Feeling it.
The rut is at a distance.
It's not what i'm feeling.
What are you feeling?
Who knows.
You
It's a bit indescribable.
Hm.
Yeah.
Sust.
So can you talk to me?
Can you talk to me?
No./No.
Head down.
Eyes closed.
Breathe.
Repeat.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Fearful
Do I need to explain?
It'll only rain.
The clouds will cover the sky
The food will be bland
The birds won't sing
Kisses would sting
It'll only rain.
The clouds will cover the sky
The food will be bland
The birds won't sing
Kisses would sting
Sunday, October 23, 2011
I should be
Dead.
i drove home drunk.
i feell asleep.
several times.
I don't remember the trip.
I saw deer.
IT was.
Fucking dumb
I should be dead.
Ishouldbedead.
I should be DEAD.
WHO FUCKING CARES THAT I'M ALIVE.
WHO FUCKING CARES WHAT I THINK WHAT I TALK ABOUT?
NO ONE FUCKING CARES. NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE FOR ME NO ONE WANTS WHAT I WANT.
Maybe you should off yourself
you know i don't htink it's that bad
then why are you so.. crazy?
i don't fucking know i just have all this.. feeling in me.
you know what i think you should do?
what
get a girlfriend.
maybe.
what do you think that would solve?
nothing..
sexual frustation?
possibly, but who fucking cares.
once it's over, it's like.. who fucking cares?
you know what dave?
what.
you're drunk.
you' have work
you'rge going to be the most jaded person I know.
Alright.
FUCK THE WORLD. FUCK EVERYTHING THAT IT STANDS FOR.
i drove home drunk.
i feell asleep.
several times.
I don't remember the trip.
I saw deer.
IT was.
Fucking dumb
I should be dead.
Ishouldbedead.
I should be DEAD.
WHO FUCKING CARES THAT I'M ALIVE.
WHO FUCKING CARES WHAT I THINK WHAT I TALK ABOUT?
NO ONE FUCKING CARES. NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE FOR ME NO ONE WANTS WHAT I WANT.
Maybe you should off yourself
you know i don't htink it's that bad
then why are you so.. crazy?
i don't fucking know i just have all this.. feeling in me.
you know what i think you should do?
what
get a girlfriend.
maybe.
what do you think that would solve?
nothing..
sexual frustation?
possibly, but who fucking cares.
once it's over, it's like.. who fucking cares?
you know what dave?
what.
you're drunk.
you' have work
you'rge going to be the most jaded person I know.
Alright.
FUCK THE WORLD. FUCK EVERYTHING THAT IT STANDS FOR.
tell life i said
fuckyoulllllajee`iadoreyoulifeistoohardtooshortandtooquickformeidontknowwhattodowithmylifehahahahahahahahahimaybedrunkbutiknowdeepdowniwanttowelltakeeverythingonestepattimeforgivemeforwhatimaboutodoimnotgoingtokillmyselfipromisebutwhenyoudonthearfrommethinkofblank
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Head Cold
I just got my head shaved at Jobros.
I took a video of me and kryptonite going out at one of her friends house party's.
I want to wrtie about how it went. It was uh, pretty uh. Dirty. In the cleanliness sense.
Fuck I'm going to be late for escuela
I took a video of me and kryptonite going out at one of her friends house party's.
I want to wrtie about how it went. It was uh, pretty uh. Dirty. In the cleanliness sense.
Fuck I'm going to be late for escuela
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I was bored.
Chapter 1
He woke up to the steel cold air biting his toes. The blanket he wishfully wrapped himself in the night before had lost it's place. His eyes were still closed and the grip on his muscles in his jaw were taught. He wrinkled his eyes as he crunched and curled his body to finally arising into a sitting position. He hugged his knees as he ran through the spontaneous thoughts he had imagined in his sleep. The girl who smiled at him in the coffee shop. The bug he followed on his hands and knees as it carried crumbs. The ship he saw on television carrying his car keys. He realized the ridiculousness and how unconnected his thoughts were. He spent an hour in bed. Writhing. He laid pillows behind his back against the wall to use like a couch. It reminded him of therapy.
Therapist: So what did you think about when you grabbed the knife?
Matheus: I didn't think.
Therapist: Are you sure? You didn't think of anything that made you sad?
Matheus: I thought of her.
Therapist: Who?
Matheus: Nevermind.
Therapist: You've come across something you feel would change what I think of you. I'm nothing more then a mirror or a reflection in the water.
Matheus: You're wrong. You're more like reality.
He looked at the scars on his wrists. He thought of how they took him away from life. He thought it was beautiful. The way the body could heal itself so easily. Holding his arm up infront of his face the dim green lights of modern technology peered in the corner of his eye. The clock read 7:47. He realized he was late for work. Nearly an hour had passed since he woke. Work had no feeling to him. He couldn't describe it. It was inborn in his mind that as a man he should work so he did. He quickly ate his breakfast as he saw it more as fuel rather then a delicious taste or texture. He walked down the stairs of his apartment, hoping not to come across another. He hated people. He felt those he didn't know were equal to wolves in the wild. He dared not to make eye contact, and when he did he would stare them in the eye and reflect their emotion. He'd blackout when he spoke. Never remembering the conversation but rather the sensation. Pain. He forgot he moved to the city. A place where people gathered. He hailed a cab as soon as he got to the curb and spoke "35th st and 8th ave." He moved to the city to get close to his now ex-girlfriend.
Presence
He woke up to the steel cold air biting his toes. The blanket he wishfully wrapped himself in the night before had lost it's place. His eyes were still closed and the grip on his muscles in his jaw were taught. He wrinkled his eyes as he crunched and curled his body to finally arising into a sitting position. He hugged his knees as he ran through the spontaneous thoughts he had imagined in his sleep. The girl who smiled at him in the coffee shop. The bug he followed on his hands and knees as it carried crumbs. The ship he saw on television carrying his car keys. He realized the ridiculousness and how unconnected his thoughts were. He spent an hour in bed. Writhing. He laid pillows behind his back against the wall to use like a couch. It reminded him of therapy.
Therapist: So what did you think about when you grabbed the knife?
Matheus: I didn't think.
Therapist: Are you sure? You didn't think of anything that made you sad?
Matheus: I thought of her.
Therapist: Who?
Matheus: Nevermind.
Therapist: You've come across something you feel would change what I think of you. I'm nothing more then a mirror or a reflection in the water.
Matheus: You're wrong. You're more like reality.
He looked at the scars on his wrists. He thought of how they took him away from life. He thought it was beautiful. The way the body could heal itself so easily. Holding his arm up infront of his face the dim green lights of modern technology peered in the corner of his eye. The clock read 7:47. He realized he was late for work. Nearly an hour had passed since he woke. Work had no feeling to him. He couldn't describe it. It was inborn in his mind that as a man he should work so he did. He quickly ate his breakfast as he saw it more as fuel rather then a delicious taste or texture. He walked down the stairs of his apartment, hoping not to come across another. He hated people. He felt those he didn't know were equal to wolves in the wild. He dared not to make eye contact, and when he did he would stare them in the eye and reflect their emotion. He'd blackout when he spoke. Never remembering the conversation but rather the sensation. Pain. He forgot he moved to the city. A place where people gathered. He hailed a cab as soon as he got to the curb and spoke "35th st and 8th ave." He moved to the city to get close to his now ex-girlfriend.
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