you're such an entitled little son of a bitch son

Step right up, step right up!
     The all time gladiator battle is about to commence! 
the greatest battle of yelling screaming shouting accusing yelling, yelling, more yelling, degrading and shit talking shall commence between our two fighters here today, starring the son, and the father, say the magic words for the bloody match of hopelessness to begin. 
     The magic words are "student loans." 
     After the match enjoy a night chain smoking yourself back to sanity and restless sleep full of terrible nightmares and impossible aspirations. And don't worry about the grand finale, that takes place the next day where you feel worthless as shit cause you're trapped and never going to make it anywhere.
     Hey its not so bad, just take a walk down your neighborhood, you know, the one with all the big houses and those other big white people like your dad, look at their sweet rides and sweet houses, their yards and their beaches, you might be able to be just like them one day yah know, he why not, you live in their neighborhood for some reason, you can be just like them yeah! With their pompous summer homes and fake tans, and their plastic little blond bitches for wives...oh wait thats right, you're gay, hey man well shit that sucks. (hopefully you don't get excommunicated, like your brother!)
     But wait-  Its not that bad man, hey if you can't afford any of their things don't worry you can just befriend them and buy all their used shit that they might throw out if you don't, thats right manipulate them with their own money, just like Dad did, on Christmas time when he wasn't allowed to come over, he might start another big fire yah know, but hey love can put that fire out right, they're both conditional!
     And speaking of fires, stay tuned for the next gladiator battle, starring the faggy art school drop out and daddies bmw.

Step right up step right up,
Get your fucking tickets while they're HOT.

the storm inside

     Sometimes I notice that I feel colder than usual, and its not because of the weather, its because of the things inside of me or the hidden entities in my life that are nipping at my constricted capillaries right down to the very blood flow of my body, crippling and hindering my movement, my motivation, my hopes and dreams and whatever abilities I though I might have.
     Sometimes this coldness happens for an instant and I can shake it, laugh it, or cringe it away, other times it ensues and tangles me into a fatigue of anxiety, uneasiness, and well, basically a black hole. My mother might ask me to clean something, my fathers' presence, his very footsteps ricochet through my body, I become alert in a heightened sense of, despair? Despair yes, because the cold immobilizes me, I become nothing, I cannot act, I cannot do, I don't know how. I loose my way, And no cigarette, no bust, no cup of coffee, liquor, or whatever pill can change it.
     Somehow he would have to activate something inside of him, a hidden warmth, reserve of energy, maybe ignited by some sense of purpose. But what purpose, what purpose could he possibly have lying therein an array of stream-of-consciousness ideas, and unspoken conversations with alter egos inside his head? Goose bump hills cascading upwards as more of these memories, nightmares, and truths unveil themselves to wed only his mind without a witness.
     Life continues to go on in all places around him oblivious to whats happened, or has happened, or is still happening inside. Flip a switch they say, a perfect lie, a perfect transgression that only enflames his demons more. Once upon a time I used to have a self that could take charge? Once upon a time maybe he could have stood up and walked away in a better direction, instead now he dances in some temporary sanctuary, but against this frigid mist, against these cold winds that never seem to stop billowing towards him, my candlelight can only flicker, wax, and wane, until it goes out. Maybe it has gone out. Maybe it just needs to be relit...

Defer

Salty lip stick stained coffee lids.

2013 summer time angst 1

A tourist stole my bike from my driveway, I assume it was a tourist because 90% of the population in this small little fake town of GLP are summer people, rich people, white people, stole my fucking bike for fun, now I didn't even use that bike to much, but now I can't ever again. Its the principle that matters, and now my bike is gone. My dad bought me that bike, not that I really care to much about his losses right now, but the bike is gone. I remember riding that bike to classes and work up at UCONN, till it lost my care left in the rain, but now the bike is gone. And I had to rip it from its chain as I ripped myself out of hidden depression and drug addiction that was college, it came home with me, and now its gone. No more rides to the beach or an accidental sprained ankle, no more no-handed transgressions for popo-ass escorts home, to more rides to a dreaded dishwasher fish cutting job that I sadly need back because I need something, I really do because I am, nothing...but the bike is gone. No more troubling changes of songs going up a hill or stupid cigarette rides of death, the bike is gone. You know that bike and I didn't have the best relationship, but its funny how I care a little bit more now thats its gone, is that how life works sometimes? Cause now I'll have to walk...