I Cannot Save You

From the orgies and the blow. From the inebriated "heartfelt" conversations that you have with drunk boys during the pre-dawn hours; thinking they are listening to (much less comprehending) the "real" you, when all they're really waiting for is for you to shut your mouth so they can fuck you...not understand you. From the rotating turnstile of boy, after boy, after boy, after boy who always end up letting you down in some way or another in due time; even when your eager little heart told you otherwise from the beginning. From that lonely feeling that nobody in this world truly understands you, or will accept you if they knew you, or the fact that you feel you can't give love. From the ego-centric fog that flows through the people in your surroundings, blinding them to the rest of the world and even themselves. From the self-righteous-psuedo-intellectualism doused in an overly-spoiled adherence to life during the height of their days. From the esteem-killing cycle of relationships that last only three or four months when they all turn out to be shit anyways. Much to your chagrin, the next one in line always ends up the same. Maybe if you took some time for yourself and figured out who you really are and what you really want...things might take on a different perspective. Maybe if you didn't have a consant love interest on your plate at all times...but I can't save you from your synapses. From that little roller coaster you find yourself on, reacting to the ups like they were the best, and the downs like they were the worst, not meaning what you say, and saying what you mean. From those little human idiosyncrasies that net the blame for inconsiderate selfishness. From the poisonous way you see yourself. From your hypocrisies and blinding damnation of someone else when you see their's. From the evil side of you that derails you at times and chokes the life from you. From the way you treated me and the accountability that comes with it when you're confronted by me. From your cleverly disguised lies; which you tell straight through your teeth in much the same way a rifle would shoot ice-cold bullets into the chest of another. From the hurt that your own lies cause you. From the walls you build up to keep people from them. From the people who are sour with you and have nefarious fun at your expense without you being the wiser. From your failures. From your past. From your guilt. From your inability to put it behind you and let go. From your condescension towards those you consider less capable and adaptive than you. From your elitism. From your sanctimonious bullshit. From your attention-grabbing. From the people who have hurt you over and over. I cannot save you from my anger towards you, and I cannot save you from truly knowing deep in your heart, that you felt loved at least once in your life, and that haunting little sting that resides there.

See, the problem with you is that you let the things that hurt you define you. You identify with it and you let it become your identity.

Are you mad that I'm mad? You shouldn't be. This should all be comfortably expected. I have a multitude of reasons; each of them you should already be well aware of. None of them, less substantial than the last. Is this gonna motivate you to prove me wrong? I hope so. Is it going to send you into a downward spiral of anger and resentment? Who knows. Does this validate your reasons to brush me aside? I have a pretty good guess. I'm sure you're too cool to let this bother you. Too apathetic towards these words to let them irritate you. Too collected to let it ruin your day. But the simple fact of the matter is, I've been too nice to you. I'm putting many things behind me in this time, the least of which is you.

I cannot save you from yourself. And I will not try.

You don't know everything, angry little girl.

I Need a New Muse

My old one is busted. I think I've squeezed every last drop from that rag. I'm glad that my surroundings are about to change. I'm tired of this town and the ghosts who reside here. They've worn out their welcome with me. The neon buildings with their monolith presence and the times I've gone in and out of them rub through straight to the nerve now. It gives me a headache and it's worn me out. I'm tired of lying to myself, but most of all believing them. This road leads to nowhere which is why I'm making a sharp detour to the south. Brand new chance in a brand new town. I've got my pick axe, my pail, and my polishing cloth. I'm gonna pan the rivers for a new muse. I'm going to burrow in the sides of the mountains for a jewel that shines a little brighter and is more geometrically sound. I'll see where that gets me, if anywhere. I've said this all before...

C-Word

My boss is a "C-word." I don't use that word often. I reserve it for a select few. It's like the silver bullet of cuss words. Particularly effective if you've been cussing at werewolves, or perhaps Dracula. But yeah, my boss...she's a C-word. Not the one who's repeatedly told me that she wants to have sex with me...she's cool. It's the other one. I'm pretty sure she has a dong, and fornicates her husband's anus with it.

If one were to tell me that after I had departed that she caught and lost a raging bout with gonorrhea of the face, I think my reaction would be somewhat on par with this:

"Good."




*fist-pump following shortly thereafter*

Hemingway = Genius

This is my favorite short-story from Hemingway.

Itsa good....

Hills Like White Elephants
By Ernest Hemingway


The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to Madrid.

'What should we drink?' the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.

'It's pretty hot,' the man said.

'Let's drink beer.'

'Dos cervezas,' the man said into the curtain.

'Big ones?' a woman asked from the doorway.

'Yes. Two big ones.'

The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer glass on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.

'They look like white elephants,' she said.

'I've never seen one,' the man drank his beer.

'No, you wouldn't have.'

'I might have,' the man said. 'Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything.'

The girl looked at the bead curtain. 'They've painted something on it,' she said. 'What does it say?'

'Anis del Toro. It's a drink.'

'Could we try it?'

The man called 'Listen' through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar.

'Four reales.' 'We want two Anis del Toro.'

'With water?'

'Do you want it with water?'

'I don't know,' the girl said. 'Is it good with water?'

'It's all right.'

'You want them with water?' asked the woman.

'Yes, with water.'

'It tastes like liquorice,' the girl said and put the glass down.

'That's the way with everything.'

'Yes,' said the girl. 'Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you've waited so long for, like absinthe.'

'Oh, cut it out.'

'You started it,' the girl said. 'I was being amused. I was having a fine time.'

'Well, let's try and have a fine time.'

'All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn't that bright?'

'That was bright.'

'I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it - look at things and try new drinks?'

'I guess so.'

The girl looked across at the hills.

'They're lovely hills,' she said. 'They don't really look like white elephants. I just meant the colouring of their skin through the trees.'

'Should we have another drink?'

'All right.'

The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.

'The beer's nice and cool,' the man said.

'It's lovely,' the girl said.

'It's really an awfully simple operation, Jig,' the man said. 'It's not really an operation at all.'

The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.

'I know you wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything. It's just to let the air in.'

The girl did not say anything.

'I'll go with you and I'll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it's all perfectly natural.'

'Then what will we do afterwards?'

'We'll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before.'

'What makes you think so?'

'That's the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy.'

The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads.

'And you think then we'll be all right and be happy.'

'I know we will. Yon don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it.'

'So have I,' said the girl. 'And afterwards they were all so happy.'

'Well,' the man said, 'if you don't want to you don't have to. I wouldn't have you do it if you didn't want to. But I know it's perfectly simple.'

'And you really want to?'

'I think it's the best thing to do. But I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to.'

'And if I do it you'll be happy and things will be like they were and you'll love me?'

'I love you now. You know I love you.'

'I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants, and you'll like it?'

'I'll love it. I love it now but I just can't think about it. You know how I get when I worry.'

'If I do it you won't ever worry?'

'I won't worry about that because it's perfectly simple.'

'Then I'll do it. Because I don't care about me.'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't care about me.'

'Well, I care about you.'

'Oh, yes. But I don't care about me. And I'll do it and then everything will be fine.'

'I don't want you to do it if you feel that way.'

The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station. Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees.

'And we could have all this,' she said. 'And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible.'

'What did you say?'

'I said we could have everything.'

'No, we can't.'

'We can have the whole world.'

'No, we can't.'

'We can go everywhere.'

'No, we can't. It isn't ours any more.'

'It's ours.'

'No, it isn't. And once they take it away, you never get it back.'

'But they haven't taken it away.'

'We'll wait and see.'

'Come on back in the shade,' he said. 'You mustn't feel that way.'

'I don't feel any way,' the girl said. 'I just know things.'

'I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do -'

'Nor that isn't good for me,' she said. 'I know. Could we have another beer?'

'All right. But you've got to realize - '

'I realize,' the girl said. 'Can't we maybe stop talking?'

They sat down at the table and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley and the man looked at her and at the table.

'You've got to realize,' he said, ' that I don't want you to do it if you don't want to. I'm perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you.'

'Doesn't it mean anything to you? We could get along.'

'Of course it does. But I don't want anybody but you. I don't want anyone else. And I know it's perfectly simple.'

'Yes, you know it's perfectly simple.'

'It's all right for you to say that, but I do know it.'

'Would you do something for me now?'

'I'd do anything for you.'

'Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?'

He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels where they had spent nights.

'But I don't want you to,' he said, 'I don't care anything about it.'

'I'll scream,' the girl said.

The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. 'The train comes in five minutes,' she said.

'What did she say?' asked the girl.

'That the train is coming in five minutes.'

The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.

'I'd better take the bags over to the other side of the station,' the man said. She smiled at him.

'All right. Then come back and we'll finish the beer.'

He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not see the train. Coming back, he walked through the bar-room, where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.

'Do you feel better?' he asked.

'I feel fine,' she said. 'There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.'

I Have A Bleeding Heart...and you're fucking addicted to it

I'm gonna use it. I'm not gonna address it. I'm an antioxidant farm with the amount of chemicals producing love in my heart and the wine mixed in. I stare at that goddamned picture way too much. Sometimes I want to make you cry. But mostly just laugh. You should watch yourself cry in the mirror. I think everybody should do that once in their lives. It's haunting. I just wanna laugh.

I'm laughing at myself right now.

Our Secrets are the Same

And they're like two nylon ropes unraveling at the ends. We use a lighter to singe the ends to keep them from being frayed. Each little strand is one big secret. The rope gets wrapped around your neck, and vision gets blurry with a shortness of breath. Our secrets choke us, and restrict us. To tie them in knots is a great defense to keep people from straightening them out...figuring them out. That can't happen. When it's coiled up it's easier to carry, because I hate it when I trip on the loose end. Maybe my rope is longer, but maybe not.

An uncorked bottle of wine existed 1 hour ago, but it has since disappeared. As well as these menthol cigarettes mysteriously left here overnight. Just observations. Cognitive dissonance is masked hilarity.

But yeah, they're the same.

I'm there like a polar bear

I'm officially going to Costa Rica in early 2007. I'm not sure I'll come back. I give it 50/50 at this point. Moving sucks.

General Disdain With Sweeping Reform

Let me preface this with a few points here.

1) I'm not going to cite certain instances, or factual numbers gathered by the media, because for any point that I give you a number, you can come back with another number or figure to totally negate what I'm saying. We can go back and forth in that arena for days, and I don't have neither the patience nor the desire to get into a pissing contest of political knowledge. I don't care what you know, and you don't care what I know.

2) I'm also not taking sides. From a guy who could be the poster boy of political inaction and deserves to be berated for his lack of participation in our most basic of democratic rights, I'm aware of my apathy....and with it my choice to divert allegiance to either of the sorry excuses for political parties that we have at our disposal. So lay off of me. I'm self-aware of my laziness and indifference. Plus, nobody likes a finger pointer. More on that in a moment.

It's the political season and it's a time when names like Nancy Pelosi, Rick Perry, Barak Obama, and various sundry political figurines come into our collective consciousness. To be honest, I don't care much for any and all of the names. It's time for the posturing, the flexing of goals attained in previous terms, the freak-sideshows like Kinky Friedman (following in the blundering footsteps of Ventura, and Schwarzeneggar), the (and I cringe when I hear this) loud bellowing of "sweeping reform," and the general lies and casting of judgement that comes with this oh so exciting time.

Now, I appreciate it when people get passionate about whatever moral virtue they stand behind, or whatever whistleblowing figurehead shouts out wrongdoing of his supposed enemies in the political arena giving a passionate and well-informed argument for why he is in fact right (and most likely, in his opinion smarter and more intellectual), but I've got a problem with the fact that we can't seem to see the forest from the trees.

Let me sum this up really quick so you's know where I stand:

1) I agree with state's rights. What's good for Maine, is not good for Arizona. What's good for California, is not good for Connecticut...so on and so forth.

2) The less the federal government governs, the better. Now before you blow a gasket, hear me out. I don't mean that the government gets a free pass and all of societies advancements are left on the shoulders of it's citizens. What I'm saying is, to meet all of our interests, you can't make generalized decisions. What ends up happening in the course of pleasing everyone is that you segregate everyone. It's a retroactive outcome. The less the federal government is telling you what to do, the more freedom you have to do what you want to do. How you make your money, how you live your life, who you live your life with, who or what you worship. A government that has the decency to respect the American people by staying out of their lives. I don't want to use the "C" word (ends with "-ism") here, but we all know about it. It's a wonderful idea. There's only one problem with it though. It doesn't work.

We hear about sweeping political reform every time these elections come around. Right now we're hearing about how the Democrats are hoping to "turn the tide," and " seize the House and Senate."

The problem with it though, is that there isn't any sweeping reform. Just short of wars, natural disasters, and Acts of God we don't see any noticeable change....and that's change out of necessity. Maybe our perspective is limited until we can look back under the critical eye of history, but your measured in the times you live, sorta like "environment determines your reality" type shit. When was the last time we had major advancement (note I didn't say "change"...we've had that...in the other direction) in our political environment? Are we so past the learning curve that we've overdrawn the "idea bank" in this lovely governed nation of ours?

My problem with the two-party system could be a lengthy discussion that will not take place in this mish-mash of paragraphs about American politcal inadequacies. I'm only making observations, but I'll sum it up really quick-like. The two-party system is so entrenched in our government that I don't expect I will ever see a legitimate threat to it in my lifetime. As good as it is to be king, it's better to share the crown with your queen than to relinquish it altogether. They will fight tooth and nail to remain in power, and what's even more twisted is that they will fight tooth and nail to protect the other. Sure, they talk and tell of differing ideals and social systems and how they affect the nation...how their differing ideas will benefit the voting public, making it your "right" to choose; how they work via "bi-partisan" committees to solve the pressing social issues as a team, like some kind of boy-scout troupe. Fuck that. Every single one of them is a trained liar and deceiver of honest, unique, hard-working Americans. Now, now...I'm sure they all started because somewhere in their youthful heart they thought they could "make a difference," but after the mind-numbing bureacracy, and the life-polishing money was heaved into their pockets, I think those ideals became a little less sharp and that ache in the belly to make the world a better place resides somewhere in the back of a Mercedes C-Class.

This all sounds completely cynnical, and I can see how my little thesis here could be critiqued from every angle. I'm very well-aware of all of this. Like I said, you could pull numbers that show just how many starving tree-ridden kittens were pulled from trees by our government and how much money was generated, blahhty, blahhty, blahhhty, friggen blah.

The fact of the matter is...in a generalized way, I don't think our government is living up to it's potential...much less it's expectations. I think the two-party system has something to do with this. I say make a change, before we're forced to change it for you. The possiblities in that scenario are quite unnerving.

I Caught the Travel Bug

...and I have a passport.

Oh, and my cousin is doing quantitative research on racoons.

That is all.

Let's drink.

"Broken Records of Misplaced Desire"

Eventually every dog ceases to chase his tail. My only hope is that one day I’m fortunate enough to do the same. Lovely…

I remember a little black book. I remember being referenced in this book. Singularly, this little black book gave me valuable insight that I am still trying to process to this very day. The words in it made me question who I was and how I was viewed by those around me. Questioning the sanity of those involved doesn't even begin to do the processing of information justice. That book led to so many different destinations, but they were all deceiving paths. You see, the only real destination it led me to was a place I could never find, nor ever will. I'm seeing now that its fortunate that I'm being prohibited passage to that true destination. The written word can be a powerful tool. There's no facial expressions to hide behind, or vocal variations to throw you off. There's no patterned mode of delivery that audible language can help smuggle in. It's there in front of you...how you were meant to read it...how you are perceived...how you are treated...where you stand.

Call a man a coward if you want to crush him. Call him a coward even if you're not sure he is one or not. Validity be damned. What are the measures you measure him against to bring that conclusion? Perhaps it's your own valiant heroism? Perhaps.

Even though I no longer read the words in the book, there are still words that are strikingly familiar. Some that are audible and some that are written. Round and round we go. We'll meet at the ball, dance this dance, pour our drinks on each others heads, leave in a screaming fit of passion, throwing rage to the wind, and meet in a few months to do it all over again. In some circles I suppose this is considered pleasant, or God forbid...even normal.

Well, I've been writing a few words myself. Deprogramming is what I call this little process of mine. My words might be mistaken as sloven...to be perfectly honest. But they're mine. You see, I love words. I love the way they express your emotions and sometimes your actions. But I choose mine wisely. I realize the formidable consequences words can have. While they look like and sound like little symbols and syllables, they actually carry quite a heavy significance. Tossing them around like some kite being tossed in the winds of March is sometimes unwise. I'm fortunate enough to have a filter in my head that taps the brakes when there are certain words running the gamut in there, waiting to get out. A little red light comes on as they forcefully rear-end each other, stand up and look around and say things like, "maybe we shouldn't head outta here like this...all frantic-like...someone could mistake us for what he really means. Let's rearrange and try this again...slower."

I've learned a valuable lesson from this type of stricture, because well...when you don't have that filter and you say things that may not necessarily be what you mean...well, you have to find more and more and more and more and more and more words to disinfect the words that came out smothered in subterfuge. Eventually, you don't even know what you meant.

The little black book taught me that.

Inspired

A heavy foot on the accelerator gives you tunnel vision. When there is nothing left around you, is when you find your purpose. Once you figure that out, everything else becomes more dull. The contrast in your line of sight lies with your purpose. Everything else takes a back seat. It's the hardest thing in the world to find purpose, and even if you're lucky enough to find it, you try to talk yourself out of it over and over again. Is it really this? It can't be....right? Who knows? That's the way I see it. Justification doesn't come easy. Especially for a restless soul. With whatever pains I have to endure to get to that end, I'm willing to sign up. With purpose comes validity. With validity comes silence. Things make sense. In the way they're supposed to make sense.

Put the houses in a row, on the streets we used to know. The street leads to wherever you want it to. For a boy with unconventional ambition, that's a pretty sight...albeit scary. Without revealing too much, I'm waiting for Austin. Patiently.

Slayed by random acts of kindness...

It's sometimes amazing to me how life shows you how good it can actually be. When all practicality is taken from motivation, it leaves you wondering, "how am I this fortunate?" When you open a mailbox and the surprise of your day rests inside, it's a good feeling. When you're in the position to help someone in need, and not only recognize that opportunity, but follow through with it...well, that's a good feeling too. You always hear folks speak of how there are still good people and how, generally, there is still good left in this world. We sometimes find ourselves questioning that notion. But times such as these shine a floodlight on that observation. Even when the the bricks in the walls seem to be losing their mortar and falling from every which angle, it's the simplest things that remind you of why every breath is a blessing. Why every moment holds it's own weight in the infinite moments of our lives.

"To do something that matters." That's the best quote I've heard in months. I feel that's been a guiding light in my life. To do something that matters. What does that mean? It means something different to every person, but when you do something that matters, you know it. When something is done for you that matters, you know it. Without hesitation, you know it. The equation is different for every person, but the feeling is the same. Do something that matters. These matters are the matters of the world. They are the rise and fall of the sun every day. They are the rain that sprouts the seeds. They are fortitude burning in your belly. They are the climax of the novel. They are the one-liner in the movie. They are the tide that smooths the sand. They are the thaw of the cold winter snow. They are the lips of lovers. They are the presence of God. They are what we are, and with out them, nothing matters.

I am blessed with so many people in my life who are doing things that matter. I try daily to be one of them. Those relationships are the most valuable possession I own.

Sometimes it causes me to tremble...

The world is waking up around me and all I can think of is the dreams. When you bleed blue, it's hard to explain your ideals. She bandages my wounds when she lays next to me and asks me why my mind is so heavy. There's no way for her to understand. Even when I don't understand. She asks if she can carry some of the load, but she can't. The thought is there though. I suppose that's enough.

Swinging a revolver around makes people nervous. It makes it tough to approach somebody. Especially when it's in a foreign land, out of your comfort zone...on a date with uneasiness. Everything is welcomed on American soil. Nothing is ever ill-conceived...at least not in the arena of self-fulfillment. Even in the hotels you feel at home. I see her eyes squint through the smoke at the party, while she tries to make it known that she's not looking at me. She knows that I know, and I know what she knows. It's a fun little game. Maybe.

It seems to be a "boomerang effect" thought. You throw it away, out of sight, but the tricky bastard always seems to find it's way home. Like an albatross with an internal compass. I wonder if you can lose yourself in the mass. In New York, masses of people. In Montana, mass of sky. In Arizona, mass of sand dunes. Colorado, mountains. Florida, ocean. California, assholes. Texas, ignorance. So on and so forth.

Why is as simple and stupid as it is complicated and impossible. Wasted hours in some high-rise office building, banging away on a keyboard. The Spanish Conquistador never came close to this. The Decembrist never came close to this. Their wars were fought outside of their minds. Oh how fortunate.

I Think MySpace is Fucking Stupid

You know, I've been thinking. I wonder to myself, (pre-2003) how people ages 20-32, communicated with each other, being that MySpace/Text Messaging/Emailing/etc., etc. have become so ingrained in our social networks. The funny thing is, MySpace isn't really about other people. It's about you. It's in the friggen' name. MY - Space. "Look at me, I'm unique, my life is full of excitment. I have a higher existence and consequently my experiences are far suprerior to your's...and here's pictorial proof of every one of those points." Space. It's all vanity-induced. The mass-gathering of "friends," the pictures, the poses, the digital vomit that comes off our cameras from every weekend, or drunken party we attend. Shit, I'm guilty of it too. I always post pictures of my latest trip, or stupid weekend excursion for the world to see. Yet, I understand the irony of self-promotion. Nobody cares....nobody but me for mine, and nobody but you for yours. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I hate it. Much like my hatred for American television. I have gone far beyond seeing past what TV does to a person. Makes you mindless, dumbfounded, staggering drones. Blathering on about who fucks who on Desperate Housewives, or who has the most "talent" in some ridiculous phone-in-popularity-contest-reality-show. What does it really matter? Same with MySpace...what the fuck does it really matter? All it does is make us egocentric, internally-driven robots only concerned with further perpetuating our "online persona" (the most important of all...I mean, for God's sake...who wants to find out who the real person is behind that profile pic...definitely not me), and giving us a faux reality of who a person really is. When the reality couldn't be any further from what's posted on the bulletin board. We all shit in toilets and wipe our asses the same. We all eat too much or too little, we all cry when we're weak, we're all jealous of something or somebody, we all want more money, we all undercut people, love people, have times of happiness and sadness, puke when we've drank too much, smell bad when we don't shower, use credit cards too much, think of weird shit in our weird little brains, and all the other things that make us connected on so many levels.

You see one of the problems I see with MySpace is actually a splintered effect of a much larger underlying problem with society in general. We all HAVE to be unique. Uniqueness is a fucking commodity nowdays, and the weirder you are the better. The more independent from status quo living, or what we deem to be status quo living, the better. But what the fuck is the status quo anymore? We're hit over the head every day, from every which angle, from every form and type of medium with an extreme overload of information. It's too much information to process. We get all scatter-brained. So we force things out and force ourselves up to be louder than the noise. To be noticed. Before we know it, we're balancing ourselves on our own pedestal screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I'M A PAINTER/MUSICIAN/SURFER/BALL PLAYER/SEX KITTEN/COMEDIAN/RICH GUY/ACTRESS/BULLSHIT AFTER BULLSHIT. PLEASE LOOK AT ME!!!! PLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!"

You see, back in the old days. Like say the pre-internet/9-11 days....we got to know somebody with our own senses. We touched them, we listened to them, we saw them (in person), we heard about their weekends, their trips, their stories, and if we were lucky enough, we even gained some insight on their inner monologue, instead of reading it on some stupid blog or bulletin. Yes, I realize the irony at play here. But, after the contact with that person, if they were a piece of shit, we knew they were a piece of shit. If they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married, then you knew they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married. But we did it with a trial by fire.

When I move to Austin, a city chock full of "I don't really give a shit" attitude, I think (know wait, I know) I'm going to bury my MySpace profile six-feet in the ground. Then, if I want someone to know about me or what I do, or have done, or will do...well, I'll fucking call them and have dinner. I might even ask them about themselves.

And I'll try to be as humble as possible.

Obviously

Growing up A) male, and B) American, I am inherently drawn to sports. Not like your super-freaky-weird-guy-sportscenter-whore-irrelevant-sports-trivia-man who can reel off the 1997 September batting average of Chuck Knoblock at the drop of a hat like some over-obsessed psychotic when nobody gives a rats-ass (neither will this information ever help said guy get laid), but I do enjoy competition, and the sport of college football ranks the highest on this list. Since I don't watch tv...ever...I only catch the games when I'm with my friends. I don't give a shit about the Super Bowl, the NBA as a whole, college basketball only in March, Major League Baseball plays too many games, and the teams with the most money are the teams who ALWAYS win (shocker), hockey is irrelevant, and I'm not European, or a girl, so soccer isn't ever on my radar.

But there is one sporting event which will never cease to hold my attention. It has ever since I was a child and it will to the final minutes on my death bed. It raises emotions on the full spectrum from raging hatred to pure elation. The Texas Tech / Texas A&M football game consistently ranks as one of the Top Five most prominent days of any given year for me. My hate runs deep...real deep for the maroon and white. And my love runs even deeper for the Scarlet and Black.

LONG LIVE THE MATADOR!!

Balls

The last, oh I don't know, 400 posts I've made have been slightly spaced-out, emotive, twisting psycho-babble and I want to put something inane up here. Not that anybody reads this shit anyways. I could blather on and on about how I like to rape puppies and nobody would be the wiser, but for my own sake, I guess I'd like a change of pace every now and then...if not just to be a little more lighthearted. Good Lord, this has turned into my online diary....

I'm growing a goatee...I wanna see if it works. I started it on Monday. I've been getting crazy looks at work, so I'm going to ride it out till the end of the week and see if I can make it happen. I can tell that everybody wants to say something about its presence, but they just won't. It's like they're too afraid to tell me, "Ummmm...Cory....you have a squirrel growing on your face. Thought you should know." Plus, I like to make people wonder about me. I can tell the people at work still don't really know what to make of me. There's a few that know me fairly well, but most of them tread lightly around me, wondering what's gonna come out of my mouth or what I might possibly do. I mean, I've come to work after a few weekends with a bandage over my forehead, a bloody nose, a jacked up hand, and they still think my hair is a bit too progressive. They get all uneasy like a wild animal before a thunderstorm when I'm around. I don't think they want to make any sudden movements for fear of what I would do.

I've never had a goatee, and I'm wondering if it makes me look, in any way, like a roadhouse badass. In my mirror at home, it bends that way. If I get just ONE compliment....it stays.

*As I write this there are two guys behind me talking about how they know each other. One of them just came back to work for WBAP...apparently he worked here before and has made a recent triumphant return. His "joke" just now went like this:

Guy 1: Hey you! You back on board with us?

Guy 2: Yeah, I couldn't keep away from this place.

Guy 1: How long ago was it that you were here? Like two years ago? Do you remember me?

Guy 2: Yeah, you look real familiar. I actually left four years ago, got lost in the mess up north and now here I am. *wait for it, wait for it* I HAD MORE HAIR BACK THEN THOUGH!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

*Uproarious (inexplicable) laughter from approximately 6 to 7 people in the area...I mean rowdy laughter*

My God, I have to get the eff outta here.

Pull the Wheels Out From Under You

Maybe the next time I see you, you'll be a little more cordial. I mean, you haven't the slightest clue as to the power I hold over you. I hold your future in my hands my friend. With only the slightest move, I can run the cold steel blade across your throat so fast, you'd be left floundering as to where the six-inch gash in your windpipe came from...clutching onto your neck while it rolls out in between your fingers onto your chest. How could you have overlooked it...how you didn't see it coming...you will only know that it hurts with relentless pain, and no bucket can carry what's spilled.

Truth be told though, I can see how blinded you are. You take things for granted. You take her for granted. Every cold shoulder tossed her way, every wandering eye she catches you on, every night of lusting, and every minute of disdain for her presence pushes her farther away. But you know all of this. You're in total control. I know a million just like you. You've got it all figured out. Pulling all the strings, the world is your marionette. Your total invincibility is an oversight man, if not a complete illusion. You have no clue. You're totally oblivious. I see all of this. Your condescension, and your cockiness...I almost want to do it for shits and giggles. Just to be amused. It's amusing to me to watch you watching yourself high atop your pedestal. A pedestal that I have the axe to bring down. It's a high just knowing that I hold that power over you...someone so deserving of wreckage. What's more fun, is that you have no idea that I hold the axe. It lays idle for now.

But somewhere along the way that ball comes rolling into my court. At some point my friend, I'm going to pick it up and play with it. I haven't yet. I've decided against crossing the line. I've decided my fortunes lay better allied with restraint and conscience...for now. You see, I've done a bit of molding as of late. Years ago, this would only be a formality and you'd already be laid to waste. Staggering around disoriented, and wondering how the wheels were pulled out and more importantly, why. The thing is, I've been on the receiving end of this before...where I thought I was invincible...but forcefully found out, contrary to my belief, that I wasn't. I don't think you've ever been taught this lesson. That's what makes it so tempting. Well, that and your swaggering conceit. The bigger they are the harder they fall...the more spectacular the wreckage. In some ways, it would feel like payback to the egoistic piece of shit who dealt me the same hand. I imagine him and you being cut of the same cloth.

Opportunity after opportunity has presented itself for me to pull the rip-cord on you. But because of ME, you still have your sanity. MY restraint is keeping your house in order. How long is my patience? How far does my conscience stretch? How solid are my values? How evil am I? For your sake, you should hope they are all ironclad. It only takes one slip. It only takes one night. It only takes one more rattling of my morals. It only takes one more opportunity of timing. It only takes one more of your indiscreet mis-steps and you might be facing the world alone. I could poison you.

Good news for you is...I'm not wicked fucked-up.

A Slow Rising Crescendo

Hot air will pass over the grooves in the reed. Following the grooves of potential splinters, it passes over flying lightly into the open chamber of the barrel of the instrument to which it is assigned a note...assigned a destiny and a purpose. Each pad of the instrument closes, sectioning off a certain percentage of the air passing through to deliver, in a shrink-wrapped package, a note upon the ears of the world. At first it's forced...we're forced, to go in directions we weren't made to follow. But with each closing hole, and each blocked direction, we find a new passage that leads to freedom and into the vast open to be shared with the infinite abundance of audible destinations. Lewis and Clark experienced a variable of this type of freedom and seclusion. The mighty Colorado forced them in directions that weren't necessarily on the map, but ultimately led them to the freedom they had the passion to follow...whether it was planned or not.

We follow the direction and the flow of the tide. Swim against it and you drown like a virgin amongst today's hip scene, but swim with it, and you have the opportunity to take the turns and abrupt stops that are required upon yourself. We rise and fall, rise and fall into oblivion and upwards like the phoenix rising out of ash. Reborn into something abundant and fruitful where we fall upon the infinite abundance of audible and mental destinations. Who hears us we can only hope for, but we can't control. If you have a song, sing it to those who want to hear it. If you have a picture, draw it for those who want to see it. If you have a story write it for those who want to read it. If you have a crime commit it against those who deserve it, and if you have love deliver it to those who have never truly felt it or know it's consuming power. Don't be surprised if you're turned away, but don't let your message fall on deaf ears. Just because you're turned away at one corner, doesn't mean that the childhood of wasted opportunity wants to waste yours.

Rise above the decaying monotony that surrounds you. Be a light that shines. Be the note that is delivered at the apex of the solo. Be the color that draws all attentions to the decipherable message within the picture. Be the moral of the story. Like a rocket climbing the stratosphere, we jettison our solid rocket boosters to climb into the clear blue cold of silence that holds only purity...the type of purity that looks back on the world and sees what is left. The madness, the mess. Move awkward in your gravity deprived environment and see your reflection in the face of the sun. Because in your orbit, you hold the highest note...higher than a piccolo with fingers at the end of a high "C"...and your mercurial rise shall be the justification for us all, but more importantly, for yourself.

Allowance for a funeral.

Wrote this awhile back, but never posted it...or finished it for that matter. I'm incredibly bored at work, and I thought I might get drunk within the next few evenings and finish this incoherent rambling. It made sense at the time. I just need to get back to that state of mind, and continue the pointless ramble.

Only through the lens of the classic American, would this look like the manifesto of a guy who spent the evening in a mediocre bar watching the fight and forking over his money on 3 dollar beers, and I must admit....for the point of prefacing this overt psycho-analytical expedition....I have had a few drinks. Plus, when the muse sets the hook, it's best to be relaxed and allow yourself to be reeled in.

The human condition and all it's intricacies hit me like a brick wall this evening. Not that it doesn't on a regular basis, cause if you know me, you know that my mind races at Chuck Yeager, barrier breaking, speed. But the point is, it hit with brute force tonight. Enough to prompt me to seek refuge within the rational minds of those who are in touch with that thing we call "reality," or some semblence of it.

We are all ruled by our instinctual habits and the unfortunate condition of savagery. This is not a constant vigil in my thought process because cynnicism runs rampant as it is, and I don't want to be one to contribute to the overpopulation of cynnical people in the world, but it is easy to fall prey to. The perspectives and complete flow of the world are all jumbled into a river of constant motion that carries us to the end of our days. Sometimes we travel through calm waters, and sometimes we are a prisoner to the rapids. Either way, we are in constant motion and those around us are as well. We learn lessons from this inertia and continue to be formed in the way the rocks on the riverbed are formed by the constant motion of the water.

Windows of opportunity are fleeting and sparse. When they come, they most often never come with moments of notification of their presence and they definitely don't allow themselves a range of motion. We only have the choice to take part or pass. My best friend is taking a job in Pittsburgh this month and will be gone by the week's end. He only asks, "What are the keys to success?" There are no keys to success. It's as trivial a question as, "Why does God allow the things He allows?" For this question there is no answer. There are no guarantees. Success is not measured. In the borders of this world, there are certain streams of logic which tell us the formula of success, but in the grand scheme of things, there is no clear-cut definition. Success in life is determined by the boundaries we set for ourselves....which can be difficult at best. We are always striving for more, we are always striving for perfection. But perfection was lost under a certain tree in the middle of Eden. We are inherently "fallen." This disappoints me. To no end. The complete and utter inability to reach perfection has my mind rattling. God and His understanding of perfection are limited only to omnipotent beings. We will never know perfection in the true sense of the word. Even archangels in the kingdom are steps below true perfection. We allow ourselves to be ruled by the instinctual behavior we are given. But as my friend who is gifted and wise says, "We are given the choice to defy those impulses." Which is true. When our mind or bodies tell us that a certain decision is worth pursuing, our souls tell us different. What we choose to adhere to is the beauty. We are given the free will.

The girl with which my heart has so long been attached to is currently on a beach on the East Coast with another guy. She's in the beginning of her 'world travels' and on the threshold of finding the things that her heart desires, and on the verge of discovering the mysteries that this life holds, in all it's boundless virtuosity....evil, beauty...and complexity alike. She's trying to find her razor's edge experience...delving into the internal as well as experiencing the physical world. The diversity of consciousness is being truly soaked into the neon blue of her iris...bronzing the self for which she will become...for better or worse. Not sure how to feel about all this. Not sure I should care. Not sure I'm sober enough to.

Some are given a life of privilege. Some are not. Those who are not, are by no means at a disadvantage though. For zen comes in every shape, fashion and form. And it dissipates as quickly for each person. Like a Globetrotter spinning the great Earthen ball on his finger, we are all witness to the rush that is this world. It just so happens that in the spin, we are witness to just about every ebb and flow that can be experienced. Some would say that the accuteness of that experience is hindered by your perspective and method of experiencing, but I think that every human has the same experience...maybe just in different facets. I'm not so myopic that I can't see that trust-fund kids have the amenities that elude 'commoners' who won't see and feel the things that fortunate sons possess. But I think that within our own province we have the same experiences to different degrees. Like I said, for some it has more meaning, and for others, it is passed off as an occurence of considerably less notation. But we all have it.

It's fortitude that sees us to the end of the race. It's the will to fight that adheres to the pursuance of our dreams. It's fear of failure that keeps us from it.

I've imagined my funeral. Most people have. I think at times that "The Weight" by The Band would be a fitting musical end to my story. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should go to bed. I'm too tired to think. Shit.

Something is boiling inside of me...always has.

I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love. I felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life.

~ Leo Tolstoy

A means to a certain end, I suppose.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

~ Emerson

Come to send, not condescend. Who are we, who we are.

Cory needs work.
Cory has goals.
Cory has a very restless soul.

Airports tell us these things.

The perfect analogy for everything...it was the microcosm that shed light on every thing that we were. I dropped her off at the airport expecting to never see her again. As she showed her boarding pass to the FAA agent, they let her through security and into the gate where she waited for her flight number to be called. To secure flight passengers, they've put up a 3-inch-thick plate glass window...there's no more running through the terminal to save your lover like in the movies. I followed the numbers to where her gate was on my side of the airport. I thought I would watch her take off as it would be the last time to see her leave my part of the world. When I reached the gate, I rounded the corner and saw her sitting with her back turned to me. I watched her wait quietly in the terminal staring out of the window, with her mind spinning on the exact same things that were spinning in mine. What went on that weekend. Where we go from here. More importantly why we'll never come back to this place. A child ran past her and dropped his toy on the ground at her feet. She bent down to pick it up and handed it to him and offered enough words to draw a smile across his face and send him on his way...what they were, I never heard. As she turned to watch him run away she caught my eye and her face lit. She walked over to the window where I was standing. She mouthed several words that were inaudible through the dividing window. I mouthed the three words I'd said over and over and over. There was a mechanically revolving door four feet away. I walked up to it with the intentions of one last embrace before she left and we had to face the impending self-introspection that was awaiting us both on her return. As I tried to walk through, a siren went off. I was thrown back by the door and an airline employee made her way to me, very indignant about what had just occurred. She pushed a series of buttons on a keypad along the wall and scolded me for my inability to comprehend signs that obviously explained to me that this was a one-way only passage. Obviosuly embarassed, I stepped back up to the window where she was laughing at the sequence of events that had just taken place. One more parting shot was thrown my way by the airline attendant who was more than annoyed that I took her from her important duties of crossword puzzles as she guarded the rotating door like a sentinal, but I didn't hear it, my eyes were fixated on what was in front of me on the other side. I put my hand up on the glass, expecting to have the same gesture offered to me from the the opposite side. With a smile on my face I looked her in the eyes and saw the hesitation. I mouthed the words again, but there was still nothing in her eyes that imparted to me that her hand would match mine on the glass. She smiled and mouthed goodbye. I took my hand off the glass and fastened my stance as my heart fell like an anvil down an elevator shaft. Just then her number was called, and she waved, walked to get her bag and waved again. I watched her hand her ticket to the flight attendant and she turned and paused for a split second to see if I was still watching. Then like it came, it went. Always able to see each other...always able to see where we wanted to get...but there was always an invisible barrier or alarm present when we were too close to getting there...never allowing passage. So we left it alone.

I will kill this off...even if it kills me.

I'm choking the life from it...it dies a slow death. I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt like it hurts me. Then I want it to burn white-hot until it's luminous and purified. I want it bottled-up and put on the shelf, with an expiration date that's post-dated put on the top. I want it displayed like an oddity in chloroform from some traveling freak-show. The people will offer ooh's and ahh's, then pass by as it has been forgotten in a moment. I want to be caught in that moment...and in the next moment, I want to remember nothing about it, forever.

Hey Alice! Whatchoo find in there???

On the other side, Alice...

What made you walk through the looking glass? What was your little analogous white rabbit that caught your attention and pulled your steps through the mirror? Was your white rabbit a treasure, or a fortune...perhaps an otherworld insight, maybe a lover, or an epiphany...or was it nothing more than an adventure that you were seeking as an escape from the mundane, the monotony, or the stark reality of your life. What did you find in there...as mirrors typically do, they reflect our supposed reality. Was everything the opposite inside? Did gravity pull you up? Was love numb instead of excessively acute? Was the sky green and the grass blue? Did you breathe in carbon dioxide and breathe out oxygen? Or was it a new reality that you couldn't have imagined? Did you know that your imagination was an intrinsic part of your reality, and that we can't EVER escape that reality?

With childlike enthusiasm, you took it all in. Hearing and deciphering...learning and casting judgement...being exposed and hiding your weakness...feeling extreme exhilaration and lowly sorrow...at times, life was very large...at others, life was very small...feeling completely in control, and conversely dealing with the fear when you had none...could you not see the parallels between Wonderland and your reality. They are all there my girl...one must look with a trained eye to see though...

There are questions with no answers on our journey. Did you find the perplexity in the Mad Hatters riddle? Did your head spin with uncertainty and catatonic despair? Or did your head seemingly fall off, like the Cheshire Cat?

"Why IS a raven like a writing desk?"

Who knows...who ever will?

I have questions as well...albeit in a stark reality...or one that is only in my perspective, reflecting from my mirror. The time is coming close to an end in radio land...new doorknobs are being unlocked and preparing for accessiblity. Is it still in the cards for me to remain in the Neon City, or do I move to the Hill Country? Do I stay in state, or leave? So many questions, so many floating answers, so many realities to sift through. Austin, Dallas, America...salesman, teacher, banker, writer, student...who knows...who ever will?

We all want to hold onto innocence. Is that the moral to the story? We'd like it to be...but it isn't. The moral to the story is that in the face of reality, we must come to the acceptance that it is impossible to hold onto innocence...it is impossible to remain childlike in our processes, but it is important to acknowledge that our reality IS what we make of it, and we must remember the illusion that imagination is separate from reality...they are one in the same.

Why did you search so long, Alice? You knew all the time what you wanted, what you were searching for...you knew all the rules to the game...and you knew all the finish lines to the race. There are details and questions with no answers that are underlined within the race, but the ultimate answer is something you carried in close proximity. You met the most interesting creatures along your way...what did they teach you?

Could it be that they taught you what you already knew?

How Deep is Too Deep?

My angst is really starting to annoy me...

Swimming out of your God Damn wake.

Grab and pull.
Suck down a breath.
Close my eyes.
Delete the evidence.
Shut down my brain.
Let motor skills rule the day.
The Maidens of Hollywood.
Modern girl materialism.
Fucking emotion tracks you down.
Bloodhounds of cynnicism.
Riccochet of criticism.
Tearing up the pillow.
Fun was never this fun.
Glaring behind the window.
Words written in phrases.
Going through the expected phases.
Well-oiled machine.
Steaming untouched.
Ground-breaking insight.
They drown in the lust.
All of us are calm.
All of us are clear.
There ain't no point.
Cough up the truth.
Step over the rules.
Fate was absurdity.
All of it choice.
Ruined all the factors.
Definitely ruined my voice.
Rage toward the day.
The day that I swim...

I Just Want To

I just want to feel your touch. I just want my head to fall over my heels. I just want to feel your face in the palm of my hand. I just want to reach over the vastness of the bed and feel your hip next to mine. I just want to be able to recognize your scent anywhere. I just want to wake up and see you looking at me. I just want you to be my muse when I'm playing the guitar. I just want you to occupy a majority of the pie chart of my brain's logic. I just want you to smile at me when I smile at you. I just want to feel your breath over mine when we're way too close. I just want to listen to the same music as you. I just want you to be who you are around me. I just want to feel comfortable around you. I just want to be able to get shit-fucking-wasted around you and have nobody in their right mind care. I just want to be alone with you. I just want to get bored with you. I just want to feel your hands over my head. I just want to get lost in lust with you. I just want my heart to beat the same rythym as yours. I just want to be able to hold you when you're dismantling. I just want to make you sweat when you're so close to me. I just want to watch movies with you. I just want to talk about God with you. I just want to be able to understand your motives. I just want to have trust with you. I just want to plan the future with you. I just want to be your right-hand-man. I just want your dependence upon me. I just want to be able to live up to your expectations of me. I just want to go to foreign places with you. I just want to ferment in the afterglow with you. I just want to feel your smooth skin. I just want to occupy myself with you. I just want to have you know me better than anyone ever has. I just want to make you laugh. I just want you to laugh at me. I just want to put myself in awkward positions for you. I just want to put you in different positions. I just want you to meet my family. I just want you to be a part of it. I just want to relish in the fact that you're mine. I just want other guys to want you and not have a chance because I'm the only exclusivity. I just want my friends to leave you alone, because you're untouchable. I just want to let you know that I need my space every now and then. I just want to give you your space every now and then. I just want to have coffee with you on a cold morning. I just want to write stories and poems for you. I just want you to like them. I just want to compliment you in every way possible. I just want to have my skin tingle at the sight of your face. I just want to taste you. I just want to hold your little hand. I just want to dance with you on a moonlit night with the truck radio playing. I just want you to believe in yourself. I just want you to be secure in who you are. I just want to let go of my past and I want you to do the same. I just want to hear your scripted life. I just want to be a part of it. I just want to undress you slowly. I just want to be the only thing you think about. I just want to be your source of happiness. I just want to know you're out there. I haven't met you yet.

Wake UP You Dumb Shit!!

It's time to wake up. Long from the slumber of longing, long ago. Man, clear your eyes...stop being so nearsighted...stop being so idealistic. Reality paints a very different picture than that you see when you're sleepwalking, or even the picture that you WANT to see. It might change quite a bit if you looked with your mind instead of your heart. You've been sleepwalking too long. Longer than you should. I don't understand how I can't see what's two inches from my face. Maybe I need glasses to see better. Or maybe I just need to reach out and feel it in front of me. I feel it about once every month or so. I recoil in pain every time I do feel it. That's why I need to wake up. There's so much more to look forward to. So many more things with SO much more MEANING and SIGNIFICANCE. Do you enjoy that feeling? Do you foolishly trust that it's going to get you somewhere? Do you trust anything at all? I don't have an ounce of blame to pass to anyone else. I let myself in the door...almost like I'm blindly steering myself in that direction, even when I know what the outcome is going to be. I allow myself to be disappointed. I'm going to see what I can do about changing this...I'm fucking smarter than this.

I Just Want This Day to End

From the moment I woke up today, after jumping ship on the shitty dream I had, my mood has spiraled tremendously. I just want this day to stop being, so that I can close my eyes, forget about it, and move on to the next. I just want there to be better days like I've had, but different from those days in that they're filled with an "unexperienced better." I hate depression...it rings in my ears. I don't want to be in anybody's way. I want everyone to be content. I don't want to trouble anybody...I guess this stems from my dream...it was utterly shitty. Everything's got my head spinning, and I don't know why. This is terribly introspective and open, but I'm feeling pretty fucking low today. I don't think I should even care, but for some reason I think I might. I'm not sure what I'm even sad about...that seems to be the case lately. Actually, I had been feeling pretty good about everything until today. There's always momentum swings and they seem to be getting less severe, but they hit like a fucking sack of bricks when it comes down on me. My concentration is splintered and I'm reeling because of it...today anyways.

It'll pass and tomorrow will be better. It sure as hell can't get any worse.

You Can Trust...

You can trust that my mind still locks you inside. You can trust that your name is still on my lips. You can trust that our story is on my fingers when I'm holding my guitar. You can trust that memory relapses. You can trust that I see your ghost in this town. You can trust that I can still smell you. You can trust that life is weird. You can trust that I was listening to the album we wore out when your name lit up the LCD. You can trust that I found that classic-perfectly timed. You can trust that life is weird. You can trust in circumstance. You can trust that there's a replay booth in my slide show mind. You can trust that they can't rival. You can trust that we're elaborate. You can trust that your name is found in my every prayer. You can trust me.

Little Thorns...

Little thorns are sticking in my sides,
Keeping me from getting where I need to be.
Making travel a damn sight more uncomfortable.
"If you don't get rid of them, they'll turn worse."
What if you use them as a catalyst?
For what? Hurt?
These little thorns can turn to gaping wounds.
No need for that.
Non-confrontational optimism is prescribed.
Piss-poor dressing for these wounds though.
When I travel through the desert, I get thorns in my side.
When I travel through the desert, it's just me and my thorns.
Then it's just me.
Then I'm out of the desert.
I'm trying to leave anyway.
I want to leave this place.

Have another Cory...

My God...I'm a retard when I drink...geez. Everything's magnified through the beer glass. Well done.

You know what I love about you...

...is that you sleep so tight next to me. That you concern yourself with innocence around me. You can do what you feel comfortable with around me...nobody's watching. That you don't know when he posts writings about you, but I DO! I know what he says, and it's interesting! Let's me know what you never told me. He's single-handedly giving you up! Poor guy...poor girl. Honesty would've been nice. It's all I ever did for you. That you hold me dear, but you're too afraid to mention it. That you have dreams about me, same as I do you. Tattooed on the eyelids was something I said first. Maybe they're not about me...maybe they're about someone else...probably. No need to get self-confident, I'm sure you'll tell me that I'm way off base...it's like you to do that. I know you better than anybody else though. You'll never understand because you don't want to. I love that when you feel lonely you might come to me! That's a confidnce builder in itself. Makes me feel good about myself. I also love that you'll forgive me for this because I'm shit-wasted! You always were forgiving when you wanted to be, and I was always forgiving no matter what. NO MATTER WHAT! NO MATTER WHAT! NO MATTER WHAT! NO MATTER WHAT! Because that's what you loved about me. That I ALWAYS loved you. Turned the other cheek aside...me, a saint? NO...not at all...but, fallen, YES! Concerned about you and only you...YES! I'll probably erase this tomorrow and I hope you don't see it. Why do you still try to keep in touch with me? Don't you know that it's deader than dead? Of course it was...you checked out long before it even died. Sad thing is, I quite haven't...well that's not entirely true. That's what I love about you...you know this! Smart girl you are. Witty, beautiful, intelligent beyond reason, soft, warm, passionate, beyond reach, inquisitive, exciting, poison (wonder if I'll ever meet another like you)...probably won't and that's a good thing and a bad thing. I say that I won't reference you anymore, and I shouldn't, being that you've found another, but I'm a bleeding heart and my heart bleeds like a sieve for you. There's no tourniquet that will cut this shit off. It's only mind over matter with this issue and I wish I had the fortitude...I do..I'm kidding. I will someday. This won't bother you anymore, not that it does anyways. I think you revel in the fact that I still pine for you...and that's what I love about you. You're more than self-confident...more than assured of your greatness. You've bought into it. As well you should...you are GREAT! And I love you for it. I just want to know what it was about me? WHAT WAS IT? WHAT WAS IT? WHAT WAS IT? WHAT WAS IT ABOUT ME THAT PUSHED YOU AWAY?????

You say I am as the Wilco song says, "I'm always in love." Truth being, I actually am not. YOU are the one who is always in love. I remain with one ideal, while you carry two or three or four or five. I just have one reserved. You were just disgusted that it was you.

Doesn't matter, I'm pushed. Sliding into home with a ghost man on third, bringing up the rear. Playing a game with myself, while you're playing a game with the world. I hope you're winning...it's looks like you might be! That's what I love about you. Adaptable, driven, confident, self-doubt doesn't cross your mind. You make the situation what you want it to be. Wish I could do that, but I play ball by a different set of rules. Maybe that was it...a bore. I was a bore. I WAS A BORE. I WAS A BORE. I WAS A BORE. I WAS A BORE. ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

*sigh*

You know what I love about you...you're insecurities...because they're secure. Secure with me, and secure with the world. I hope you're treated right...you deserve it. You deserve happiness. You used to be such a happy girl. I hope that you have found that again...sounds like you have. Honesty...few and far between for me. I disappoint people, I disappoint myself, I disappoint you.

You know what I love about you? I love that you are the one...

You know what I hate about you? I hate that I love you.

Actually, I really don't care. Inebriation makes me nostalgic though...with regret following in the morn...I'm sure I'll do it again, because I am, as they (or you) say...a bleeding heart. EXCITING....I hope you're bothered by this!! I am.

180 Degree Turnaround

From a 45 to a 90 to a 180 degree turnaround. In reality, 2.5 seconds, while in our minds a lifetime of regrets, happiness, and momentary idleness. It was only for fun. It was just out of relaxation and good company. There was no intention of harm, but that's hard to qualify when all you hear is the sound of glass collapsing and metal conforming to the weight of pressure bearing down upon it's very frame. All you hear in the darkness as you watch the headlights roll is the frantic gasping of air as if their last breaths are taken. In that frame of time, that oh so short frame of time, you hear their plea through their breath, and through mine. You hear the noise of hands slapping the roof...trying to brace. Black paint chips away and the dust settles in your eyes. We were all at home, through home, and our souls were at rest, until the chaos came. Reaching for each other in the dark, calling out our names, while the radio still blasted, but we didn't hear it. Song #2 on the new cd...now forever cursed with the idea of mortality. It WAS my fault. Reaching out to feel their warm hands, to feel their hearts beat, and if I couldn't feel them I could hear them. Two in the back, one in the front...all you hear is the breathing...and then the escape. For a split second your mind wanders to the gas tank...your mind wanders to the ignition, and your mind wanders to the engulfing flames. Almost like you expect them to be there. You've seen too many movies, but luckily they stayed asleep. Then you hear the sound of buckles releasing and when the "wah, wah" pulsating leaves your head, you hear the radio again, and immediately turn it off. You hear the clear voices of those that you love calling out your name...asking if your alright. You hear the sound of sunglasses and cd's hitting the roof, and then you hear their backs raking against the broken glass to freedom. Soon...very soon, you hear nothing. You hear the resigned sound of life continuing to fill your de-oxygenated veins. You reach for the pack of cigarettes to help you make some sense out of what just happened. You look at the physical specimen of something so far-fetched, lying helpless in the middle of an open field. And then you exhale. You smile that you can still stand, and you smile bigger that they can too. Then you collapse to your knees, you cry and you ask them for their forgiveness. You look to the sky and ask Him for forgiveness and send a multitude of thanks for staying His wrath upon you, and for letting you watch another sunrise. You remember that they're with you in blood and you remember the blood has reached the boiling point. You embrace their hand...taking their words in like newfound courage...the most important words you've heard to this point in your life. You fall to the ground, and lose your stomach all over the field. You feel grateful to have that reaction...as morbid as it is, it makes you feel alive...you're aware of your continued existence. The next few hours are a blur of confusion and sleep comes at no small price, but in that 2.5 seconds, the only real clarity that you've had in your life remains vivid.

I almost died tonight in a car wreck...and I almost took three of my blood-loved with me.

Perhaps These Are Ones They Should Avoid

Sitting home sick with my sore throat. Beating the piss out of my mind again. Razing my fingers over the nickel-wound bullet strings. There's only one actuality, can't see it right now, eyes getting keen though...adjusted, like an iris in the dark. I keep myself occupied with things that I'm only half-partial to until the pulsating in my head stops...soon I hope. I get at least three to four laughs per day from my perspective of the unmitigated languish that wanker has...and it's not just him. It's all of them, and all those to come after them. Giving precedence to anything in that corner of the world is completely assinine and vain, even boringly humorous. I hope I live up to your expectations of me. They shouldn't be hard to reach...after all the bar is set pretty low.

I'm not angry that we lost what we were. I'm angry that we lost what we could've been.

Drunk as fuck and apathetic to your judgements...

...and apparently my own.








shit...

Starfucker

Did you please the stars?
Did you give them pleasure?
How is it bedding the beautiful people?
Does it make a loud noise when you drop their names?

California is rotting your insides.
Everything that is pure is turning gray, decaying to black.
You don't want to be an empty shell girl...
Do you?

Pick a pretty face for your fun.
Pick a pure heart for your soul.
Use them both for what you want.
It's all you ever wanted.
Pure fine-toothed need.

Just don't get them crossed.
The pure heart is only pure till it's scarred.
Then there's no reverse.

The pretty face is only pretty for awhile.
Until it's faded and old.
Then there's no reverse.

You're a good actor,
From the land of actors.
It's okay though,
Your nose has been fashioned shorter so you can see past it...you're enlightened.


Enlightened with the shit that can't be filtered out of your head.
Can you even recognize Purity?
Not that it's even close to me, but that you can't.
Or that you won't.
It's a place far from here, it has escaped the poison of this place.

I burn for you, I hurt for you, I yearn for you.
Which makes me impure.
But I don't have the pretty face.
So I've been jaded. I've been touched.

Touched by the storms of decadence you brought across state lines.
Into my tranquil little world.
When you got here, you immediately started setting up your colony.
A colony of pretty faces, washed in pride, cleansed with vanity.

In the "Township of Iridescent People,"
Who meet in Vanity Hall.
They meet every now and then for sporadic orgies.
Lust, desire, immediate satisfaction.

Somehow I wandered into this town.
Without my citizenship.
I was lost, on my way to Purity.
I must have taken a wrong turn,
Went down the wrong road.

I didn't notice signs. Only sins.
I was intrigued by the toxic lights.
Sitting at the tops of stadiums and bars.
Looking over the city...with the mayor at my side.

I was given the grand tour.
I was given the keys to the city.
I was given the inoculation.
I was given the disease.

Now Purity seems forever away.
The mayor is running for re-election,
And she's using any means to gather votes for her basket.
A basket she carries on her shoulders.

Like a brilliant and classically trained politician,
She tells you the things you need to hear.
Riding the fence...
Dangling carrots in front of your face enough to keep you trotting.

What we don't know is that she does this to everyone. Every citizen.
The special treatment is not that special at all.
Maybe we do know, but refuse to acknowledge.
We turn deaf ears, because we are addicts....to this dementia.

Like a soul-confining Fourth Reich,
We follow like mindless surfs.
Nodding in elation as she casts her wisdom.
Totally drawn like a moth to a porchlight.

Somewhere I took a wrong turn.
Somewhere I lost the way to Purity.
But there is a consolation...if there exists such a paradigm...
I've wounded her....

And for the time being the Township is without her leader.
It's citizens cast about, swimming in chaos,
Trying to gather the pieces, mourning for their Majesty.
The Queen lies motionless in bed, while her generals plot her counter-attack.

Hopefully, I will be far away from the confines of this city.
Back on the road to Purity.
Where the defenses hold strong and remain impenetrable,
And those who have given control over are safely protected,
And their dreams are comforted....

Where there is no poison...

Your Crafty Beguiling

I feel sick when you're not around.
Much like the way it feels when you are.
Lost in your head,
No trails leading out.
Two fiery hearts, connected to two twisted minds.
Splinters of color,
Flaring like orbs on the 4th of July.
You call me a coward,
But I'm far from it.
It takes a hero to deal with you.
Why? Cause you want it that way.
Spinning delirious like the art-boy smile.
The color slinks and slides from my eyes.
Retreating front lines to the back of my brain.
The competition, it whines and complains.
It pines and it shames,
Like raking your knuckles across the grains.
Stepping away,
And looking ahead.
Good Lord will you grant me
Peace from my head.
Cut the cord,
Don't tow the line,
The lie,
You and I,
As it always was,
Granted it was fun.
But the bed is getting cold,
And the idea of it all is getting old.
The staleness of your touch,
Matches the disinterest in your eyes,
Accompanied by the dullness of your voice,
I see that there's no other choice.
From the perspective of a wound,
Let me heal,
Let me rejoice in the moment surreal.
Give me apathy.
Give me release.
And for the sake of all resentment,
Please give me peace.

Yeah She is Beautiful, But She Don't Mean a Thing To Me...

It's amazing finding this place again.
It still feels the same as it did last.
Last you left, you promised never to return.
But you're foolish and the foolish usually get burned.
You try, try, try, try, and you're suprised when there's letdown?
That's all there is - the letdown.
The scent of the meal still burns your nose,
The smell of the pillow still erupts every morning...taunting you.
Why be a part of the madness that's embraced?
There's no way for a couple of loners to take the place.
When your feet are planted on the ground, it's hard to jump for a rebound.
This is a crucial time.
Evil lurks around the corner and comparisons run wild.
You compare yourself to the otherwise obvious "hidden" guy.
You're not him, and you never will be.
Don't want to be.
You want other things...
Different from the others.
Different people with different faces,
Different circumstances and different places.
Your blood is in the dry soil.
Her blood is in the salt water.
There will be no more wandering fingers on the wondering phone.
There will be no more visions drawn, or pictures taken.
There will be no more whispers through vowels and syllables.
There will be no more passionate acknowledgement of symbols.
There will be no more remorse.
There will be no more love to force.
There will be no more divinity.
There will be no more interruptions.
There will be songs.
They will pierce and twist the stomach of those who hear.
You're the sediment in the bottom of the wine bottle.
You're tired of playing that part.
It breaks your heart.
There will be no more plane rides.
There will be no more tearful goodbyes.
There will be no more support.
There will be no more lies to distort.
Only those who know you will know what you are doing.
Some aren't privy to that information anymore.
Some won't care and some will ignore.
But there's a few things that they must know.
For all that is pure, the ice has started to form.
For every goodbye, I move further away.
For every meltdown, so does my feeling.
Each push on me is a shove further from you.
For every guy, there's always one more.
Every time I see this I get bored.
For every picture the desire fades.
Seeing is believing.
For every story, I have another one.
For every longing there will be less.
And for every crack of my heart you could slip on the mess.
I can promise I never felt it was what I HAD to do.
I can promise it was all by desire that lead me through.
I can promise this is the last reference to you.

I'm telling you boy, the desire is walking out, it's time to go,
And I'm telling you boy ~ this is the moment that you know.