find your old drunk poetry, which you only write when you're drunk, because you never have the guts to attempt something as brash as a calculated line break when you're sober.

You have an empty day
ahead of you you drive
to buy cigarettes for the break
they offer when you see red
lights light ahead of you
indicating you should
stop but you don’t do it
in time your knees crunch back
into your shoulders so
you’re closer than you’ve ever been
to sucking your own dick.

Ashtray, candle, beer can

I am reading a book while my friend sleeps.  Soft snoring and football in the other room make the heat from the register seem futile.  To detail the small moments that fill an overarching blanket of undetermined emotion is the only way I've found to document and understand the whole damn thing.  And really, it doesn't work quite right.

the mezzanine is somewhere between a fun little romp and the best commentary on being white, ever.

just keep writing things in your google drive. become satisfied with them and keep them there. forever.

blackout wednesday is a fucking stupid term, but it totally makes sense.

I'm trying to deconstruct the allure of hometown bars around holidays.  Post-high school, pre-family years back at your parents with nothing to do but drink with old friends.  That's cool.  Actually, it's really cool.  But why aren't we all just drinking beers in a basement or walking around old neighborhoods with a bottle of wine?  There's some illogical appeal to running into old acquaintances and then having awkward, unfulfilling 2 minute conversations with them over the enormous sound of some stupid song you've heard a couple times while waiting in line for a Subway sandwich.  The conversations you want to get out of the second after you see the other person, make the widened eye contact of recognition and start walking toward each other.  The hugs are uncomfortable, you don't remember the names of the two other people your old pal is with, and your beer cost a dollar and a half more than it should have. I dunno man.  Maybe it's like drugs where the chronic user keeps using even though they don't enjoy it. 

vote r die

Today, some people in America are voting on who will be the president of America and on other things.

Last night, I finished White Noise by Don Delillo, and I think that's much more important to the scope of American living.

if it is it is

lawn darts was a much more straightforward game sold to the public.

There was a piece of plastic you could buy at toy stores or dollar stores, probably science stores too, that connected two two liter bottles of soda at their openings.  If it had a longer history and was sold at hardware stores, it would be called something like “a two-sided female” for each of the male ends of the two liter soda bottles.  The idea was that you could fill one of the bottles with water, then connect another with this piece of plastic so the second vertically mirrored the first.  Once the connection was snug and airtight, you could flip the bottles and the water would fall from the top to the bottom in a visually satisfying cyclonic spin.  Like watching the circling of the drain from the inside.  Like watching your insides drop into the ground. 

we are reaching a point we can never return from.

I had a moment at work today that I haven't experienced for a few years.  It was one of those inspirational moments of complete stoppage.  Where you just have to stop because you can't not stop.  Beauty happens in its most naked sense.  Raw electronic brain firings on a level higher than normal.  The Books were playing and it was fresh autumnal chilly.  I saw man walk by the window with a light jacket and a dog on a leash.  

I came home and watched Monday Night Football.
Sports is criticizing itself more than I've ever seen. And we are reaching a point we can never return from.

what it looks like when you watch your google docs opening.

hart and sole.

the role of a crew of female backup singers is crazy.

were the gender differences we see now even subconsciously realized at the tender ages when parents' oldies music sounded fucking awesome and implanted itself into our brains? 

can they be an instrument in a band without being an otherwise suppressed instrument?

 This is the way to deal with your day off when you could only get half the shit out of your butt.

The devil and a snowman attempted a "slice of life."

At the end of four months, the devil sat and stared at puddle in the grass.

what is happening in the world can be interesting

what is happening in the world can be interesting sometimes. groups of people can come together and produce a publication that makes what is happening in the world interesting.  every so often, i'll read an article that makes me go like, "YEAH. Fuck those assholes.  They're republicans or corporate monsters or the president or cops or someone, and they're ruining all of everything.  Fuck them."  and then i get through half of the article and think, "whatever."

TRIUMPH OF DEATH

i cant believe how much shit has come out of my nose in the past 48 hours.

im reading a really big book to make up for doing nothing with my life.

a constant state of the static that you see when you press down on your eyeballs when the lids are covering them.

the bags under my eyes are eroding to form a bed between their corners and the armpits of my nose.

DMD 20/20

vampires are a really great thing.  theyre made for metaphor.

he's kind of cool.

http://www.jimseven.com/2012/02/23/exactly-too-big-enough/

a vacuum of the guts looms like some beastly creature made of fire and shadows. it's also much bigger than you.

gas pops inside your butthole and the shit is on its way out but its not quite there and more bubbles pop and then you burp and push kind of hard until you realize the poop won't come out for another 4 minutes, so you sit and think about trying to write something eloquent but your first words are "gas pops" and you know you need to write "butthole" soon (because it's a better word than "asshole").  you hope to forget and it will leave your body and leave no stain.  like a boyscout in the woods.

being sick: a diet mountain dew and cabernet spritzer at 2am.

My farts smell like the zoo.

When sick,

Go to the mid-level, organicish grocery store.  Buy orange juice, twelve Diet Mountain Dews, and a bottle of kombucha.  Browse the medicine aisle to find something that coincides with the vague feelings of poor health.  Symptoms like "weird headclamp.ache" and "the back of my throat felt weird when I woke up, and all day its hurt some of the times that I've swallowed, but now it feels fine" and "kinda runny nose."  Pick up three or four boxes and bottles and think about how you've heard you can use them to make drugs.  Alternatively, think about how you have used them as drugs.  Grab a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread that is inexpensive and healthy sounding.  Buzzwords like "whole grain" or "7 oats" really seal the deal.  Look at vitamins that would prevent mild, cloudy sickness in the future, but don't look too hard.  Think, "Fuck, I forgot to start a torrent download of Die Hard: With a Vengeance before I left." Be upset about it, because you totally wanted to lay on the couch and watch it when you got home from the grocery store.

Sometimes you want to use the internet to ask old friends that have become just Facebook friends if they'll ever hang out with you again, but you don't because they'll say that they will but they won't.

If everybody had an empty body, the world would still be a basketball that the Harlem Globetrotters play with.

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
2. Clean baking pan (13x9).
3. Pour 4 liters of Diet Mountain Dew into baking pan, making sure it is distributed evenly throughout.
4. Drink Diet Mountain Dew from corner of baking pan, gradually tilting opposite corner higher until all the liquid is gone.
5. Turn off oven.

If I could be Mountain Dew for a living, I would be Mountain Dew for a living.

He squinted his eyes and walked home at two in the afternoon when a lady asked him where a bike shop was.  He told her where one was and then saw a patch of flowers in a square of dirt inside a bunch of squares of concrete.  "Buttercup" was the term that popped up in his mind when he saw them, but he wasn't sure if that was a real name of a flower, so he Googled it later (it is a type of flower, and it is the type of flower that he saw). 

that shit feels sexy as fuck.

My new job is kind of like when I was in 7th grade and I really wanted a Fender Stratocaster, but could only play power chords. 

a line

Do not forget the distance between the wood flooring and the ground.

Obese Cat

A Large Amount of Time Can Be Spent Using Youtube and Wikipedia to Remember What That Weird Redneck Game Was Called That You Used to Play in Your Church Camp Rec Room.

Painted Moments of Famous Assassinations

Lyndon B. Johnson is sworn into office on the new Air Force One with his faithful companion, Jackie O'Kennedy. 

Gloom Rules.

UUUUUUUUUUUUWHATARUSH

The Old Crow tasted like the grains of asphalt when Calvin looked at the six singles in his wallet.  Someone played a Lou Reed song on an acoustic guitar with their eyes closed.  The bar had a smell kind of like a warm fart, and people said that a lot.  Calvin bought another shot of whiskey felt very much like an old man at a bar.  Soon, he left and bought a 40 ounce bottle of King Cobra and another for a friend.  He stood in his friend’s kitchen and had an actively agreeable conversation about how jobs are shitty and getting jobs is shittier.  “There’s just nowhere to go,” is something one of them said. 

John Wilkes Booth

When he was 4 years old, Calvin realized that The Cookie Monster was not actually eating cookies, just throwing them toward his face and crumbling them up until they fell to the floor. This was the instant life became a mocking inevitability, and a feeling of doom kept with him forever.

9 Tweets I Didn't Tweet

Who wants to co-write the script for BloodCourt with me?

Ric Flair vs. Raven Simone vs. your aunt in a Weird Bodies Competition.

It’s either you want to puke but can’t, or have to puke but don’t wanna. CARPE DIEM

: Working to build a better boner.

Now, I will rewrite The Abortion in Google Docs and listen to Converge at a normal volume.

How many James Bonds will there have been when I die?

Dump a can of chili into a pot of mac and cheese and tell me what you know about economics.

sleeping on top of a lot of paper bags: a sign of something?

This morning I woke up to the doorbell ringing but I had a big erection so I didn’t answer it.

because he didnt want to be.

he had a very difficult time not being critical when he was stoned at a stoner metal show.

All I want is someone just to try and protect us.

Holy fuck, Moneyball is a fantastic film. 

A serious thing happened when an Oscar caliber movie came out and the Chicago Cubs hired Theo Epstein.

at this point it

is ufsi 4 lyfe.

Caution words.,

I have a Google Docs file called "Caution words." that is turning out to be one of the best things to come out of my brain in years. 

It's a catalog of the words I've noticed I need to use with caution.  One of the words is:

"Count the cigarettes you've thrown in the toilet."

Sometimes your neighbors are having very rhythmic sex above you.

Sometimes your roommate is gracious and drives your car to work to pick you up because it's the first snow of the year and has been snowing all day.
Sometimes your car is unreliable, because it was made in 1989 and you don't take particularly good care of it.  A light starts flashing on the dashboard while you're stopped at a stoplight and the light says "BATTERY."
You say, "Fuck," and your roommate pushes the 1989 Camry toward the side of the road while you steer and gesture meekly at the cars behind you to "go around," but they're hesitant because it is very snowy. 
When you get to the side of the road you say, "Godfuckingdamnit," and then, "My girlfriend has my fucking AAA card." You feel angry and know it is not justified.
Your roommate starts making phone calls because your phone is dead and the slush builds up around your feet while you smoke cigarettes in the street.
Your roommate is also making phone calls because you can't keep a cool head or stop swearing.

Friends drive up in 45 minutes and jump start your car.  You say "Thanks so much. I owe you guys so many beers," and as they drive away, the light on the dashboard that says "BATTERY" comes back on.
You swear some more. It sounds like a balloon being deflated.
With one foot on the brake and the other continuously pumping the gas, you attempt to get back on the road and call someone that cuts you off "a cunt," and feel awful about it even though he couldn't hear you.  To be fair to yourself, the dude was driving like an asshole.
Sometimes you mutter words of encouragement to your 1989 Camry the whole drive home with a constant foot on the gas pedal.  Things like, "Come on baby."

You make it to your street and the car dies while you are trying to parallel park.  It's funny though, because everyone laughs.

this is what i just texted jesse:

im filling in in a bowling league tonight. lol

Bro, I'm in the zone.

IN DA ZONE BABY.

dialogue lady, get it?

Is it fair to transfer the burden and responsibility of a lack of creative and motivational inspiration to the fact that I don't have a desk? I don't think so, no. But seriously though, where am I supposed to sit down to really buckle down and break through some writer's block or chug through the demanding and time-consuming process of editing what little I already have written down? I guess on a bed or a couch or a kitchen table. My kitchen table is kind of messy. It has Christmas cookies and some bike parts and a box of Mike and Ikes on it and I think some other things.  That's only clutter and can simply be moved or removed.  If I had a desk, I would not have to worry about blowing cigarette smoke into my roommate's bedroom, because that's exactly what I'd do if I cleaned off the kitchen table and put my notebooks and computer there.  I'd blow cigarette smoke right into his bedroom and he probably wouldn't say anything, but I don't think he'd appreciate it much either, I mean, he doesn't smoke and people who don't smoke cigarettes don't normally enjoy having cigarette smoke blown at them or into their living spaces. This image of a writer at a desk smoking cigarettes is kind of played out, huh? I imagine there should be a glass of mid-shelf scotch on that desk too. Fuck.  I really wish I had a desk though.