Gaggles of Giggles

I could write all about you, how you make me feel, how I can't get you out of my head, or how I sometimes think you're too good for me. But honestly that would be way too obvious and I'd really prefer to tell you about all those things in person, or at least on the phone. So hear I go on a topic that can not be directly related to anything, but we all know the truth.

It's the giggles that make these small creatures things of beauty. When you watch a whole gaggle of them, all giggling in different tones it almost feels as if you're attending a grand symphony comprised completely of sweet little jokes and humorous faces. As you walk away from the gaggle of these creatures you can not help but chuckle yourself. You'll find yourself smiling bigger and brighter then ever before. It's almost as if life has suddenly become more enjoyable just because you know they exist.

Here and Now

Why am I here? Is it really that much better? Do I have more friends here? Do I have more fun here? How can I truly tell? The last few months in Oregon were horribly clouded, whether it is for the better or the worse. Looking back at it you wouldn't be able to get an unbiased response from me. For so long it was great, until the very end when it was crap. Is that why I'm here? Is it because back there was so reminiscent of hurt?

I have plenty of questions and I know I'm the only one that can really even begin to answer it. But at the same time I don't know what to say. I don't know the answers. I'm just confused and wandering. I mean there have been plenty of good times here. There are people that enjoy me being here, but in the end, I'm still in the exact same place at midnight, sitting here in front of my computer with absolutely nothing to do.

The conclusion? There isn't one. This is something I will grate upon my mind for the next few months until I can make a final decision.

Life in the Passenger Seat

We all sit around waiting for something spectacular to happen to us, but we never take a moment to sit back and look at thing from the bigger picture. We never see all the events passing by us why we sit still. Sure every once in a while an event will collide with our daily path, but truly this is nothing compared to the pandemonium that we can get ourselves involved in.

I'm tired of this regular current I ride every day, I'm ready to take a step into the deep end and see how well I swim. But how do I jump into it all? How do I make things happen to me? I'm much too used to sitting and watching I've forgotten how to live.

But then again have I ever lived? All my memories of travel and the rest of life I have been watching from somewhere not quite there. Watching as if I was someone else doing all the things I did. It's as if I have an autopilot when it comes to true life. A mode I switch on so I can watch my actions like a movie. Because really isn't that what really living feels like; nothing more then a realistic movie.

I can't focus.

Tick-tock until the ring-ring, you're never going to see it coming.

Please just let me out of this place and go on with your little life. Fall like you will from a star so high up that you will near actually see this abyss until you hit it.

Pull all of everything away from anything you may know as anything but yes. Try to pull it together as the clock goes tick-tock.

Maybe we know exactly what's going to happen when we all fade from this earth, but I can guarantee you I will not be here waiting. I will be long past in more ways then one, just quietly waiting to see all of you come.

We all get taken from our one true path in an attempt to see what we may want to in the exact way we came from.

Call it what you will but you will never be called in to see exactly what you want to. Call it everything you ever wanted but we all know it is just your end.

Time is in question today.

Love is like a vicious raindrop falling from the clouds of acidic breath.
Never growing into anything more then a pair of turned up trench coats.
Bless this place like it was a temple to the goddess that lives in you.
Don't forget everything that we forgot to say back the way we came from.
Believe in everything that you see when you are trying to see the stars.
Live like we'll be alone in three short hours of dull and uselessness.
Question my motives like I was going to tell you about a pot of gold.
Time moves like a backwards clock full of pieces of scalding hot calzone.

A hint of Joy

Here I am


But there I was



Don't ever forget how things happen
This can be what we call
Exactly what we want it to be
Don’t be afraid of the smaller things

This is the one place that doesn’t matter

Truth be told about all of it
Don’t run too far
Leave everything behind


Go

Randoms

The flowers occupy the background in such a manner you would never expect to see them unless you were there. It's like they exist almost one a different level of consciousness.

I have a scrape across my lower back, but I can't feel it at all, so really it doesn't even begin to bother me at this point. I can't feel it because it is on the part of my back that has nerve damage from hitting a tree. I just find it amusing that something like that can happen. You damage yourself and don't even notice it through the scars. I think this exists on more levels then just the physical.

Today I drew two symbols on my hand. I don't think they mean anything, but at the same time they were put there as a reminder, and they have served their purpose, yet they remain. The only thing I can think of is that they have a deeper purpose that will be revealed on a later date.

What I am

I'm tired, of what I don't know.
The rest I need I can not get.
I'm wasted, on what I can't remember.
The sobering thoughts will not come.
I'm confused, why is still a question.
The clarity won't reveal itself.
I'm disappointed, with whom I can not tell.
The reasons are much too fuzzy.
I'm blank, for I am hiding,
because that is what I do.

How many voices are there?

Sure he's had a couple drinks, but just look at his eyes... They're truthful. You know he will never tell you a lie. But is that the salesman inside of himself? Yes quite perhaps, his eyes are made to drill into your head. But you know how he feels about you don't you? Well perhaps, maybe, I really don't know anymore. I don't blame you, he can't tell either, and it’s been quite surprisingly hard on him. I mean, look at his eyes, do those look like eyes that sleep well? Are you saying he traveled 1500 miles to sleep restlessly? No, not just for that, but to get a new start. The restlessness at night is just a cruel side effect of leaving everything in another state. Does he seem like he has before? I really can't tell, he's a new person, he could be close to death over this situation and he'd still smile, he really has no fears. Isn't that dangerous? Well, yes but he doesn't care. I think he's ready for death. If he were to die right now he could go only feeling bad for the people he left behind. But isn't that just wrong to want to die? Well, he doesn't want to die, he just could tolerate it right now, and while he's alive he wants to live like he is alive. But he isn't living like that right now. True, but he wants to, he wants to be truly happy all the time, not just a facade that he puts on whenever he needs to deal with people. Well that seems like a kind of crumby situation. It is, but he manages, in a short while he will truly settle in and things should go smoothly until he wants to mess shit up again. That really does sound like him, can't be content with anything, for contentment is acceptance, and acceptance means you've given up. Maybe that is true, but I think he's really only looking for a place that he can tolerate for more than a short period of time. Damn he tastes of beer, I'll never get used to that. No worries, it's better then the rum he will burp up for hours on end. True, but he never drank before. Like I said, he's a completely different person now he does everything differently. He lives, he loves, and he sleeps, all differently. Did you notice his stomach has gotten so much smaller? He really is different, but not so much, he still has the same outlets, he still hates being alone. True, but those are things he uses for comfort, or at least things he uses to seek comfort. What about her? Like I was saying before, he's confused about her. He’ll be glad if he so much as talks to her. Is it really that bad between them? Well it's not bad, just confusing. Bitter sweet to say. He craves her but doesn't know if that's what he wants anymore. Confusing isn't it? It's only because he can't read her. But what's that to matter? If it will work it won't matter. Yes, but he is just afraid. He may not have any true fears, but this, girls, they make him squirm. It's sad really. He's getting tired; let us go narrate his dreams.

What happens to be on my head.

I am lonely. I admit this only because this is me right now. I know it's rather stupid for me to feel so down because of something to trivial, but I do. I think it might be of the memories I have of being with someone. No, not the cuddles and the kisses, but don't get me wrong those are nice. I'm talking about just how much nicer the air is, how much greener the grass is. I don't even necessarily want to be "with" someone, although that would be nice. I just want people who I can sit around with and just know that they're cool and they're there for me.

I like to cook. The only problem I have with cooking is figuring out what to cook. If someone puts down all the ingredients in front of me and says "Make this." I'll have no problem at all; in fact I'll enjoy it. But when it comes to me making something myself I always get stuck, never really know where to start. Half the time when I make anything though people always like it. It's really rather scary.

I just hit keys randomly sometimes when I'm typing and words that I don't even know why I'm typing them come out. It's kinda strange especially since they are real words they just haven’t gone through my head when I actually type them. Sometime I want to type without thinking at all and see what I end up writing. Knowing my head it should be semi-entertaining.

I hope you too feel like this

Swirls of color around the plane of vision, twisting and spinning in ways that one might not think possible. Greens, blues and purples, all transform into warmer colors and then back again while touching just on the edge of colors one could not comprehend. The colors travel through the air like sound, with every shift another hum or click. The yellows whining at a painfully high pitch while the deeps blues are the purest form of bass one could expect. Filled with the beautifully orchestrated sounds of the rainbow.

The Way We Live

Pieces of trash fall from the sky, fluttering like fluffy snowflakes caught in the current of a passing car. The refuse stacks up slowly, in the corners at first but after a few short minutes the entire in between is filled. Cigarette butts, old newspapers, soda cans, and condom wrappers are all accountable for the piles, none of it much use as of right now. Every one has it's story, stories of passing strangers and better going-ons. None of them quite expected to pile up next to some young couples passionate love. None of them expecting to be so tossed aside.

The music is what made it.

Please just lay next to me and be there for more then 22 minutes.
Please just let me be close to you and let me care about you.
Please just know what I mean.
Please just stare at the stars in a perfect silence with me.
Please just know who you are and know who I am.
Please just give me five minutes worth of a chance.
Please just understand why I need this.
Please just let me cry while I listen to this magnificence.

I felt like writing for a 4 year old

There once was a boy, he lived in a place that was full of very big people. He was constantly lonely for none of the big people ever took notice of him. They all went along with their daily lives and more often then not walked right over boy without taking any notice to him. The boy didn't like it in the least and on several occasions he would end up crying himself to sleep.

One noteworthy day, when the clouds split the sky in half, the boy met a small girl, she was a lot like him, in the fact that the very big people gave little notice to her either. The boy was so happy to meet this small girl, he finally had someone he could relate to. Every day the boy and the small girl would talk, and entertain each other with tales of their lives. They were happy.

A long time passed like this and the boy thought of the small girl as the most amazing person he had ever met. The only problem was that over the time the boy had known the small girl she had grown bigger. In fact now she was not a small girl at all, but much rather a few inches taller then the boy. This made the boy very sad and he talked to the girl about it. All the girl had to say was that it was time for her to grow, and that she needed to be a bigger person to accomplish certain things. This made the boy cry, because he wanted to stay the same size forever.

I try to live.

There is nothing, not a word, not a sight, not even a smell. Why not? It doesn't matter because we're all just little specks of dust waiting to be inhaled into a giant kangaroos nostrils where we will then embark on the most entertaining few minutes of our life.

Think of the kangaroos sneeze like the big bang, only bigger.

Fuck... why do you even read all this bullshit? Seriously? half the time it's something massively incomprehensible, and the other half of the time it's me complaining about my friggin lack of love in a twisted and covert manner purely to disguise it from the reader who it is about. Either way do you gain anything from reading this?

Okay you can say you get to know the true Logan better, the one that doesn't give a shit about half of everything, but do you really? Is any of this randomness even a half open window into my persona? Can my random ranting and typing actually be me? I don't even know what I write about, I just type and let the words come to me, inserting fancy verbs here and there to make me sound half intelligent.

I'm not the same person I was 3 years ago, I don't say "'ey". I say "Howdy" I don't grunt, I mumble. I don't give a damn anymore, I try to live.

A Knock to the Head

Whenever I get hit in the head I really hope that I'll get some sense knocked into me. And thinking of the last two time I did hit my head I'm not sure if it's the correct thing to be looking for.

The first of the two was at the rugby game. It was maybe three minutes into the game, at most five, but I should have been fresh either way, although a nasty blow to my upper thigh massively slowed me down. Anyways, back to the point, lets say four minutes into the game. The El Paso team has the ball. Their outside center is carrying, running down the sidelines with his wing in a miserable spot for anything else to happen. Perfect set up for the tackle, and sure enough. BAMF! There I am getting up off the ground, all I can do is clench my teeth and try to recover my balance to the left. I can tel I was hit on the left side of my face purely because I can't control where that eye was looking, at one point I see the ground and the next I see the sideline while I'm trying to follow the ball. I was hit hard and I could feel it, but like I said, I was looking for the sense it might have driven into my thick skull.

Sure there may have been something that got in there, but honestly it just made me think, and then the fact that I couldn't just made me frustrated. I couldn't think straight at all, but how much of it was from the hit? How much of it was the events from the night/morning before? I don't know, but I knew that I was playing as hard as I was because I told people I would, more specifically one person. I also know that that hit to the head made me alot more serious about that one person then I should have been at that point, but whatever kept me going, right?

The second hit was later that night, I had more then one drink under my belt at that point and in all my grace as I sat down next to Madam V I squarely nailed my head to the wall. Did I learn a lesson? More then likely not, but at the same time I might have. If thinking didn't hurt as much as it did I'd give you a straight answer.

I won't hide it, this is about you.

The thump of the fan was constant, like the beat of some techno remix on crack. It drilled into his head as he lay there staring at the shapes on his ceiling, much as if he were staring at a formation of cloud. with each revolution came a new thought, far to many to sort all at once, but a portion of it all could be held, a familiar face here, a rainbow there, perhaps a wonderful feeling just on the brink of his touch. Each thought in itself was perfect calm, but in the rapid succession it was grating to say the least. As one comfort came it was quickly ripped away from him just to be replaced by something else. The replacement was not always worse and more often then not it was better, the thing that he could not stand was the change. Slowly the fan started to slow down. Whether or not it actually was, or his mind was just slowing it down for him did not matter, each and every thought suddenly became a memory of a dream.

The sun was barely coming in the window, but he could still see her face as perfectly as ever. It was beautiful, the softness of it, the little freckles that lightly dotted the ridges of her cheeks. It was the definition of calm to look at in her sleeping state. He knew he should sleep too, and just let the utter comfort he felt being next to her take over. Then suddenly she opened her eyes looking straight at him as if even in her dreams she had been looking into his eyes. No words were passed, none needed to be, both were content and happy, and it showed by the smiles on each of their faces...

There he lay, not staring at the ceiling this time but much rather the stars. It was nice to look at the stars, on several occasions before this moment the lack of stars had quite literally depressed him. There was always something about looking to the heavens that calmed him, whether it be the eternal mystery or the hope of new horizons he wouldn't be able to tell you, that is of course was if he even cared much about that. One of the most intriguing aspects to the stars he thought was that someone, somewhere else is looking at exactly the same piece of sky. It is a beauty you can share with absolutely zero prejudice. It is perfection...

It was dark outside but it didn't matter, the steady hum of the engine would continue no matter then time. It was comforting in some way. Like an old friend holding your hand, or someone you care about talking to you on the phone. It just felt right. It was his old beater of a truck, but it was more then a truck, it was a friend. And why not? The cowboys of an earlier time had made best friends out of their steads why could that relationship not be modernized? Feeling the wheel in his fingers, and the green glow of the stereo on his face just made him feel at home. It didn't matter where he was, because he was in fact home...

I don't know why I continue.

The thing is that it isn't failure, it just the way life is. Let go of some of the bullshit that you count on and think about exactly what you're doing. Fuck all those little mushrooms, and even more so the small feline monkeys who try to steal them from you. Let this thing out of the cage and ride it like a turkey with its head recently severed from the rest of it's body. Eat the purple sauce, it's probably not what you think it is, but hey it is vegetarian so we need not to worry about the risks we take with not cooking it. But we never loved anything like that before anyway, it was all desperation. We make constant attempts to love, but as humans it the closest thing in our lives that will ever approach perfection, do you really think we can make that the first time around? Butterflies are all that tasty goodness we were always told about, but it's not like we can actually let our teeth feel the tear of their beautiful wings. It would cause insanity and even worse it would tell us who we were. But for now it doesn't matter, our cups fill themselves with hate, greed, and power. We are humans and we will be the end of ourselves. We hope for the best and we are sad when we get the worse. Just sing a few more songs, someone might appreciate them, but really it's nothing more then an annoying ring tone, set for someone who you really don't want to talk to. Let the cowboy take a look at what you really have to say. sometimes I wonder about the stars, this is something that proves we are mortal.

Flies in the Pie

Time is such a thing, it comes, it goes, and above all else it flies. Flies like a little spaceship orbiting a far off star not anywhere even close to out solar system. As it orbits it's speed is completely relative, it could be going many thousands of miles per second, or it could be crawling around at four feet per hour, but for whoever is on the spaceship it will feel like a constant pace no matter what. Like that spaceship we ride time, some times we look back and see that we've come thousands of miles in just an hour, and other days we see that we are right where we started.

I honestly don't know what to think about time, I just know it works against me, every second I sit here staring at the screen is another chance to do so many other things, every day I sit doing nothing is another 1000 miles I could have gone. It seems like I need to justify every second that passes just so I don't feel like I'm wasting my life. But much more often then not it's not justifiable. This is when I just need to sit back and realize that sure I may have a limited amount of time, but with a little thought I have alot more then I know what to do with.

Right now I don't know how I feel. I'm in a state of near pure confusion I don't know what to do so I just sit back and smile, take absolutely everything as it comes to me and just take it for the better.

Maybe this is the way I am?

Lets play a game. I call it try to think of the most interesting thing you could possible shove into your life and add a whole lot of undeserved, invisible mind fucks. This is a game I'm very good at playing, sitting here trying to see how I can change my life, never thinking that this is in fact my life and that this is in fact the only chance I get. But if it is my only time around why can't I have fun? Why can't I mess it up for the better? Why do I need to care about everyone else's standards. This is my life, this is my only chance, and this is exactly how I want to live.

But is it really? Yes. When you doubt your actions you become insecure and you get depressed don't question yourself, question reality and all that it tells you. Question not just your own limits but the barrier of reality itself. Live like you're in love and just slam it all.

Happy Oblivion

There he was, looking out at the rest of the thanklessly small universe, trying not to fall backwards into the violent grip of some other unreality. This wasn't quite what he imagined it would be but it was unquestionably the end. Not the end of everything but the end of nothing. From this point on everything was going to happen. Not all at once but in a rapid succession fired neurons and digested proteins. It was all falling down. First fell the stars, and then with no lights to mark upright the ground quickly followed. The fall was similar to that of August just with more fire and less golden sunsets. The fire was not consuming but much rather creating. Creating that which one must fear, what one must love, what one must worship. In this fire of creation he could see himself. Not as a reflection, but much more as himself in everything else. And as he looked at himself he fell. He fell into himself and out of this world. He fell toward the beginning and back into his mothers womb. But the falling did not stop there. He slowly folded into himself and could see all the little minerals and insects that once had an existence free of love. He could see how eternity looked from a standpoint of mortality. And this was what life was. Not but a small fleck of dust on a infinite glass plane set in the sliding door of a forever expanding consciousness, awaiting for the rock of reality to slide unnoticed through it in a splintering headache of dreams and hopes. He opened his eyes and could see not.

Inadequacy Overcomes

Inadequacy overcomes me. I feel as if I can not be the person people want me to be. And I know that is complete and utter bullshit. I need to be who I want me to be, but I only want to make those around me happy. I can't do it. I've even resorted to not going out of my way for those people who are a little further from me, and trying to only appease my close friends. But even then I feel so much less. I feel like it's not me. I don't know what to do, I'm worried that the real me is horrible. I'm worried that I won't even like the real me. I don't know what I want to do, I'm not sure where I need to go. All I know is that I need to know.

I look at what I just wrote and all I can see is "I"... That makes no sense to me, I've never been "I" I've always been him, or not even written at all, just a tragic undertone for you to twist out of the deeper message. Writing about "I" is so weird, makes me feel so afraid. Just the fact that people will know what I'm actually feeling is scary. Have I always been this closed?

Lost

Here he lays, silently staring at the stars, wondering just what the next step is, wondering where he needs to go. Slowly his vision begins to blur. Tears. He lays there crying as the sky softly disappears into a foggy memory. So much confusion so much insecurity, he doesn't know what to do. He can smell the grass, but that is quickly outlived by the sharp tang of tobacco.

The smoke wafts from a location not in his near vicinity but much rather from a point in his memory, a point in his life where something like that was much more of a welcome, comforting scent to escape the reality that he would have to face otherwise. At this point there was no confusion, but much rather cruel certainties that racked his brain for time on end. Even then the bitter smell of the smoke wasn't truly welcome.

His vision clears, but what comes into view isn't the original picture of the stars, but much rather his face. A horrible sight, not nearly aged as one would think but subtle and calm, the eyes have a look that they have seen much more then eyes of his age should have seen. A light blue accented by what looks like thunderbolts of a almost blackish blue.

He closes his eyes in hopes to make it all go away, hating every one of his senses wishing that each would stop, and let him live in the present, but it's too late, he's lost somewhere that he's never been, with absolutely no familiarities and no safe havens. This is it, this is what life is.

The Morning After

He woke up staring into the trees, knowing that the firmness underneth him was the parking lot of the Rusty Spur. His head felt like it might as well have been left in a vice for the night while a blacksmith took care to hit the soft spots. He was painfully aware that it wasn't a hangover, mainly acredited to the two beers he did have, but much more table three and the five gents that sat there.

"Need some help?"

He somehow knew that voice, but not from the night before, or even any recent history.

"Are you okay?"

Again. He slowly looked over and knew exactly who it was. He had never met her but he already knew there lives were more than a little intertwined.

"I should be good, once I figure out which way is up."

Getting a good look of her he had never been more certain of anyone thing.

"Could I give you a ride somewhere?"

He knew it was a risk to ask, but again, it was so clear.

"I'm heading East."

Goats go to Heaven

I have no will.

I'm completely governed by the environment around me; by the way people talk to me. I have no self-motivation, or desire to live. I am here purely to entertain those around me. To make them feel nice, to do things for them. I will always go with the crowd, not because it is the "in" thing to do, but purely because I leech off of the hive mind. I don't participate in the thinking, nor do I even enjoy the decisions. I am just a leech on the outside, holding on for dear life because I know nothing else. And even when I do know what's better, I can't release myself from the link that is keeping me what I think is sane. I have no self identity, only that which others tag to me, and I do not argue or defend, I mold to what they think of me. I am not just a sheep, but a lamb.

I can't be here.

Fuck.

So I drive.

It's been a few days now, but still. Fuck.

I can't escape. The place I'm running from is in my head.

Now it's been a week, I'm starting to lose it.

I drive.

Awaited

Well it has been much too long between updates, but then again is that not perfectly normal for me?

So here we are, off on the grandiose adventure, pigs and penguins galore with not but a lampshade to guide are way. This may be pure madness but is that not what we have all been created from and surly if not created then at least it is to what we all travel.

But alas, here we go wading out into the shallows which very well may be our lost spirits mourning and screaming for us to take them back and heal this horrible place we call mind.

Observations

Now that we are all here lets start with all the background.

He is really not that sociable of a person, but he craves human contact. he needs it to keep his mind at ease. It's actually quite strange since he is very particular about who he interacts with even though this need for interaction is so great. It's much like a drunk who can only drink wine to satisfy their thirst. Or a smoker who can only smoke menthol.

Beyond his social life, lies his consciousness. Which would more then likely make the average person exhausted, and on more then one occasion taken its toll on the subject. His brain never seems to halt is is always thinking of something, whether it be how something works, or what he should have said in a conversation that happened several weeks earlier.

He loves her with all of his heart, and wishes that he could love her more. Everything thing he does in his life more or less ties into Her. Luckily She loves him in return.

Much beyond that is just as much a mystery to us as him. The subject would be very happy to know how he works and several of us would be too, but for now it will be an enigma, and more than likely it will remain an enigma. Whether that is good or bad will forever remain a question, and is best left that way.

Nothing but a diddle.

How strange be this, nothing but a little diddle, written on the corner or a small little napkin.

Day 2

The Oracle stared at him from across the empty road; each of the tattoos on his neck almost seemed to glow with a light just on the edge of our visible spectrum. He had seen this man several times before and none of this felt like a surprise. Suddenly the Oracle opened his mouth. As the Oracle did the rest of the world seemed to get a little fainter and a little further away. The seer's tattoos were throbbing with that invisible light as he spoke.

"You will meet a girl, to the East, traveling as far as you but for a much different reason. She will lead you where you need to go. Do not fear her for she will hold sway over you."

He didn't even attempt to respond, he nodded knowing that the Oracle would say no more. With that the Oracle walked away, leaving him to his truck and small breakfast of bread and tea. He blinked a couple times blankly at the sun before gulping down his tea and discarding his bread the waiting black birds, who fought over it viciously. He got into his truck and turned the key. The truck started with no problem.

"Well that seems like as good of start as any for today." He said as he pulled out towards CA-44 East. "Looks like I should keep my eyes open."

Somewhere between the middle and the end.

There they sat on the tail gate of the pick-up, it had been a long night but one could hardly tell through the crispness of his suit and the smile she wore as she sipped her mocha vente with an extra shot of espresso from the small coffee shop down the street. They both were reading part of the newspaper. He, of course, had the comics section, and was lightly chuckling at the likes of Dilbert and Garfield. She was looking for what might be the cutest animal in the classified section.

"Let's get this bullet out of my arm." He said as he folded up the funnies. "It's starting to hurt again."

She stretched, folded up the tail gate, and proceeded to climb into the passenger seat. "Will they ask questions?"

She lit up her cigarette and smoked it out the window as they drove towards the Sonora Community Hospital 30 miles down the road.

The almighty return of Nothing

Jeez, it seems like it's been forever and a half since the last time I've posted, and quite honestly, if forever was a month, that statement would be 100% true. But for now lets pretend that I'm not dead and I will post between now and the end of time, and hopefully more then once or twice. I'm talking like 4 times.

So yes, yes, and yes. I honestly don't know. I don't even feel like posting all that much. I'm just here to kill some time and kittens. Well not that last part. Because you really can't kill time, it's a non-physical entity. You can bash clocks all you want but it won't change a thing. You can also slow it down, but to do that you'd have to approach the speed of light. Which is kinda hard to achieve, kinda annoying too, but that's for later.

I guess I haven’t posted more because I have a jub and less free time to think and get depressed and artistic and shit. And then the times I do get depressed I have a wonderful girlfriend who I can just think about and get in a much better mood. And like so many tortured artists, love and happiness do not mix with the poetry some call death, and others call inter-webular-emotion-spills-that-no-one-cares-about.

I leave you to think and care about anything.

Tongue Tied

I realize that it has been a very long time since I have actually written about the going-ons in my life. Well, looking back that is a lie. Half of everything I write has great significance in my life it is just weather or not you know how to read what it is. Now I realize you might need a decoder for what I just said, but instead I strongly encourage you to agree. Smile, nod, and walk away.

I'm horrible at talking, I'll admit that, and many of you readers that actually know me will agree (okay, like all two of you.) I have this (supposedly) incredible gift of writing, so as to the point of people actually liking to read it, and on some occasion it even provokes emotions. But alas, I can not translate that gift to my tongue. Some people have a silver tongue... mine is rusty iron.

I agree with myself, I'm horrible at talking. And it really bothers me, purely because I know you could hand me a piece of paper and I could write for you a small poem on exactly what I want to say, and more then likely convey my meaning much better then my idiotic stuttering of words, and "ums" could ever get me. I am, honestly, trying to improve this shortcoming of myself, but I really don't know where to start, I think for one I will just verbally express myself more then my classic masochistic ways.

New Years Resolution

Just let us know what's going on,
don't make it so difficult and stupid,
to figure out whats going on.
When you just sit there moping around
we don't really care what's on your mind
unless you want to talk.
We don't want to have to beat you senseless,
with our questions and concerns,
cares and sympathy,
just to hear you blow it off.
We don't want to deal with all your shit,
the only way we can get to it
is with two fists and a crowbar,
we just don't care that much about your problems.
If you want to sit down start talking about it,
we'd be more then happy to help you stay on your feet,
keep your head cool and smiling,
keep you from losing touch with all you love.
So just get over all of your stupid problems,
let the cat out of the bag;
attach your tongue right back to where it belongs.
Tell us everything you care about,
everything that bothers you.
Just get in out of the cold,
you masochistic s-o-b.
All this emo shit is getting old.