. the most cohesive, the most at saying so much with so few layers, seems so many layers, so ethereal, so much sad magic, so beyond every thing, i’m still trying to figure out what it’s trying to tell me, the epitome of nineteen turning twenty, the epitome of losing the teenage to the young adult, epitomizing the feeling of so much loss with so much hope, surging with vital shades of brown and gray, nothing tends to define you more than the things that are with you when you are all alone, this music defines so much of me, still,

there is nothing else, ever, that is like it.

i wish everyone could feel it like i do. but maybe it’s just better to have it to myself.

the sun won’t sleep in my eyes / i learned to ShuT-
tastes where the trees and sky meet
won’t find my tongue / and when i start to hear
the crackling of my heart
clawing out of the fires / you left,
you left / and you did it so well
you left and you did it so well
you left and you did it so well
i’ll never be rid of the ShocK
and fumes / shoCk and fumes
the smell of a corpse that was a promise / once,