memoirs of a drunken degenerate.

i woke up this morning wracked with aches and pains, a body broken by a long night of whiskey chased by beer, a precursor to an evening filled with delusions of grandeur. "you've outdone yourself this time old boy" i think to myself as i fumble for the bottle of ibuprofen i keep on the nightstand. it goes down with a mighty gulp of water that only ends because of the human anatomy's need for air. its light out. i try to shake away the fog from my vision that is an unfortunate side effect of a night like last. no good, i try a thorough rubbing, still not 20/20 but it does the trick. i squint through the single pain glass of my window and see hell. the sky is the color of misery, cold wet merciless misery. without setting shaky unsure foot outside i can see that there is a bitter foul bite to this vile november morning. this has to be an omen, a sign of horrible things to come. ill read through the paper and exclaim "i knew it, the bastards didn't believe me but i knew it." but this is all crazy talk. the ramblings of a man gone half mad coming down from a vicious whiskey high. for now ill put down pen and attempt to sleep it off, hopefully wake up to a safer hue.

pages numbered are days numbered.

when do we learn?

i demand an answer.

im 31 years old and i have myself figured out but not those around me. i know me and only me. i know what makes me feel better and when there is no way to feel better i know to shut myself out from the rest of the world for fear that the sickness will spread, i know that im afraid of certain things that others search their whole life to attain and hold on to and i know that i have a problem with letting go. my mom says i care too much but most of my significant others would argue that point. sometimes i feel like i got it all together and sometimes i don't. chapters open and then they close and then new chapters start again. ive decided to boycott these chapters, to destroy the book. i wanna tear the pages out, curse at them and then light them on fire, i just wish i could think of something destructive to do to the ashes. i love this book but i want to set it ablaze. be less predictable, make new friends, learn a new language. i want to start over.

screw the book
screw the characters
and
screw the readers.

i draw drunk bunnies.

only the best

today i bought a gun. a glock 17, the internet said its perfect for killing a man. with this gun i purchased some 9mm bullets, the internet also had nice things to say about the stopping power of said bullets. i drew faces and wrote names on each bullet and loaded them into the clip in alphabetical order....

i had a dream once.

and so we travel through the hot and the cold of this once great wasteland all for the enjoyment of the ever fickle masses. we dance, we fight, we sing, we play, we bleed and we die. all for the hope that a mark will be made. an ember left behind that will spark a flame that once fed will become a fire. a fire that will consume the ignorant glutinous packs of two legged beasts of burden. all for the love of strangers, the joys of a future built of glass.

no thanks.... ill walk

"are you afraid of flying?"... are you kidding me... of course i'm afraid of flying. we as human beings have no business being up in the clouds. its hard for me to describe the experience of flying. its child like wonder and awe inspiring glances out of that 12 x 8 little plastic window shattered by moments of sheer terror when you hit a pocket of air that just doesnt want you to pass through and then you find yourself hastely repenting for all your transgressions to whatever deity you subscribe to for the promise of a safe return to mother earths loving embrace. i wont even go into the horrifying experience of landing on of those giant metal beasts....

no more candy before bed.

i had a dream last night that i was in a crowded room with dim lights and bottles lining the walls. as i passed through the crowd bumping into people i noticed that i was losing a little piece of myself with every gentle graze. "excuse me" they would say, whether from the bump or the seizure of my flesh i could never tell. as the poison consumed me i became less and less complacent of my diminishing form until i was eye level with the spills and the chords and the cheap yet expensive looking shoes.