Super Cool Blog Title

I don't understand why I continue to post here. Nobody reads this bullshit and I get zero constructive conversation out of anything I post, it is meaningless.

This is why I stopped painting and drawing; lack of motivation and inspiration, on top of the fact that nobody ever understood the shit I was doing.

I should join a trade and follow in the footsteps of the minor superior human complex and make a lot of money doing shit for people that don't matter; ie. The Government instead of The People.

I almost want to say fuck Art and fuck Creative Writing, but without either I would be more lost than I am now.

Goodnight.

Drive Home

It's funny how peaceful a drive through the city is when all the streets are vacant/void of all life.

Push off a curb and a stomp on the ground + wretched mental relapses are still not enough to breach the peace that I felt tonight, even after dwelling on foolhardy thoughts and boiling, unnecessary jealousy.

For the first time in a long time I've willingly wanted to cry, yet whether it be for joy or some other emotion, I still cannot bring myself to do it alone and sober.

Merry Christmas everybody, anybody, whomever may read this.

To the love of my life; don't go anywhere. Don't retrace your heart. Don't second guess. Be as you are, always, for I could never ask for a greater gift than the sense of self you've helped me to slowly unfold, and the love you continuously grace my soul with.

Unexplainable Thought Patterns

How does one come to understand the brief, unexpected moments in a day where it feels like the world is crashing down around them and they can detect no pre-processed thought patterns explaining how or why these moments happen?

If only the essential things in life were constantly motivationally challenging; we strive harder each day to understand that which we wish to perform each day. An endless need for knowledge, unhindered by day to day turmoils.



The most satisfying thing that has graced my mental cavity [presumed static] throughout these past couple weeks has been a human canvas that I can only paint with my eyes and see with my finger-tips. The chaos exposed therein, due to the struggle I've had trying to replicate and emblazon that image in my thoughts, has proved consistently beautiful, yet unabashedly frustrating. Boundless. Immeasurable. I wish to see this every second of every day for the rest of my life. That statement, bold as it may be, breeds only more chaos in the violent storm that has been my mental productivity as of late. If nothing is perfect, then truth is a lie, for this is one image that may only be replicated once an arms reach away.

Sight and touch remain the only means unfettered.



Merry Christmas.

Momentarily Imperative

I was going to write a long intelligent post here, but decided against it and instead browsed an abundance of boring, mundane and repetitive pornography. In my current drunken stupor I forgot what I initially intended to write, so maybe it will come back to me tomorrow.

My mental cavity needs a laxative, and my hands need some form of creativity drug to make them functional again. Proper functional. Maybe I can invent one while testing my newly polished time machine.

Fuck my life [que pre-adolescent-teen-angst mosaic show-and-tell, and overly dramatic post-metalopera music]. Fuck this blog too. It wreaks of Live/Death Journal postings and Myspace circa 2003. My mental receptors tell me I'm better then that. My sleep receptors tell me that my pillow disagrees, and that my mental receptors can fuck a goat. Like Kanye West fucks the media. Like Stereos touch dicks every time a song gets put on the radio, thus fucking their career by boosting a pre-pubescent fan-base and a level of morality that will inevitably lead to the end of the world--starting with the biggest lack of talent Humanity has ever seen. Like the Jonas Brothers. Like Bruce Willis pistol-fucks the Germans [were they German?] in Die Hard. Like my mouth fucks the use of profanity as a second language.

Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.