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(i just did it for a little fun)

[08 Oct 2008|03:02pm]
you know this is all thanks to dumb dumb willy clinton and the 100th congress right?

(1 comment|i just did it for a little fun)

[09 Jun 2008|10:12pm]
When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

(i just did it for a little fun)

our little boy lost [12 May 2008|11:00pm]
i can't stand most of what people say and that is my own damn problem. who the fuck do i think i am anyways. i know. iknow. i know what i do to morale. i don't think i'm better. no seriously, it's not that. i just don't agree. and not necessarily what what you say, but with the fact that you say it. it's fundamental. what i'm trying to get at, or what i'm trying to say really, is that i probably hate you. i don't know for a fact, i don't really know who's reading this, so i don't really know who 'you' are. but statistically, i am pretty sure, taking into acount the people who still frequent this website that i know , the few of them i don't hate versus every single goddamned fool on this planet. i'm just saying, i probably wish you would have the decency to lay down and die. no no, not really, i joke. i probably hate you though, that is true.

i don't even really deserve to be hated back, only by ignorant people. any fool should see that i deserve only ppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppity. pity the pathetic excuse of a.. whatever. take comfort in the fact that i am destined to loneliness and self loathing. so seriously. enough bragging though. i must find some danger now. bye

(i just did it for a little fun)

fucking vultures [23 Apr 2008|07:38pm]
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge

(i just did it for a little fun)

An Enthusiastic Address to Symparanekromenoi [Peroration in the Friday meetings] [06 Apr 2008|03:29am]
see how they press forward, the countless multitudes, all the unhappy! yet, many though they are who believe they are called, few are chosen. a distinction is to be established between them - a word, and the crowd vanishes; for excluded, uninvited guests are all those who think the greatest misfortune in life is death, those who became unhappy because it was death they feared; for we, dear symparanekromenoi, we, like the roman soldiers, do not fear death; we know of greater misfortunes, and first and last and above all - life.

no one is excluded except the happy man and the one who fears death - every worthy member of the community of the unhappy is welcome, the seat of honour assigned to every really unhappy person, the grave to the unhappiest.

Contestant #1: The Hoping One,

consider first the hoping individual. when, as a hoping individual (and of course to that extent unhappy), he is not present to himself, he becomes unhappy in a stricter sense. an individual who hopes for an eternal life is, indeed, in a certain sense an unhappy individual to the extent that he renounces the present, but nevertheless is strictly not unhappy, because he is present to himself in the hope and does not come in conflict with the particular moments of finitude. but if he cannot become present to himself in hope, but loses his hope, hopes again, and so on, then he is absent from himself not just in the present but also in the future, and we have a type of the unhappy. though the hoping individual does not hope for something that has no reality for him, he hopes for something he himself knows cannot be realized. for when an individual loses hope, and instead of becoming a remembering individual, wants to remain a hoping one, then we get this form.

Contestant #2: The Remembering One'

similarly if we consider the remembering individual. if he finds himself present in the past, strictly he is not unhappy; but if he cannot do that but remains constantly absent from himself in a past, then we have a form of the unhappy.

memory is pre-eminently the real element of the unhappy, as is natural seeing the past has the remarkable characteristic that it is gone, the future that it is yet to come; and one can therefore say in a sense that the future is nearer the present than is the past. that future, for the hoping individual to be present in it must be real, or rather must acquire reality for him. the past, for the remembering individual to be present in it, must have had reality for him. but when the hoping individual would have a future which can have no reality for him, or the remembering individual remember a past which had had no reality for him, then we have the genuinely unhappy individuals. unhappy individuals who hope never have the same pain as those who remember. hoping individuals always have a more gratifying disappointment. the unhappiest one will always, therefore, be found among the unhappy rememberers.

Contestant #1+#2: The Unhappiest One,

the combination can only be this: that what prevents him being present in hope is memory, and what prevents him from being present in memory is hope.

He will soon notice his misfortune even if he does not grasp what it really consists in. but to make sure that he really gets the chance to feel it, that misunderstanding comes along which every moment in a remarkable way casts ridicule. he enjoys, for everyday purposes, the reputation of being in his right mind, yet he knows that were he to explain to a single person just how things were with him, he would be declared mad. this in itself is enough to drive a person mad, yet he does not become so, and that is precisely his misfortune. his misfortune is that he has come to the world too soon and is therefore constantly arriving too late. he is forever quite close to the goal and at the same moment at a distance from it; he now discovers that what it is that mself in conflict. for all the rest of the world is to him just one person, and this person,makes him unhappy, bacause now he has it, or because he is this way, is precisely what a few years ago would have made him happy if he had had it then, whereas then he was unhappy because he did not have it.

alone, he has the whole world over against him as the 'thou' with which he finds himself in conflict. this inseparable, importunate friend, this is the misunderstanding. he cannot become old, for he has never been young, he cannot become young, for he has already become old; in a way he cannot die, for he has never lived; in a way he cannot live, for he is already dead; he cannot love, for love is always in the present time, no future, no past, and yet he is of sympathetic nature, and he hates the world only because he loves it so; he has no passion, not because he lacks it, but because that same instant he has the opposite; he has no time for anything, not because his time is taken up with something else, but because he has no time at all; he is powerless, not because he lacks strength, but because his own strength makes him impotent.

and there you have it, or at least one version of it,

may the daily bitterness of grief be extended to him in abundance,
may no friend attach them self to him,
may his lips smile at the world that misunderstands him,
may no one understand him, but all envy him,
may no secret sympathy suspect his solitary pain,

(i just did it for a little fun)

singing doo-wa-doo-wa-diddy-dum-diddy-dee [25 Mar 2008|09:27am]
i have a problem that turned into to two, that turned into four and continues duplicating on and on even as i type this. i need to get me some solutions. like living in a cave for instance.
juice is a cat.

and by the way, have you ever seen tom waits put a fish down his pants?
a red snapper specifically.
or a chicken fish for that matter. (that would be the cheese fish to the french.)
rather amusing, that is.

(3 comments|i just did it for a little fun)

so i go [22 Mar 2008|02:36pm]
my lying is getting to be a problem. not believing in truth is no excuse for it either, i'm just kind of a fucker. people are fuckers. fuckers will be fuckers.

i know, you don't think it's possible for one to lie if one believes no truth? it is. truth is just sort of a defunct word. like all words really. words are variables, we're just using them in place of much vaster incomprehensible ideas and concepts, to bastardize them into something more communicable and agreeable. just a bit like what we, that is, you and i, whoever you may be, are doing at this moment. i'm writing these words, you're reading them. god knows what will happen to the intentional idea i set out to communicate in the translation between my language and yours. or my brain and yours.

i believe that perhaps a great deal of the world's problems come from words. language. everyone has their own definitions of almost every word, but they forget that. they don't remember that when people talk to them and they don't pay it enough attention when they talk to people. too many people take it for granted that there is in fact A Truth behind every word, i don't think that there is though. i think everyone has a different 'truth' assigned to each word, even if it is just ever so slightly different, they are ALL different.

I got a hand, So I got a fist, So I got a plan, It's the best that I can do. Now we'll say it's in God's hands, But God doesn't always have the best goddamn plans, does he? I ain't quite the beauty, Pulls out two guns and shoots at the pretty, pretty pure white-- Gotta keep thinking, things, hunters and kings To block out the view, I gotta get New bell to ring, New song to sing, A steady hand to wring, A readiness of things I do. I gotta get a new plan to bring to the people People I can trick them into thinking anything. Oh rust it just right, in the light It's gold, it's gold. I got Water and holes in my hands, I'm a digger of holes in the land of holes. It's the easiest way, And you know It's the easiest way.
So i go.

(i just did it for a little fun)

Writer's Block: That's the Power of... [11 Mar 2008|01:46pm]
What makes you feel powerful?


guns and coke.

(i just did it for a little fun)

isn't it a goddamn pity? [06 Mar 2008|01:59pm]
get yours.
who cares who gets hurt, unavoidable casualties. it's not as if you could just exercise some self-restraint. it's what you want, right? as long as you get what you want, it doesn't matter who you hurt.

that's what i learned recently.

that, and that people lie to themselves too much.

(1 comment|i just did it for a little fun)

feminism part II: careful guys. [05 Mar 2008|01:07pm]
of course, there are many different kinds of bitches. some of them are manipulative and controlling, trifling, if you will. they might trick a boy into forsaking all his friends, even hating them. out of honor for his bitch perhaps, or out of jealousy of their freedom. for instance say some boy gave up a wonderful job opportunity for his bitch only for his best friend to step up and make something of himself and his life while leaving bitch boy with his bitch far far behind. bitch boy now hates his friend and little does poor little bitch boy know he's probably just going to get dumped. said trifling bitch has probably already fucked some sweet talking name dropping coffee shop intellectual. bitches are the fucking devil. and it seems like bitches always think you're talking about them. the epicenter of a bitch's universe is her bitch-ass-self and self-sacrifice is a four letter word.

if there is anything worse than a bitch it is being a bitch's bitch.

so be careful guys. no cunt is worth all that. no piece of ass is worth your soul.

(1 comment|i just did it for a little fun)

feminism: plath was a bitch [04 Mar 2008|01:13pm]
really though, sarah is the dumbest bitch i've ever met. what the fuck is wrong with you? and i mean bitch as a general term, for women who don't have their own opinions and must always feel possessed in some way. bitches need constant attention. they are dogs. faithful and diminutive.i'd say about 90% of women are bitches. malleable minds that most men require for any sort of long term relationship. though they are needy and require endless amounts of attention they are easy to maintain in so many capacities. for instances, you are never in any danger of losing any sort of argument or discourse, they adopt all of your interests and passions as their own. bitches don't converse, they consent. they sell themselves to the majority. everything she says will be influenced by the people around her.

if you give a bitch an album, and say it's really good, she will listen to it and accept that as her new definition of 'good'. she won't even be aware she is doing it.

bitches. man, bitches.

fucking vultures [23 Feb 2008|04:00pm]
today has been a productive day. it is only four o clock and already i have eaten food and breathed air and even excreted some waste. excrement, theres a word to describe writing in lj, excreting boring bullshit you did in your day as if anyone gives a FUCk about you.

...i got news for ya baby, no one cares about what you did today. not when they have this here steaming hot pile of narcissistic excrement to read.

hopefully i won't see any people at all tonight, that way i can stand to be sober. fucking vultures.

(i just did it for a little fun)

[21 Feb 2008|01:01pm]
dude, you fucking suck.

i smoked weed with david caradine.

(4 comments|i just did it for a little fun)

V.D. [12 Feb 2008|06:13pm]
do you think your love is special? it's not.

you think it's different when you fuck? as if it's not FUCKING, you think it's something more but it's not. it's fucking, you're just fucking.

you think your love is special and that is sad to me. because all i see is two big fat gluttonous egos fighting for the spot light. just two selfish self absorbed narcissistic little children who dont care about each other, only themselves. two stupid naive little children who will eventually make each other cry.

your love is not special. and when it's over you will dedicate all your wits, your talents, your energy and will to starting the same process over again. you're life is a fucking joke. you use the opiate of sex and love to distract yourself from the fact that you are a useless worthless common human being. as long as you have someone who fucks you and claims to love you then you can delude yourself into thinking you are special, or worth just one goddamn at all.

i have more respect for meth heads or crack whores, or junkies. at least they have less delusions about what it is they are and what they are doing. at least what they do is not celebrated.

(2 comments|i just did it for a little fun)

DEAD [22 Oct 2006|01:06pm]
although i purchased my very own forty for the first time in my life, i was sad yesterday, more for the fact that no one else around me was, or at least was for the same reason as (the only reason that matters to) me. i mean fuck man, HE DIED! no one cares anymore! WHERE WAS KRIS!?

(2 comments|i just did it for a little fun)

[07 Oct 2006|05:46pm]
already hate portland like home.

(i just did it for a little fun)

[28 Sep 2006|04:34am]
things are hard right now. things are hard to do without pot.

(i just did it for a little fun)

hurry, hurry, hurry. [19 Sep 2006|12:16am]
i'm at a point in my life i think, where no matter what i do or where i go discontent is all i know. it doesn't stop good things from happening, no not at all. it's just that they are buried in a flurry of frustration spurred on by my eternal internal listlessness and my indecisive, noncommittal, self-sabotaging nature. all i can really look forward to is the ability to breath easy. hurry, hurry, hurry.

...i need this illusion to go on, something to rest my faith upon.

(1 comment|i just did it for a little fun)

bad though, to me. [16 Sep 2006|11:31pm]
it's been a big day and i'm all tuckered out. i might* play some songs with unbunny and i got to shake frank black's hand. chris and i spent time together for the first time since... kim's. it wasn't quite as bad as i thought it would be. in a way. in a way it was really bad though, but not in the way i thought it would be bad. in a way that most people would see as good. bad though, to me.

*will if i don't chicken out like the yellow bellied piece of shit coward i am.

(2 comments|i just did it for a little fun)

[12 Sep 2006|01:41pm]
put some retardant on our relationship all, i'm in a bridge burning kindofa mood.

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