lonliness

“And it’s not “clever lonely” (like Morrissey) or “interesting Lonely” (like Radiohead); it’s “lonely, lonely,” like the way it feels when you’re being hugged by someone and it somehow makes you sadder.”

—	Chuck Klosterman

Is it crazy that

I wanna be this girl right now?
She's wearing a ski-mask,
but shes so gorgeoussss.

I completely feel like that, down there.
YOUR TIME, GO GET IT
MOTHERFUCKER.

and lately I've got a thing
for foul language.
It's like everday I love the
English language more and more,
and it never fucking disapppoints
me.
I just get wrapped up in words and
sounds and how it all feels when it comes out your mouth,
or how it looks on paper, or a screen.
This shit is magically, fuck.
Three words could change my whole life:
GET UP, MOVE.
IF YOU DIED.
PLEASE COME BACK.
When I'm gone, it's true, all thats left
are my words, my stories.
Raconteur until my jaw breaks.
Pen on paper til my bones rot to dust.

On another note, I wanna start
making a set of graphic design t-shirts
featuring foul-mouthed phrases.
censored?
I don't know.
The fuck word is so looked down upon
in modern society, but maybe i'll just do it.
Fuck women and children,
they can overt their eyes.

REINCARCINATE YAYO

"It’s your time. Go get it, motherfucker."

Yayo

not again

You're cynical, and an asshole:
I like that.

I'm fucked up, so that's
exactly what I'm looking
for in a man.

death and dying

[14:46] xxxxxxxx: i dont wanna die either
[14:47] tentacles4arms: lol 
[14:47] xxxxxxxx: i just want to die



these are our lives.

all this bullshit

" I find myself wanting so much from people,
I want to be noticed, taken care of, shown off too,
and I want someone to stick around with me, a
great friend that will hang out with me everynight,
someone I can pick up from the train at 11 am, and
drop them off at 10 pm, someone I can meet up with
and get lost and explore the city, someone who can just
come over and watch endless indie films, and listen to some of
our favorite artists together lay on my bed, and just sing
or laugh and tell stories about life, and each other so we can both grow.
someone who will text me i miss you, someone who can
just make me feel im on top of the world, at times i feel
as if i have it all, but then i dont. if only i got what i wanted,
and if only i met someone whos down for it all. fuck, i need
new people in my life. "

I don't know where this is from , but I feel it.

I was

so dedicated in March - what happened?

in recent news however, a certain
someone just unblocked me from her facebook.
Normally, something like this
isn't really news, but JT was, and still is,
the most important friend I've ever had.
Our falling out probably ranks within
the top 5 most influential events in
la vie de Regine.

It's like the first sledgehammered swing
into the Berlin Wall, I can all but hear
the pullback of the Iron Curtain.
looks like there's hope for us yet.

Its important mostly because
I haven't been exactly hopeful about
anything in my life in a while.

bootybreath

It's just stupid how much I'm into you.

So what of the theory, that
women have daddy issues
when their father neglect them,
and men have daddy issues when
their fathers die.

and why does being a jerk
mean you have issues, always?
being kind and genuinely compassionate,
apparently is the way we're supposed to be
that means there's nothing wrong,
but if we're all just animals...


fuck it, ill save that train
of thought for another time.

towel day

“A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (such a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have “lost”. What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.”

I

don't know the plural form of hiatus is,
but I sure do take a lot of them.

lately I think I've developed anxiety.
It's liek the feeling I used to get in high school
when I was two or three months backed up
on homework assignments, and the quarter
was ending in two days, but now I don't have
that sort of stress, and yet the feelings still here.

Thank god I've got writing as an outlet,
otherwise I might just crumple up in a heap on my bed
and not come out for weeks, or try to recreate a Pollack
painting using just the ceiling, my brain, and a gun -
Hemingway style.

I wish I had three tons of Xanax or something,
because that might make life easier, but with a
therapist, where would I even start?
People on medication usually have some sort
of traumatic event that is the catalyst for their problems.

I feel like my life is one big traumatic event,
just leading up to my death.

Truth is, at this point in my life,
I'd have more fun listening to Vampire Weekend
while playing Bejeweled, and then falling asleep
to old episodes of Six Feet Under and shitty
VH1 reality shows with a box of Cheez-its in my lap,
than going to a party on a Saturday night.
fuck parties.
fuck people.
fuck friends.
and especially fuck this anxiety.

i dont need pills, i need a fucking break.

If

you're the only one that laughs
at your own jokes,
does that make you a visionary?

Grit

vicious vigilantes guard
stray streetlamps
by night.
we wake up with swollen joints
on the losing end of this fight

You could call out to the heavens
begging solitude,
begging peace,
yet turn a blind eye to your children
as they come begging at your feet.

rusty rags and threadbare britches
barely cover the bare bruises
of your soul.
We don't fear darkness, or distractions,
We build our fires against the cold.

And though the sun sets, we can't stop it,
we don't want to, we press on,
teeth clenched, fists lowered,
our sweat is dirty, we face the dawn.

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit;
Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

every day, do something you're scared of.

they say we grow weak with every touch
but we know better.
i thought i was familiar with loneliness,
now i cry over every letter

im speaking figuratively of course,
crying's just another something i forgot
how to do
except the times i change the channels
and somehow think of you.

most of the time my days are numbered
a widened path, obscuring view
behind the bushes creep the homeless men
i have no money, i tell the truth.

A list of hobbies to occupy my time
a serious joke - im not enlightened, im just
trying to push you out the only way
i know how.

understand that, and you'll understand me
it's pathetic, but within that is a
bittersweet victory.

one of these days im going to die

and i'm gonna die alone, and with a smile.

FOUND MY FUTURE HUSBAND

William Fitzsimmons, voice of an angel.

Here's the bio from his website:

"William Fitzsimmons is one of the oddest
people you will ever meet.
Born the youngest child of two blind parents,
William was raised in the outskirts of the steel city
of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Due to the family's
inability to communicate through normal visual means,
William's childhood home was filled with a myriad
of sounds to replace what eyes could not see.
The house was suffused with pianos, guitars,
trombones, talking birds, classical records, family sing-a-longs,
bedtime stories, and the bellowing of a pipe organ,
which his father built into the house with his own hands.
When his father's orchestral records were not resonating
through the walls, his mother would educate him on the
folk stylings of James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, and Simon & Garfunkel. "


and this is what he looks like:

if he proposed to me, I think I'd faint.

ERNESTTTT

Hemingway was the fucking man.

"You may be saying to yourself, 'But, Tony, wasn't Hemingway 
a womanizing alcoholic in such a constant need of a fix 
that he would go so far as drinking rubbing alcohol for a fix?
Wasn't he so crazy that he submitted himself to electroshock therapy? 
And didn't he, you know, improvise a Jackson Pollock painting
using only a wall, his brain, and a shotgun?' "

Maybe I judged

Ke$ha too harshly.
"Dancing with tears in my eyes"
is a track where you actually hear
an un-autotuned Kesha, and
even though its supposed to be about
a boyfriend that dumped her (right?)
it feels like its about something else
entirely.

"on the floor im just a zombie
who i am is not who i wanna be
i'm such a tradegy
with every move i die"

girl's got a problem.
and she knows it.
and maybe she's a little bit pathetic,
but I am too sometimes.

next toast is for Kesha,
for at least trying to fil the void
somehow.
just hoping that maybe fame doesn't make it worse.

dont have

a lot of pictures because
I don't feel the need
to meticulously document
my existence.

take a look at those albums -
it's just the same photo,
over and over.
switch out one face
and replace with another.
same pose
same girl
same red cups
pride.


who are these memories for?


before us, they held a
handkerchief in their hands
to remind them of a lover
in the war.

we just click through
200 photos of us
kissing the boy
down the street.

if everyone else continues to propel
what if i want to jump off the ship?