The time has come this year
for the seasons cheer
and i want to tell you more and more my dear
but i'm scared that if try
to open up my eyes
and face you, i might hate you, i hate you.

I want to be part of the universe,
part of the whole, part of the soul, but leaving out the hurt.

My heart was strong, but your daggers left the deepest wounds.
Let out the blood, let out the love, let out my fears to you.

Your will was weak and it vanished at the first sight of ash
on my hands, in our plans. How could you be so rash

But now the time has passed
Oh how the time has passed

Now I'm wondering,
with the coming of another year
will things change,
will dreams of you still reappear

I can't speak to you when our lines are cut
How do I let you know that I still haven't given up

He had a thought. Incredible right? To own something so minuscule. How much does a thought weigh?

Just then my skull started to pull itself in several directions all at once. It stayed perfectly still within the universe hanging as if stuck in a web. The strands tug on my right nostril, pulling it down towards my feet. More strands attach themselves to the top of my hair line and harness their roots down the back of my neck.
I see an egg interpreting my life up to this point; It rolls through the door of an empty apartment. Then the roof is torn off and a giant woman with fleshy water wings squeezes the egg into a pot of boiling water.
When the steam clears the egg is completely white and it has a crack where an extremely white brain is caked to the side like silicon baked in a sun filled veranda.
The bitch breaks off all the skin and digs for the gooey yellow centre. Rubbery bits of flesh fall off my bones as her acid mucus turns me to mush.
My mind flies apart, landing all over the apartment's freshly painted walls. It stains them grey as if my brains were sucking the colours out of the world around it.

“Oh no.” Martha stated in her -I'm to good for this shit- tone. “Now the afternoon is ruined.”
“Shut up,” I scream, digging my elbow into my sides as a surge of energy strikes my heart. “What the hell is this shit, I feel like a ship on one of those sci-fi movies. Do you hear how loud those lasers are?”

She was gifted. Frank had heard before that even when the hall was filled with booming voices, hers would ring out above them all and everyone would fall to attention. A valuable asset in a leader since the collapse of the education system. If they could manage to control just a small portion of the crowd at each venue, eventually the resistance will disappear.

A cool drop of water splashes off of Charlie's femur. He groans in hunger, unable to move more than an inch or two. A long metal spike sticks through his abdomen and points up towards a circle of light; the sky.
Sunlight falls on his blind eyes, he leans his head back and shrieks in despair; spit and blood spraying the dark stones walls of the well. His body pulses in agony. Squeak A rat rustles through a large crack in a skull lying at the bottom. Charlie growls and writhes around the spike trying to get to the small bit of meat. The rat skitters to safety out of reach, down a hole. Charlie howls.
“Alright, alright calm down big guy.” Coleen calls, hearing her fiance's muffled voice. “I'm almost there honey, and I brought you something special for your birthday.”
Charlie smells blood as she reaches the top of the well. He reaches up; saliva foams around the edges of his mouth. His lips curl and he snarls anxiously.
“This chink came by, so proud to have found another survivor,” Coleen giggles, “But I'm only ever going to love you baby.” She pulls a severed arm out of a saggy garbage bag and tosses it down. “Here you go Charles, chinese food.”

thisisthemosticouldfitwithoutspacesorpunctuation

I missed a few days and already you are chewing at the little air left in your underground apartment. I see you. A face without an age or sex, staring at this window. You're scrolling through the past; trying in vain to find the connection. Here let me show you.

Was a boy with sun touched skin
made from flesh
and innocence

Was a man of reckless sin
made of stone
and ignorance

On the way to getting lost
in the dark
That's where they'll catch me singing

This is my home
this is my heart
here on my own
I'm getting smart

A thin sheet of satin drapes over his erect member. She leans over his lap and playfully pushes it over. "I can still see it, silly." Her eyes are wide and innocent, if he didn't know better he would believe the character she was pretending to be.

"Now, do you want to see a real magic trick?" He asks.

"Oh yes." She moans, moving her shoulder so that it sticks in under his arm. "But make it disappear for real this time."

He removes the cloth. "Ta da!" He reveals a bare patch of skin where his genitals should be.

"What?! But I... I saw it only..."

"Look around Barbie. Nothing is really as it should be."

Hello User.

Have you ever driven under an overpass on the highway? For that brief moment where you were completely enveloped in shadows; did you lose yourself? Were you aware that an immeasurable amount of time had passed, entire lifetimes. Billions of years zoomed past and you didn't even have a chance to blink. Your eyes recognized the change in light. You had plenty of time to see the overpass before it crossed your sky. But there you are again. Nothing has changed has it? You... You are only human after all.

Do you ever fear we've lost touch?

They've got faces in all the wrong places.
They put their faces in all the wrong places.
They've got faces. They've got faces.

They're climbing up trees
and breaking off branches
to smash your knees,
to smash your knees.
They break off branches.

They appear in the night
holding on by your window.
They wait for sleep.
They wait for sleep
beside your window.

Well only you could know
How deep this problem goes
How deep these problems go.

With a single coin we'll bet bet bet.
When times are good and we tend to forget
how hard it gets.
Oh, how hard it gets.

The Frame

Knock. Knock. Brad's knuckles stick to the oily paint on the door. “Shit.” He wipes his hands on his pants. Click. The door creaks open and a tiny fat woman peers around it.

“Brad?” she squeaks.

He doesn't recognize her at first, but then she opens the door and the hallway lights illuminate her face, “Molly? Is that you?”

The woman is silent for a few seconds. She stares at Brad, a suspicious frown in her thick brow. “Dad's in bed. He hasn't gotten any better since you called,” she turns and charges back into the house, leaving the door open behind her. Brad picks up his rucksack and follows her in; closing the door behind him. Carefully avoiding the wet paint.

He looks around at the floral wallpaper and dusty wood cabinets. There's a photograph of a young stoic man with a long broad nose. It's in a huge silver frame on a stand beside the fireplace.

“Dad had the plumber haul that out of the basement, he thinks it would look nice at the front of the church for his... well you know,” Molly mutters, she stares in disgust at the shining frame.

“Jesus christ,” Brad walks up to the stand and touches the metallic frame. “Where's he think it's going to go after that.”

Molly goes silent again and walks into the kitchen, suddenly determined to clean up the dishes in the sink.

“Do you think dad will still be awake?” Brad asks, looking up the stairs.

“Yes, but he's not upstairs anymore. We had to move him to the guest room on this floor,” Molly doesn't turn away from the dishes as she answers him. He turns and walks down the dark hall and sees a door with a thin bubble of light shining under it. Opening it, he is met with the obscure yet pungent smell of vinegar, cucumber and buckwheat.

“Molly? Could you please get me a glass of whiskey?” The old man turns his thin head. His nose wobbles on his sunken face. He stares through Brad's abdomen with his grey eyes.

“Uh. It's me Dad,” Brad says softly. His father grins, turning his face up to the sound of Brad's voice. “I'll go get you a drink. Be right back,” he backs out of the room and heads towards the kitchen.

“My boy,” he hears his fathers quiet voice floating behind him down the hall.

Brad rummages through the liquor cabinet. “What are you doing?” Molly questions, putting her hand on his forearm.

“Dad wanted a nip of whisky, I was just...” he stops, seeing Molly shaking her wide head.

“Dad can't drink on his medication,” she scolds him, grabbing the bottle in his hand. “He's been asking for this all week.”

“Do you mind if I pour myself a glass?” he says holding onto the bottle. She lets go and returns to the sink.

Brad walks back to his father, bringing the whisky and two small glasses with him. The door bumps the wall as he enters the room, “Molly? Could you please get me a glass of whiskey?”

Brad pauses, “It's me dad. It's Brad.” His father turns to face him again, grinning, shaded crevices in his skin distort his features. Brad sees just how close to death the man is.

“My boy,” he says, holding his arms up in an attempt to embrace his son.

“Molly says you can't drink on your medication,” Brad says, putting down the bottle and glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“I just want a drink,” he slumps down pathetically and begins to wheeze. Brad approaches and rests his hand on his father's shoulder.

“Take it easy, here I'll give you a bit ok?” Brad pours out a small puddle in the bottom of one of the glasses. “Here you go dad, take this,” his father's shaking hand spills all but several drips before the glass reaches his mouth. “Careful.” He takes the glass back.

“Did you see my portrait?” Brads father croaks. “Did Molly tell you, I'm having it instead of a casket at my funeral.”

“We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to,” Brad looks at his fathers dying face. “I mean, it's important that we know what it is that you want to happen after, but we can discuss that as a family. You know, with all of us there.”

“I've already talked to all of your sisters,” the old mans face hardens. “I want to leave the frame to you.”

“What?” Brad frowns. “Why not Molly? It would be easier since she's...”

“No, I want you to have it,” his father says stubbornly, his blank eyes staring through the ceiling. “Something to remember your old man by.”

“I see, it's just that...” Brad stops himself. “OK Dad, thank you very much. I'll take good care of it.”

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

A bell rings as the door opens up. A man walks into the shop with a young boy. The boy peers around at the shelves. There's a small guitar missing all of its strings, a pile of broken blenders and toasters and a box of furry sweaters. The boy spots something shining on the wall behind a rolled up rug. There, atop a charcoal desk stands a beautiful silver frame, coated with dust and scabbed with rust. The boy senses a certain importance, like when his dad showed him the statue of a soldier beside the pond in Memorial Park.

This has been a most excellent morning. I slept in until around 12:30 because I stayed up late. When I woke up and went downstairs I talked with alex who was on his way to school.
We shared a bowl before he left.

I cleaned the ash covered kitchen and made breakfast.
Rolled oats with cut up peach and thick maple syrup.

I visited the Afghan border then went back up upstairs in a very pleasant mood.

Now I'm on my hammock eating porridge I made from scratch. Blogging like an idiot and listening to an animal collective play list. Life is rarely this good.

This head space
my shoulders fit
hanging under my neck
a balloon with a wimpy ribbon curled up, knotted and hanging from its underside.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, looking down at the city he used to know.
"This place doesn't need a hero..." He rasps, the temper gone from his breath. "No, the time for hero's has passed. Just throw these inbred toads some blood and heroin. Let them eat each other for all I care."
Humpty Dumpty teeters on the edge, the light from the street lamps swimming in his eyes. Falling triggers his memory forcing him to relive brief moments of little significance.

"Not much left of him anymore." A hag whimpers, picking up the back of Humpty Dumpty's skull. She licks her new bowl. "Ew, his yoke's gone and spoiled itself."

Bang! A slug from a sawed off shotgun blows through the old bitches wrists.

"Hands off sister." A huge man with long golden hair and a big rig jaw slams the butt of his rifle into her throat, knocking her rotting head onto the blood soaked concrete.

Another man wearing dark sunglasses emerges from the giants shadow. "What do we have here detective?" He ask's, reaching into his jacket.

"A suicide attempt." Whispers the hulking inspector.

"But where's the body then?" The smaller man lights a cigarette and continues to scan his surrounding for any sign of movement. "To bad really, if he'd succeeded that would have been one less of them to worry about."

"I just wish we'd gotten here sooner"

I need to stop writing these so late at night. I have class in the morning and I can't miss it.

I'll be lazy though and just post something I thought about earlier today.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Kelly shudders, her fingers gliding slowly up and down his vascular arm. She cringes as the tip of her index finger caresses a scabbing wound below his rough elbow. "You m-must work out a lot." She stammers, nodding her head to control her frantic breathing.

The man with the muscles grunts, causing Kelly to jump.
Her eyes slowly fill with tears.
She lets out a stifled cry before going completely silent.
He takes her up, wrapping his grotesque limbs around her.
Swallowing her.

Noises from the street push them into the dimly lit back room.

I have to spend a lot of money tomorrow.
not looking forward.

First let me start by saying this is not an attempt to slight anyone's belief's or religious teachings, I am in no way a specialist or "know all" in this subject and my idea's and thoughts should be taken simply as my interpretation of the world and its inhabitants.

I don't believe in anything. That's not true, I believe in everything (to some degree, you'll see what I'm talking about in a second.) The expansive canvas of the universe is infinite. It is impossible for the human brain to conceptualize this idea because, unfortunately for us, our bodies decay. Our minds have boundaries in space and time. The "space" part should really be changed to influence, time can stay the same.

The limit we have with influence and time exist together. By which I mean our ever changing surroundings and the events we experience throughout the time between our birth and our death define the limits of the human brain.

I can not know for certain anything that cannot be explained by science. However, thoughts and idea's conceived by a human brain (or any mind/persona/ego with limitations on either influence or time) have some chance of existing in the infinite past, the infinite future and even the infinite present.

There are many religions around the world with many separate beliefs. Some can coexist, understanding that one person or group's beliefs do not necessarily have to mirror their own. The extremists of most of these groups cannot stand each other and they believe that only their interpretation of the universe or how they understood some holy book is the only way to look at something. These people seek to control the population and should you ever meet one I would approach with caution. These heavy handed prophets fear change and don't understand defiance.

This controlling side of religion was once very necessary for our civilization I believe. We needed to be able to build cities and live together with some sort of moral referee so that we didn't evolve into another unintelligent animal.

...None of this is a cohesive thought nor is there any structure, just thought i'd say that before I continue...

In choosing not to believe anything and to also believe everything, I have come up with a few things I like from a couple religions and my way of looking at them mixed with a few of my own ideas.

First, I like "Creation" and the whole 7 days thing. Not because it's at all accurate in the way they teach it at church but because it may be a way of finding out where "god" is in the universe. Time is relative so maybe what we're suppose to figure out is how far away would something have to be for trillions and trillions of years to go by in a matter of 7 days. The only missing data would be which way? and how fast?

I also have found myself muling over the idea of rebirth or a continuous cycle of life. When I die I turn to the soil and feed the earth and my spirit is reborn within another creature. I really live by this, you can tell when you're meeting somebody if they have a particularly old soul. I think the earth is like a big blue catchers mitt for souls zooming through the universe.

You can see new souls arriving to earth on clear nights. They come attached to little space rocks flying into our atmosphere. The stones burn up in the black sky and somewhere on the opposite side of the earth a baby pops out of a pregnant woman, or a blade of grass sprouts. (The same thing happens whenever anything dies.

Or perhaps there's some sort of waiting list to get back to earth and you have to take a ticket and sit in a waiting room.

There are too many problems in the world that can be fixed just by being caring human beings. It hasn't been proven that prayers do anything more then direct positive energy. We need to be proactive and move out of our father's basement so to speak. Our humanity has come a long way and I believe the next stage will be us realizing that earth is our home. Not only that but we also have the share it with everyone else.

I'm done writing for now. It is quite late and I am waking up fairly early.

I'm a big fan of these webcam effects, they have given me much enjoyment for the past 20 min. I have nothing to write today so instead I will post a few extra pictures from the hilarious "mirror" effect.



Actually, I do want to write something today because my dog just crawled up and fell asleep between my legs and now I feel inspired.
your foul stench is endearing
even the sound it makes as it escapes from your tiny bum
the brief pause that always follows
a brief moment where we all stare in amazement
the disbelief in several onlookers faces as they stumble for words
"how can something that small make a stink so potent?"
you shrug and put your head back down
unabashed and peaceful

First I got a Blackberry
I am a white sheep
Then I got a Macbook Pro
I am a white sheep
Because I am in college I accepted the free Ipod that came with the Macbook Pro I purchased
I am a white sheep

PUNCTUATION

tell me if you want a paintshop portrait. Im brutal


a violin
warped by the sun and humid air
busted by the wind
beaten and pulled by the tide
apart, apart, apart

an orchestra
but maybe not quite so large
just a stick in the sand
commanding my skin
overlapping my bones

it grows over the top of my skull
pushing hair and nerves
down my spine where the skin crawls

Webcam still isn't fixed. I drew myself puckering my lips cause this is the blog entry where I say that I am again looking for someone to fill the void in the part of my life I feel I should be sharing. I want to meet someone I can hangout with all the time and not get bored of. Someone who I can be with and it doesn't matter what we're talking about or if we're talking. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder and seeing nobody. It's a little disconcerting feeling like I am hanging out with someone and then realizing just how alone I really am. I'm glad I have a lot of great friends I can hang out with so I don't drive myself crazy doing this.

Dear future lover.

You are taking to long to find me, I know I'm not making it easy by never showing up to the same events as you but you seriously have to hurry up and get to me before my mind does. Otherwise I may spoil and then you'll lose me forever.

With all of my sincerest love and respect.
Future receiver of your good lovin'.

fixed my computer but the webcam is kinda wonky at the moment. this drawing will have to do.

I feel strange.
the cannon swings.
I feel the back of my gums with my tongue.
the cannon swings.
The tip is raw and scratches the thin bit of skin near the top by the teeth.
the cannon swings.
I feel the fire.
the cannon swings.
Rushing wind blows the fuse into the air.
the cannon swings.
I blow my nose and black tar comes out.
my right arm swings.
my left arm swings.
I sway.
I march.
We proceed.

http://www.purevolume.com/Rufsex?ref=nf

I am (xx)

a mastered wreck
scarred with the ink of my impulse.

a masterpiece
carved by an artist in full convulsion.

a whisper
swiftly torn from your broken
lips.

a night filled with deep regret
and much holy water.

I am (xx)

I have yet to go through a day of work and not get stung by a bee. Today was no exception, I thought that maybe I had done it when 5:30 came around and I was cleaning off my feet getting ready to go home. but, alas, a single bee managed to get caught up in my bangs and it stung me visciously on the forhead. I now have a lump the size of a toony over my left eye, thank god for the slice.

Long time no blog.
But I'm back in etobicoke soon so blog updates will likely be more frequent.

a little verse/poem i wrote recently is stuck in my head so i'll write it cause whatever...

little foxes

look at the little foxes in thier hole
they've got a lot to learn before they go
off on thier own

they've got to learn to hunt before they feed
and how to find exactly what they need
away from the streets
because that's not a safe place to be

little foxes
cut out boxes
wheres your number, son of wonder?
put your name here on the line
little foxes
cut out boxes
what's a number?
don't you wonder what it means to feel alive?

she never strays far from her pup
never lets him think that she's given up
or run out of luck

givin all the time and space to be free
not every fox will be made for a family
that's what i'm starting to see
in a land without loyalty

little foxes
cut out boxes
what's your number, son of wonder?
put your name here on the line
little foxes
cut out boxes
what are numbers?
don't you wonder what it means to feel alive?

Hey, so we're working on a putting a bunch of small pieces together of a few zombie encounters from the monsters perspective. Sort of sympathetic but also fairly brutal. I'll share my second contribution and the rest can be found at http://grayscale-words.blogspot.com (meaghans blog, very awesome and you should read it too.)

"Isn't this sunrise just incredible" I ask Kathryn, putting my arm around her shoulders.
She nibbles off a bit more of my finger and smiles up at me, her white eye's glowing in the morning light. I love it when she does that. My little girl.
"Daddy, where did all the people go?" She's asked the same question for days now and I can tell her hunger is growing. Mine is too.
The evacuation was over a week ago I think, I can't really tell what day it is now. All the uninfected bigwigs millionaires had been flown out on private choppers to this massive boat as we watched salivating from the shore.
"They just went across the bay sweety. Don't worry, if we keep walking I'm sure we'll get there by tomorrow night."
"Will they be like us?" She tugged on my arm, urging me to keep moving.
"I hope not honey." I looked across the golden water at the sun as it creeped up and slowly detached itself from the horizon.
"I bet their brains tastes just like strawberrys!" Kathryn beamed and focused on moving forward, driven by her appetite.
Black smoke billowed in the distance and my stomach lurched, but I couldn't let her lose hope.

found this in an email thought it was funny. I wrote it when I was very young.




The Lucky Dandelion



Once upon a time there was a very cute yet terribly stupid mole. His fiancé the beaver was extremely beautiful and majestic. Alas, her father would not allow the marriage; for the mole could not swim, and he would surely drown if he lived with the beavers. The mole then left and became an alcoholic.

One night whilst he was drunk, the mole met a large dandelion who had red eyes and was very clever.

“Dandelion, dandelion.” Cries the mole. “Woe is me, for I can not see, my beautiful bride, who has gone with the tide.”

“I am sorry she has drown.” The dandelion says apologetically.

“No, no, no!” snaps the mole “She is a beaver, and I am a mole. She lives in the water, and I in a hole. If I lived in the spring, t’would be a dangerous thing. For in the river only death god deliver.”

“Then,” says the dandelion “do no fret, for she is not dead. You should not be here drinking, but with her instead. Go back to her now, for she waits for you in bed. Now, have you listened, and have you heard what I’ve said?”

“Yes, dandelion, yes.” Answers the mole. “But I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, how am I to sleep with her when I can never touch her hand.”

The dandelion then pulls out a pair of flippers and a snorkel.

“I’ll make you a deal, your love I can heal. These can be yours, but when the first snow pours, your home shall be mine, that is my only fine.”

“Very well.” Replies the drunken mole. “For I have no other option.”

The mole then went down to the water and was greeted with open arms by his wife to be, the beaver. The mole neglected to tell her about the dandelion arrangement and they were married. The winter came on quickly and so did the snow.

And with the snow came the dandelion.

“Who is this plant, who comes to our door.” Asks the beaver.

“I wish that I did not know.” Says the mole. “But I’m afraid that my dream of the dandelion was no dream at all. Man, I must have been really sottish that night.”

“I hope you don’t mean to say that you made a deal with that demon.” The beaver says, raising her voice just over a whisper.

“I’m sorry it’s true my darling.” Says the mole silently.

“And what is it he looks for?” asks the beaver. “If its money, we don’t have it.”

“No, my sweet.” Replies the mole. “The deed to this house has been his since this morning.”

“Why, oh, why, did you trouble with that I ask.”

“For your love my pretty, though now I do pity.”

“You idiot. You imbecile. Now where do we go? Out in the cold snow? Where the icy winds blow, and the chilly winter air could half freeze a bear?”
Now says dandelion. “Not you, you see, you may live with me, awayfrom Decembers icy snow spree.”

Thus, the mole left and was frozen away by the snow, sleet, and the slush. And the beaver and the dandelion lived happily and had many children.

The End

the light
i'm starved of the light
it hangs
it hangs
it hangs down there by the world
for just 83 years
and then it's gone.

no one will tell you
in truth and honest mind
what happens then.
just darkness?
perhaps something new that isn't
comprehended by the world
where exsistance
and the lacking
empty
black
vacuum where exsistance ends,

if either are even possible,

stop being just the
'there and the there not'

we become one
infinite with the universe.

got a bowl of that sticky crystal
hanging off the bud like a thorny thistle
the stink so sweet it smells like candy
bought it at the store from this guy named andy
i could roll up a fatty
but why would i waste it
use my wooden pipe
so i can taste it
match strikes, shick! and then ignites
light up the tip then outa sight
down the bowl where it starts the fire
that gets me high and highers higher

so pass it quick and stoke the cherry
inhale and love that mary
exhale and cough like crazy
eyes so red and vision hazy

thin lips all numb
and my mouth is dry
gotta find some water
all i got is rye
i need to eat
open up the fridge
look for a second
then start to binge
eat everything
that looks delicious
all kinds of snacks
all kinds of dishes
i need to munch
and i can't be stopped
till i pass out
and my belly pop

so pass it and stoke the cherry
inhale and love that mary
exhale and cough like crazy
eyes so red and vision hazy

warn me if i hold the cone like a microphone
cause when i get stoned i get in the zone
and i feel as though i toke it alone
with a single tone then my mind gets blown
and if i'm not shown that i'm holdin that chronic
i'll smoke it all fast like i'm blazin sonic
if i'm not stopped it'll be gone got it
fill up my lungs then i blow to fog it
kick a hot box
with no shoes or socks
sit with legs crossed
while my body rocks
to the flow that blows
smooth like a silky
hit from the bong
damn that shit was milky
then your throat gets hot and you got to cough
but you hold it in cause you're not that soft
and you brush it off like it don't cost nothin
now you're high as fuck from the grass you's puffin

now pass it and i'll stoke the cherry
inhale and love that mary
exhale and cough like crazy
eyes so red and vision hazy

[INTERIOR, UPSTAIRS BEDROOMROOM, NIGHT]

ENTER MAN 1. INHALES DEEPLY AS HE SLOWLY OPENS DOOR.

MAN 2 ON BED LOOKS UP FROM BEHIND A LAPTOP. EYES RED.

MAN 2 - UM, HELLO...?

MAN 1 - HAVE YOU BEEN LIGHTING CANDLES UP HERE?

MAN 2 CONTINUES WORKING ON THE COMPUTER LIKE HE IS BUSY WITH SOMETHING.

MAN 2 - OH, UH... WELL I FARTED AND IT SMELLED NASTY SO I LIT A MATCH...

MAN 1 - (PAUSES)... I DON'T WANT YOU SMOKING DOPE UP HERE, OK? IF YOU'RE GOING TO DO THAT THINGS ARE GOING TO CHANGE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

MAN 2 - ...YES

MAN 1 - ...OK? NOT EVEN WITH THE WINDOW FULLY OPEN, GOT IT?

MAN 2 - YEAH I UNDERSTAND.

EXT MAN 1.

MAN 2 LOOKS DOWN AT WINDOW THEN BACK AT COMPUTER AND CONTINUES TYPING.

[FADE WHITE AND THEN BLACK]
[FLICKER COLOURED BOX IN CENTER OF COLOURED SCREEN IN FOLLOWING ORDER, REPEAT X3 WITHIN 5 SECONDS]
[BOX/BACKGROUND]
{BLUE/WHITE]
[YELLOW/BROWN]
[RED/PINK]
[BLACK WITH COLD DOTS/PURPLE]
[GREEN/ORANGE]

[CLOSE UP ON CHILDS MOUTH COVERED IN FOOD AND SNOT, DARKNESS SURROUNDS]

CHILD - THIS IS WHERE DADDY KEEPS ALL THE CORN.

CHILD SCREAMS AND THE VIDEO SPEED SLOWS TO 5O% AS THE SCREAM IS DROWNED OUT BY
THE SOUND OF A THUNDERSTORM.

[LIT LIGHTBULB SMASHING ON CONCRETE WITH PAINTING OF A RIFLE]

Way to hot for shirts this week. Editing footage and shooting more tonight. No other updates.

skin and bones yeah?

ok so the big plans are starting to form,i've talked to matt and we're coming up with an idea for this summer that will hopefully lead to something in our lives we started and followed through with till the end. I've always thought of being famous in a way where achieving fame is impossible unless you get lucky. But with the internet all it really takes is alot of effort, good friends, some talent and a good idea.

are you ready for it?

part 1.
we're starting a band, and before you stop and say "hey it's been done by so many people I don't think you can do it." let me just say that in my view it's never been done like this and I think it can be done and it has to happen. I'm tired of waiting, opportunities don't just happen. I am fully prepared to put my heart and soul into this and if something happens and this takes off I am ready to leave school to pursue my dreams.

part 2.
the second part of my plan is to document everything that happens and keep a thorough update on the bands plans/ideas/lives using videos/blogging and stuff like that. I really want to have an interactive fan base where we can talk to people who care about what we're doing and get their feedback. If we get haters we'll take what they say as a critisism and do what we can to make people happy. But the main idea is to make the music we love and provide our audience with front seats and back stage insight from the beginnings.

and I know the beginnings will be humble as it is with any band, however we're going to set goals and i think by the end of the summer a big tour isn't too impossible. We officially started today and we are looking to fill the band with local musicians, we'll be sending out messages to people we think would fit the style and people who can be motivated enough to make something happen.

the sound we're going for is very bluesy, a mix of catchy light/folky parts with huge heavy drops and breakdowns. we're thinking of incorporating some wobbing and other electronic effects in the break downs which i think would sound sick.

anyways that's a basic idea of the concept in writing, I shot some footage today of the first practice/jam and it looks promising. i hope that this is something alot of people can get excited about so tell your friends to tell their friends, lets make this big. WE WANT INPUT, THATS OUR THING.

My main reason for this idea is that the music industry has sortof been taken over by people who don't do anything for themselves and it looks like artists are relying heavily on companies to carry them through and then we get a bunch of songs that money made and not passion or life influenced art.

With this project I want to prove that DIY is the best solution. Selling out is not an option, we're dedicated to doing things for ourselves and for any fans or enthusiasts.

So keep an eye here and around as we're starting to work on this all right NOW. We do not have an actual name for all of this yet but we've brainstormed a few ideas and would love to hear what you guys think/suggestions.

heres a little list. (sorry matt and chris if i forgot the ones you said)

the project
the small town dream
project fame
the dream project
DIY
ghost.ghost?ghost! (haha we can use it, it's mine)
farm to fame (lol)

there were more, they've just slipped my mind here (it's past 4am and i'm boiling hot in my room)

anyways, I'm still awake so I'm gunna write a bit more and then go chill out down stairs by a fan or something. Lets see if I can write something worthwhile.



skin and bones.

oh how the days ware on
cutting into my mind
like a needle filled with
restlessness and stupid lie's

i still haven't found another reason for living
i'm bored to tears waiting for this to happen
please be advised this is not how i want to live

cause i'm young
and this body ain't gunna be here forever
and i smoke drugs
but it's the excitement that i'm really here for
now i make due
on days when i can't catch a break
when i wait and i wait and i wait and i wait
and i fuck... shit... up...
with the troop on the days that we can kick it

my skin
my bones
every thought in my head
i got a feeling this is how is how i'm gonna make my bread

...
I was thinking of some pretty sick drops in my head while writing this, hopefully we can impress you guys.

peace and love
joey.

yeah I'm wearing the purple shirt again
whats it to ya
got no socks on and I'm ready to
kick it with no hand
pullin up my pants
so the belt
hitch up and ride my ass
but nothing shows
up
and i don't have to front
so i listen for that beep
and my cell phone squeek
cause i made it in the use
freshness

WEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH.

so today is the party
i've been setting it up and picking dog shit out of my yard for a while. My dad doesn't know yet that the party is supposed to be "wear anything but clothes" and I don't know what he's gunna say when i come downstairs in a kamono. lets get wild tonight. lol

At the end of the earth.

Chop chop chop chop. The silver and black blades of the helicopter sliced the air above Simon's head. The shock wave buzzed in his ears and Simon began to feel anxious. There was a man in a dark green uniform shouting something to the people clambering onto the aircraft. His face looked tired and the thin hair that swirled around the sides of his ears looked like torn thread on the seams of a broken sweater.
Simon was one of the last survivors of the quake to get on the chopper and he was forced to sit much closer to the edge of the door then he would have liked. But under the current circumstances he was glad just to be getting out of the city finally.
Simon looked around the craft, he didn't recognize anyone but he felt connected to each and everyone of them. He saw a woman in the corner assuring her small daughter that her father was safe and far away, and he could tell that her words were meant to calm herself just as much as her sobbing child. He could hear a man somewhere behind him complaining about his leg and he started to feel a few aches over his own body. His hand throbbed. Looking down he realized that his hand was pouring blood all over his clothes.
"Whoa man, that's messed up!" a teenage boy gasped pointing at the wound.
Simon hid his hand so no one else could see he was injured.
The yelling army man on the ground stepped back from the helicopter waving his arms and pointing up.
They hovered for a moment before speeding diagonally up into the dark dusk sky. As they rose the extent of the damage became very clear. Time seemed to slow down as everyone took in the scene. The voices of fellow survivors rang in Simon's ear but he couldn't understand what anyone was saying anymore. He became transfixed on the destruction of the place he used to know. There were no more standing buildings for as far as Simon could see. Thick black smoke billowed from collapsed apartment buildings. An explosion lit up the corner gas station on Hunter St. where Simon used to go to fill up. The earth seemed breathe, spewing jetsams of fire from the cracks in it's surfice.
The crusted rocks were becoming a monster, killing more innocent people in one hour then any other natural disaster. The ground was chewing the city up and the expanding harbor was swallowing up the left overs.
Simon looked to see if he could spot any other places he knew. He looked for the hospital where his mother was being kept until the cancer got better but he couldn't see anything. The smoke began the fill the cabin and the pilot struggled to gain alttitude in order to escape without suffocating his passengers.
Simon prayed for his mother, "Take me instead lord. Take all of these strangers too, I don't care, just let mama live. She's fought to hard to lose this way."
The fumes from the fires below choked Simon and the air craft lurched; hitting a patch of turbulence above the remains of a once beautiful church. The air and smoke spun around violently as time slowly caught up with him.
"This is the fucking apocalypse boys," a rugged man shouted in front of him, "It's like I've said all along, the fucking apocalypse!" The man fell onto his side as the aircraft tilted again.

~

"Oh, come on mama it's not that bad. I mean look at all this tasty food you get to enjoy everyday." Simon joked, poking at the gelatinous green goo on his mothers bed side table. Wires and tubes stuck into and out of every hole on his mother's body that Simon could see; linking her to a monitor that beeped and hummed. The doctors translated these sounds, telling Simon that the machine said his mother was "in stable condition."
Simon could never tell exactly how his mother was feeling; she wouldn't talk to him when ever he came by to see her.
Simon moved closer to his mother and brushed a few grey strands of hair from her face like cobwebs from an antique. "Do you want to watch TV mama?" Simon asked even though he knew his mother wouldn't respond.
The television flickered on. The man on the screen was talking about a flood that had destroyed nearly all the villages along some South American river.
Simon didn't care much for the news. When his father was alive he would always tell Simon, "The news is just a bunch of horror stories, boy, they're meant to scare you. If I want to know whats goin' on, all I have to do is look out this window. See, it's sunny,"
"How about a game show mama?" Simon said as he tried to figure out how to use the hospital remote, "Let's see if Jeapardy is on."
Knock knock. A doctor opened the door.
"You must be Simon," The man said from behind a clipboard "I don't believe we've met, I'm Dr. Gleason." Simon had met this doctor three times already but he shook the mans hand just the same.
"Nice to meet you, what can you tell me about my mother?" Simon asked, trying to see what was on the clipboard.
"Well, it looks like your mother isn't getting any better," Dr. Gleason spoke like Simon's mother wasn't in the room. "We're doing our best to keep her alive but her chances on making any sort of recovery are slim at best. In my professional opinion I think it would be in your families best interest to start preparing for the worst."
The world Simon knew shook as he took in the news.

~

In the infinite sky the earth is a burnt out ember. Joining ranks with other dead planets the globe spins and spins until eventually the sun it revolves around is also extinguished, and all that man has ever known simply vanishes into the black of space.

Rape Face - my shirts off in a lot of these pictures I'm realizing, kinda like an asshole right? I was going to say that "it's only because when and if I remember to take a picture for this it's always right before bed" but pussies make excuses, real men bare their puny hairless guts, and assholes are fuck yeah.

so I'm going to start writing on here from time to time if that's cool, maybe not though.
not in this post anyways
so you don't have to read
because all you'll find
is words about words
a jumble of phrases
thrown together to
waste
time.

But still you don't turn away
because there has to be a meaning
right?
I mean, what kind of selfish (ROAR OUT IN FRUSTRATION)
would just say words?
whats the point in that?
where's the images of beauty or suffering even?
the painfully obvious dark undertones?
and that line that's meant to say "wait a minute, i'm just a reader in all of this?"
where's the punch line or political comment?
where's the ending without consiquence?