Fuck time, fuck progressing, fuck leaving and fuck living.
Fuck winning, fuck acceptance, fuck disorderly conduct and fuck illegality.
Fuck earning, fuck inheritance, fuck buying and fuck money.
Fuck religion, fuck belief, fuck the afterlife and fuck the before life.
Fuck the world, fuck yourself, fuck everything and fuck anything.
Fuck government, fuck the police, fuck the laws and fuck the legislature.
Fuck the poor, fuck the rich, fuck neighbors and fuck taxes.
Fuck wills, fuck eulogies, fuck caskets and fuck death.
Fuck the hospital, fuck surgery, fuck broken bones and fractured skulls.
Fuck euphoria, fuck happiness, fuck highs and fuck the high lows.
Fuck control, fuck love, fuck sex and fuck break ups and downs.
Fuck events, fuck regulations, fuck protesting and fuck caring.
Fuck support, fuck medications, fuck psychiatry and fuck therapy.
Fuck waking up, fuck moving, fuck divinity and fuck reality.
Fuck goals, fuck standards, fuck self help and fuck yourself.
I'll fuck the world today, I'll fuck the world today
I will break everything and throw it all away
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Broken
Lately I've reflected on what I say and do, and the more I feel that way I isolate myself.
It's exhausting to have to read and gauge the response of and study body language for people you'll forget months or years from now. It's a waste of time, but you can't help it.
For a while, everything around me started to decline, and I could watch myself drop and not worry about it because I trust myself.
The days I spend like this ruin the few days I have with people important to me.
The past three times I've gone to see my mother, Angela, in the course of a half year, I'm speechless. There's nothing to tell her anymore, and it leaves me feeling empty. I have to pretend to not be fucked up in front of her, as if it's all temporary and eventually going to get better. Next month it'll have been four years without her, and that everything between that day and now felt excruciating.
I'm not friends with anyone who knew her, and I have to shelter or hide whenever I'm around any relative of my family. I feel alienated.
I can't remember the last time anyone was happy for me when I saw my mother, I get scolded by my grandmother for not bringing her different food, food which I can't prepare and have no money to buy, and my solution is to not visit her on the days my grandmother will arrive.
Every time I go, I am driven a half hour away from the house I stay at, and watch the freeways go by, and fake a conversation with whoever is driving.
The billboards on the side of the freeway are about gambling. Losing money isn't a gamble, it's a donation.
I wait for the family member who drove me to leave the car before I go in with them, because I cherish the moments between the time I see my mom.
I walk into this retirement home, seeing people who are closer to death than they have been their whole lives. Often times you'll hear nurses speaking languages you don't understand while patients scream in pain.
I walk in the room my mom is at. Her room mates are never there.
For the hundredth time, I see an aging woman staring at a television, because the remote is the only thing she can do with her left arm, the one that isn't paralyzed.
And it truly hurts to see how horrible she looks. My mother had the nicest teeth and the nicest hair I had ever seen. Her gums are swelling and her hair looks no better than an old broom, with black and gray bristles.
She can't speak anymore, and she loved to talk so much. She only grunts out of curiosity, and points when she needs you to sit down.
When you sit down, it's the happiest I've seen my mom in recent years, and she's so excited to hear what you have to say. If only she had the stamina to pay attention for more than a half hour.
And I sit there and play with my hands and stumble on my words. She looks at me, anticipating what I could say next, because she's been waiting to see her son and have him speak to hear for the first time in four, five, six months.
The hardest part is saying good bye, because it repeats the day I found out.
I was at my dad's fiance's house, a month away from finishing seventh grade, and I was arguing with my sister about a Wheel of Fortune Family Board Game, and my dad calls my sister and I over to the couch.
He's never looked so conflicted and he's never looked so pained.
My mother hated being called mom, so she had us call her Honey, because during I Love Lucy, Ricky always yells "Honey, I'm home!" and my sister and I adopted that habit.
My dad tells us that Honey has an aneurysm, and while riding her bicycle with friends she had a stroke, and her last words were "Something is wrong." right before she fell into the brush of the California desert.
That wasn't supposed to happen. What was supposed to happen was me going to go up over the weekend to see her in San Jose, and meet all her friends. She had so many friends because her job required her to travel, sometimes for months.
I remember I made her a promise to finish all my work and study so I could see her again.
When my dad finished the sentence with 'aneurysm' in it, I immediately began to cry. The year before I learned from the book Tangerine taught me what they were.
He told us she had a stroke. I can't imagine how my father felt at that moment, having to give his children the worse news of their lives.
From that day, every dream I had was never the same, and every major decision in my life I couldn't think about without my mother on my mind. I couldn't think the same way.
For two years I couldn't tell anyone about it. I just couldn't handle it.
I moved out of Tujunga and into her apartment in Montrose. I never spoke as much, day to day, from then on. I can remember the first summer after that experience, where I would come to an empty apartment, and yell and scream and talk to myself to keep me amused, so I wouldn't feel lonely.
It's exhausting to have to read and gauge the response of and study body language for people you'll forget months or years from now. It's a waste of time, but you can't help it.
For a while, everything around me started to decline, and I could watch myself drop and not worry about it because I trust myself.
The days I spend like this ruin the few days I have with people important to me.
The past three times I've gone to see my mother, Angela, in the course of a half year, I'm speechless. There's nothing to tell her anymore, and it leaves me feeling empty. I have to pretend to not be fucked up in front of her, as if it's all temporary and eventually going to get better. Next month it'll have been four years without her, and that everything between that day and now felt excruciating.
I'm not friends with anyone who knew her, and I have to shelter or hide whenever I'm around any relative of my family. I feel alienated.
I can't remember the last time anyone was happy for me when I saw my mother, I get scolded by my grandmother for not bringing her different food, food which I can't prepare and have no money to buy, and my solution is to not visit her on the days my grandmother will arrive.
Every time I go, I am driven a half hour away from the house I stay at, and watch the freeways go by, and fake a conversation with whoever is driving.
The billboards on the side of the freeway are about gambling. Losing money isn't a gamble, it's a donation.
I wait for the family member who drove me to leave the car before I go in with them, because I cherish the moments between the time I see my mom.
I walk into this retirement home, seeing people who are closer to death than they have been their whole lives. Often times you'll hear nurses speaking languages you don't understand while patients scream in pain.
I walk in the room my mom is at. Her room mates are never there.
For the hundredth time, I see an aging woman staring at a television, because the remote is the only thing she can do with her left arm, the one that isn't paralyzed.
And it truly hurts to see how horrible she looks. My mother had the nicest teeth and the nicest hair I had ever seen. Her gums are swelling and her hair looks no better than an old broom, with black and gray bristles.
She can't speak anymore, and she loved to talk so much. She only grunts out of curiosity, and points when she needs you to sit down.
When you sit down, it's the happiest I've seen my mom in recent years, and she's so excited to hear what you have to say. If only she had the stamina to pay attention for more than a half hour.
And I sit there and play with my hands and stumble on my words. She looks at me, anticipating what I could say next, because she's been waiting to see her son and have him speak to hear for the first time in four, five, six months.
The hardest part is saying good bye, because it repeats the day I found out.
I was at my dad's fiance's house, a month away from finishing seventh grade, and I was arguing with my sister about a Wheel of Fortune Family Board Game, and my dad calls my sister and I over to the couch.
He's never looked so conflicted and he's never looked so pained.
My mother hated being called mom, so she had us call her Honey, because during I Love Lucy, Ricky always yells "Honey, I'm home!" and my sister and I adopted that habit.
My dad tells us that Honey has an aneurysm, and while riding her bicycle with friends she had a stroke, and her last words were "Something is wrong." right before she fell into the brush of the California desert.
That wasn't supposed to happen. What was supposed to happen was me going to go up over the weekend to see her in San Jose, and meet all her friends. She had so many friends because her job required her to travel, sometimes for months.
I remember I made her a promise to finish all my work and study so I could see her again.
When my dad finished the sentence with 'aneurysm' in it, I immediately began to cry. The year before I learned from the book Tangerine taught me what they were.
He told us she had a stroke. I can't imagine how my father felt at that moment, having to give his children the worse news of their lives.
From that day, every dream I had was never the same, and every major decision in my life I couldn't think about without my mother on my mind. I couldn't think the same way.
For two years I couldn't tell anyone about it. I just couldn't handle it.
I moved out of Tujunga and into her apartment in Montrose. I never spoke as much, day to day, from then on. I can remember the first summer after that experience, where I would come to an empty apartment, and yell and scream and talk to myself to keep me amused, so I wouldn't feel lonely.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Day 6,336 of Being Alive
I went to educational learning facility. I learned about the difference between jam and jelly.
I spent a considerable amount of time lying on grass and dirt today.
I showered twice today.
That is all.
I spent a considerable amount of time lying on grass and dirt today.
I showered twice today.
That is all.
These Birds
There were once these birds.
They lived near the ocean, and soon, they would drift apart by the winds and the tides.
This young woman was staring into an artificial sun lamp, to see if she could go blind.
In the dark room, she stared, and as she stared, she saw the shadows in her skin, created by the grooves and the grooves divided her flesh into many small fractions of a relatively large body.
She was locked inside, again. She always locked herself inside when the walls shook.
Her vision would soon distort itself, as the world would shift to a corner of her eye and swirl back to her center. She wanted to blind herself to prevent this from happening.
She hadn't know the slightest bit of rationality, until she actually went blind. She went blind for reasons I cannot explain.
She ran to a corner of a room and began to scream, and screamed violently. She planned on screaming herself to deaf. The screaming aroused her, so she soon kicked at the walls until she had broken her feet. The pain suppressed her urges and she began to hit her head against a wall.
Looking through the open ceiling, spectators watching silently. One spoke:
"Should we get her to a doctor?" an intern asked.
"No, we're not done with the experiment yet." replied the Doctor.
"She's nearly beaten herself to death, what result are you waiting for next?"
"You'll see."
In the cage, she lay bleeding from her skull and her legs, with open eyes. She dreamed:
There were once these birds, she dreamt of. These birds lived under the water, and drifted apart with the wides and the tides. They flew under the sea level with the glimmer of the moon on their backs.
The bird she was trailing began descending, the dark blue landscapes turned magenta, and soon to gray.
She heard the breathing of her observers, and lifted her head to face them, and began to moan:
"Yes! Yes! Don't stop, please, never stop!"
The voyeurs looked down at the woman, with blood trailing down her body, soaking her clothes.
She bled from the mouth, her severed tongue gathered blood, and as she screamed, she began to drown.
She hoped desperately the blood would clot and capture her last screams of imitating satisfaction.
In her last moments, she dragged herself to one corner of her cell, and on broken feet, sprinted and flung herself against the wall.
The impact had not killed her as she planned, but she fell backward onto a pool of her blood and small pieces of pulpy flesh.
Coughing up blood, she opened her lips and clenched her teeth. Her teeth were beautifully placed and beautifully shaped and perfectly white and perfectly bright. She smelt the world around her burning. Blood outlined the edges of teeth, and she accepted the violent death she had prayed for.
"Well, Doctor?" inquired the intern.
"Well, that's all." replied the Doctor.
The intern couldn't bring himself to grimace. The room decayed emotion as the watchers left the room. As they left the room, sirens could be heard from the outside. It began to rain on them, the clouds sobbed because they knew what the Doctor knew.
The intern stared at the Doctor, and asked:
The Doctor, speaking in a tone above a whisper said:
"It wasn't a test on her, it was a test on the complacency the people displayed here. No one but you thought for a second that she needed help, and not even you were motivated enough to help her. The experiment was not supposed to end with her death, it was supposed to end with one person in the room deciding to, in any way, comfort her."
The intern returned to the cliff of the high walls of the now tomb. He watched the blood leave her corpse.Her corpse watched him with faded white eyes and red liquid flowing from the tip of her brows.
"Lock your door on your way out, and don't stare at the sun if it decides to comes back." the Doctor warned, leaving.
They lived near the ocean, and soon, they would drift apart by the winds and the tides.
This young woman was staring into an artificial sun lamp, to see if she could go blind.
In the dark room, she stared, and as she stared, she saw the shadows in her skin, created by the grooves and the grooves divided her flesh into many small fractions of a relatively large body.
She was locked inside, again. She always locked herself inside when the walls shook.
Her vision would soon distort itself, as the world would shift to a corner of her eye and swirl back to her center. She wanted to blind herself to prevent this from happening.
She hadn't know the slightest bit of rationality, until she actually went blind. She went blind for reasons I cannot explain.
She ran to a corner of a room and began to scream, and screamed violently. She planned on screaming herself to deaf. The screaming aroused her, so she soon kicked at the walls until she had broken her feet. The pain suppressed her urges and she began to hit her head against a wall.
She soon fell unconscious.
Looking through the open ceiling, spectators watching silently. One spoke:
"Should we get her to a doctor?" an intern asked.
"No, we're not done with the experiment yet." replied the Doctor.
"She's nearly beaten herself to death, what result are you waiting for next?"
"You'll see."
In the cage, she lay bleeding from her skull and her legs, with open eyes. She dreamed:
There were once these birds, she dreamt of. These birds lived under the water, and drifted apart with the wides and the tides. They flew under the sea level with the glimmer of the moon on their backs.
The bird she was trailing began descending, the dark blue landscapes turned magenta, and soon to gray.
She woke up suddenly.
She could not see.
She heard the breathing of her observers, and lifted her head to face them, and began to moan:
"Yes! Yes! Don't stop, please, never stop!"
The voyeurs looked down at the woman, with blood trailing down her body, soaking her clothes.
She bled from the mouth, her severed tongue gathered blood, and as she screamed, she began to drown.
She hoped desperately the blood would clot and capture her last screams of imitating satisfaction.
In her last moments, she dragged herself to one corner of her cell, and on broken feet, sprinted and flung herself against the wall.
The impact had not killed her as she planned, but she fell backward onto a pool of her blood and small pieces of pulpy flesh.
Coughing up blood, she opened her lips and clenched her teeth. Her teeth were beautifully placed and beautifully shaped and perfectly white and perfectly bright. She smelt the world around her burning. Blood outlined the edges of teeth, and she accepted the violent death she had prayed for.
"Well, Doctor?" inquired the intern.
"Well, that's all." replied the Doctor.
The intern couldn't bring himself to grimace. The room decayed emotion as the watchers left the room. As they left the room, sirens could be heard from the outside. It began to rain on them, the clouds sobbed because they knew what the Doctor knew.
The intern stared at the Doctor, and asked:
"Why?"
The Doctor, speaking in a tone above a whisper said:
"It wasn't a test on her, it was a test on the complacency the people displayed here. No one but you thought for a second that she needed help, and not even you were motivated enough to help her. The experiment was not supposed to end with her death, it was supposed to end with one person in the room deciding to, in any way, comfort her."
The intern returned to the cliff of the high walls of the now tomb. He watched the blood leave her corpse.Her corpse watched him with faded white eyes and red liquid flowing from the tip of her brows.
"Lock your door on your way out, and don't stare at the sun if it decides to comes back." the Doctor warned, leaving.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
As far as I'm concerned, I'm not concerned
Someone doesn't buckle up? Let them die. It's their fault.
Someone shoots them self when cleaning a gun, laugh at them.
Steal from a store, what do they care? The people have a fixed income, it's not like their company losing $10 items puts them out of a job.
Cops are being smart asses to you? Watch yourself, they're cops.
Someone sends people nude pictures of you to their friends, cut off your breasts/penis and say the images are out of date!
Get caught masturbating? Finish, and blame them for not having common courtesy to go back where they came from.
Get caught drinking from the carton? Spit in it, show them who is boss.
Drowning and you know you're going to die? Drink the sea and all it's precious animals.
KFC feeding you mutant chickens? Eat the cashier! Eat the Colonel! VIVA LA REVOLUTION!
Sleep with everyone, and fuck the critics, too.
Hooker tries to bite off your tongue? Slash her, slap chop style!
Dentist ridicules you for not flossing? Strangle them with Crest Glide Mint Flavored floss!
Panda won't fuck? Panda won't eat.
Anyone who doesn't want to help themselves is better off suffering. Hail Satan.
Someone shoots them self when cleaning a gun, laugh at them.
Steal from a store, what do they care? The people have a fixed income, it's not like their company losing $10 items puts them out of a job.
Cops are being smart asses to you? Watch yourself, they're cops.
Someone sends people nude pictures of you to their friends, cut off your breasts/penis and say the images are out of date!
Get caught masturbating? Finish, and blame them for not having common courtesy to go back where they came from.
Get caught drinking from the carton? Spit in it, show them who is boss.
Drowning and you know you're going to die? Drink the sea and all it's precious animals.
KFC feeding you mutant chickens? Eat the cashier! Eat the Colonel! VIVA LA REVOLUTION!
Sleep with everyone, and fuck the critics, too.
Hooker tries to bite off your tongue? Slash her, slap chop style!
Dentist ridicules you for not flossing? Strangle them with Crest Glide Mint Flavored floss!
Panda won't fuck? Panda won't eat.
Anyone who doesn't want to help themselves is better off suffering. Hail Satan.
Beautiful Noise Girls Raped My Heart/Andante Maestoso
Saints took me. They took me to The Smell.
Aloof, Mushroom, and the Dishwasher, I went with.
The first women who played sat on her leg. She had long brown hair and slowly drifted her hands to turn the knobs to the dials that played the frequencies like fingertips on crystal glasses.
As I stood I could focus on her, the single light that separated her from the seaweed off the shore, barely swaying from right to left again. Sticks in the cup of water that stood upward, and every single vibration could suspend the sticks into the air for a moment. My eyes would stare at the light beneath her and the darkness turned to spinning needle tips.
Her music felt like the treble of the ocean, as it rang out in a contained, but sharp quintet of dense notes echoed throughout the misshaped venue.
The time she began playing the more I began fantasizing about the Asian girl in the turquoise top with the log black hair.
A couple of people replaced her on the stage. A woman and a man.
Her name is Shannon Kennedy. Her band is called Pedestrian Deposit.
Her name is Shannon Kennedy. Her band is called Pedestrian Deposit.
She was slender, with a very narrow face. Her right ear had a hook with feathers on it, making the side of her face similar to dream catchers. She and her music partner had a collage of foot pedals.
Before the set, she mercilessly tried to pull the metal bar out of the base of a cello. The cello seemed to have resided in a derelict ship underwater. The wood looked rotten, the strings looked rusted, and the bow was filthy.
(Seen above with different hair.)
The disgusting and vile instrument seemed to compliment her beauty.
She had a console of candle holders, where the fifth and final tip had broken off.
The light once more fell around these two people, and the music began.
She was running the bow across the candlestick console, while her partner was adjusting the synthesizers.
The sound of fingertips on bare skin seemed to emanate from the bow onto the metal.
Soon, she set down the console and brought the cello to her body. A wooden person who desired the embrace of this mother of the color crude oil. Her pale face looked to her feet, speculating the floor. Her black fingernails twisted slowly around her tree child, as if crying from the abuse of being carved into a music instrument for the enjoyment of sad, sad beings.
The audio tears harmonized one another as the antagonist in the performance created a wall of noise.
The antagonist beside her created a consistent barrier of auditory density. The world began crumbling around us, and the rotten wood child ceased sobbing at the gaze of it's mother.
I strolled across the unusually long venue to eventually come to sit on an old red couch.
A girl with an earle piercing sat at the other end of the couch. She was stunning.
I watched her at the musician's market stand and I watched her at the bookshelf, but I didn't notice when she walked from the stand to the shelf.
She sat at the other end of the couch.
We had made eye contact during the first performance. Once again, I wanted another girl. A stranger who I hadn't met before, another person to press my empty lips against for the satisfaction of freedom through emotional demoralization. I'm sure by the location she was at, by the way she dressed, and by the piercing near her brow she must have felt depraved.
To be direct, I stared at her. I stared at her while she read the DIY publication titled Bullshit! I stared at her, hoping between now and the final performer, we would speak.
My plan was to stare at her until she looked back, so I could engage her. She gnawed on her thumb, possibly anxious. She chewed and bit and didn't say a word, and didn't acknowledge me after she took her seat.
She had cut the backs of her jeans, with large slits, so when she sat down curled up you could see the lingerie beneath the denim. I want a girl who dresses like that.
I didn't have much of a plan than ask her what her name was, and what her interest was, and who she came with. I just wanted to talk to her.
I should have recklessly spoken to her. I'll most likely never see her again, and someday soon, I will cease to care, but the next time I see her, I will talk to her.
Maybe next time at The Smell.
There are moments when you can stop the world
Remember that friends, don' t be sad
There are moments when you can stop the world
Remember that friends, don' t be sad
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